CORD AND CREESE. BY THE AUTHOR OF . ■ ' . . . ' r _ '_ -;.•••■* * "THE DODGE CLUB." /- -• • • • WITH ILLUSTRATIONS, NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 'i''\ Ps By Prof. JAMES DE MILLE. Tff£ DODGE CLUB; or, Italy in 1859. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 60 cents ; Cloth, $1 10. CORD AND CREESE. A Novel. Illustrated. Svo, Paper, 60 cents; Cloth, $1 10. THE CRYPTOGRAM. A Novel. Illustrated. Svo, Paper, 75 cts.; Cloth, $1 25. THE AMERICAN BARON. A Novel. Illustrated. Svo, Paper, 50 cts.; Cloth, $1 00. THE LIVING LINK. A Novel. Illustrated. Svo, Paper,6o cts.; Cloth, $1 10. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. COED AND CREESE. CHAPTER I. THE LETTER FROM BEYOND THE SEA. On the morning of July 21, 1846, the Daily News announced the arrival of the ship Rival at Sydney, New South Wales. As ocean steam navigation had not yet extended so far, the ad- vent of this ship with the EngUsh mail created the usual excitement. An eager crowd beset the post - office, waiting for the delivery of the mail ; and Uttle knots at the street comers were busily discussing the latest hints at news which hac' btci gathered from papers brought ashore by the oflScers or passengers. At the lower end of King Street was a large warehouse, with an oflSce at the upper extremi- ty, over which was a new sign, which showed with newly-gilded letters the words : COMPTON &* BRANDON. The general appearance of the warehouse showed that Messrs. Compton and Brandon were probably commission merchants, general agents, or something of that sort. On the morning mentioned two men were in the inner office of this warehouse. One was an elderly gentleman, with a kind, benevolent as- pect, the senior partner of the firm. The other was the junior partner, and in every respect pre- sented a marked contrast to his companion. He had a face of rather unusual appearance, and an air which in England is usually consid- ered foreign. His features were regular — a straight nose, wide brow, thin Ups, and square, massive chin. His complexion was olive, and his eyes were of a dark hazel color, with a pe- culiarity about them which is not usually seen in the eye of the Teutonic or Celtic race, but is sometimes found among the people of the south of Europe, or in the East. It is difficult to find a name for this peculiarity. It may be seen sometimes in the gipsy ; sometimes in the more successful among those who call themselves "spiritual mediums," or among the more pow- erfid mesmerizers. Such an eye belonged to Xapoleon Bonaparte, whose glance at times could make the boldest and greatest among his marshals quail. What is it ? Magnetism ? Or the revelation of the soul ? Or what ? In this man there were other things which gave him the look of the great Napoleon. The contour of feature was the same ; and on his brow, broad and massive, there might be seen those grand shadows with which French artists love to glorify the Emperor. Yet in addition to this he had that same serene immobility of coun- tenance which characterized the other, which 4i could ser\'e as an impenetrable mask to hide even the intensest passion. There was also about this man a certain aris- tocratic air and grace of attitude, or of manner, which seemed to show lofty birth and gentle breeding, the mysterious index to good blood or high training. How such a man could have happened to fill the position of junior partner in a commission business was certainly a problem not easily solved. There he was, however, a man in api^earance out of place, yet in reality able to fill that place with success ; a man, in fact, whose resolute will enabled him to enforce success in any calling of life to which either out- side circumstances or his own personal desires might invite him. "The mail ought to be open by this time," said Brandon, indifferently, looking at his watch. " I am somewiiat curious to see how things are look- ing. 1 noticed quotations of wool rather higher than by last maiL If the papers are correct whicli I saw then we ought to do very well by that last cargo. " Mr. Compton smiled. " Well, Brandon," said he, " if it is to it will show that you are right. You anticipated a rise about this time, you know. You certainly have a remarkable forecast about the chances of busi- ness." "I don't think there is much forecast," said Brandon, with a smile, "it was only the most ordinary calculation made from the well-known fact that the exportation this ye^r had been slight. But there comes Hedley now," he con- tinued, moving his head a little to one side so as to look up the street. "The letters 'stU soon show us all. " Mr. Compton looked out in the direction which Brandon indicated and saw the clerk approach- ing. He then settled himself back in his chair, put his hands in his pockets, threw one leg over the other, and began whistling a tune with the air of a man \vho was so entirely prosperous and contented that no news whether good or evil could greatly affect his fortunes. In a short time the clerk entered the inner office, and, laying the letters down upon the table nearest Mr. Compton, he withdrew. Mr. Compton took up the letters one by one and read the addresses, while Brandon looked carelessly on. There were ten or twelve of them, all of which, except one, were addressed to the firm. This one Mr. Compton selected from among the others, and reaching it out in his band said : "This is for you, Mr. Brandon." "For me?" repeated Brandon, with marked i-\ 81? 10 CORD AND CREESE. surprise ; and taking the letter he looked at the address v.ith eager curiosity. The address wa.s simply as follows : ^Sm**^ SotanUon, Q^ye/ney, cM.*o ^btU/l ^^a/ea. The letters were irregular and loosely formed, as though written bj i tremulous hand— such letters as old men form when the muscles have become relaxed. Mr. Compton went on opening the letters of the firm without taking any further notice of his partner. The latter sat for some time looking at the letter without venturing to open it. He held it in both hands, and looked fixedly at that ad- dress as though from the address itself he was trj-iug to extort some meaning. He held it thus in both hands looking fixedly at it, with his head bent fonvard. Had Mr. Compton thought of taking a look at his usually » npassive companion, he w uld have been sur- prised at the change which had taken place in him at the mere sight of that tremulous hand- writing. For in that he had read grief, misfor- tune, perhaps death ; and as he sat there, paus- ing before he dared to break the seal, the con- tents of the letter had already been conjec- tured. Gloom therefore unutterable gathered upon his face ; his features fixed themselves into such rigidity of grief that they became more express- ive than if they had been distorted by passionate emotions ; and over his brow collected cloud upon cloud, which deepened and darkened every in- stant till they overshadowed all; and his face in its statuesque fixedness resembled nothing so much as that which the artist gives to Napoleon at the crisis hour of Waterloo, 'vhen the Guard has recoiled from its last chai'fe , and from that Imperial face in its fixed agony the soul itself seems to cry, " Lost !" " Lost !" Yet it was only for a few minutes. Hastily subduing his feeling Brandon rose, and clutch- ing the letter in his hand as though it were too precious to be trusted to his pocket, he quietly left the oflSce and the warehouse and walked up the fetreet. He walked on rapidly until he reached a large bi'ilding which bore the sign ' ' Australian Hotel. " Here he entered, and walked up stairs to a room, and locked himself in. Then when alone in his c ix\ apartments he ventured to open the letter. The paper was poor and mean ; the handwTit- ing, like that of the address, w^s tremulous, and in many places quite illegible ; the ink was pale ; and the whole appearance of the letter seemed to indicate poverty and weakness on the part of the writer. By a veiy natural impulse Brandon hesitated before beginning to read, and took in all these things with a quick glance. At last he nened himself to the task and be- gan to read. This was the letter. "Bbasbon, March 10, 1946. "Mr DEAR BoT, — These are the last words which you will ever hear from your father. I am dying, my dear boy, and dying of a broken heart ; but where I am dying I am afraid to tell you. That bitterness I leave for yon to find out some day for yourself. In poverty unspeakable, in an- guish that I pray yon may never- know, I turn to you after a silence of years, and my first word is to implore your forgiveness. I know my noble boy that you grant it, and it is enough fur me to ask it. After asking this I can die content on that score. " Lying as I do now at the point of death, I find myself a^ last freed from the follies and prejudices which have been my ruin. The clouds roll away from my mind, and I perceive what a mad fool I have been for years. Most of all I see the madness that instigated me to turn against you, and to put against the loyal love of the best of sons my own miserable pride and the accusa- tion of a lying scoundrel. May God have mercy upon me for this ! "I have not much strength, dear boy ; I have to write at inter\als, and by stealth, so as net to be discovered, for I am closely watched. lie must never know that I have sent this to you. Frink and your mother are both sick, and my only help is your sister, my sweet Edith, she watches me, and enables me to write this in safety. "I must tell you all without resene before strength leaves me foj-cver. "That man Potts, whom you so justly hated, was and is the cause of all my suffering and of yours. You used to wonder how such a man as that, a low, vulgar knave, could gain such an in- fluence over me and sway me as he did. I will try to explain. "Perhaps you remember something about the lamentable death of my old friend Colonel Des- pard. The first that I ever heard of this man Potts was in his connection with Despard, for whom he acted partly as valet, and partly as business agent. Just before Despard left to go on his fatal voyage he wrote to ma about his affairs, and stated, in conclusion, that this man Potts was going to England, that he was sorry to lose him, but recommended him very earnest- ly to me. "You recollect that Colonel Despard was murdered on this voj'age under very mysterious circumstances on shipboard. His Malay sonant Uracao was convicted and executed. Potts dis- tinguished himself by his zeal in avenging Iiis master's death. "About a year after this Potts himself came to England and visited me. He was, as you know, a rough, vulgar man ; but his connection with my murdered friend, and the warm recom- mendations of that friend, made me receive him with the greatest kindness. Besides, he had many things to tell me about my poor friend, and brought the newspapers both from Manilla and Calcutta which contained accounts of the trial. " It was this man s desire to settle himself somewhere, and I gave him letters to differe: t people. He then went off, and I did not see him for two years. At the end of that time he returned with glowing accounts of a tin mine which he was working in Cornwall. He had bought it at a low price, and the returns from working it had exceeded his most sanguine ex- pectations. He had just organized a company, and was selling the stock. He came first to me to let me take what I wished. I carelessly took five thousand pounds' worth. " On the following year the dividend was enor- mous, being nearly sixty per cent. Potts ex- CORD AND CREESE. 11 EDITH SHE WATCHES ME, AND ENABLES ME TO WRITE THIS IN 8AFETV. pLuned to me the cause, declaring that it was the richest mine in the kingdom, and assuring me that my £5000 was worth ten times that sum. His glowing accounts of the mine interested me greatly. Another year the dividend was higher, and he assured me that he expected to pay cent, per cent. " It was then that the demon of avarice took full possession of me. Visions of millions came to me, and I determined to become the richest man in the kingdom. After this I turned every thing I had into money to invest in the mine. I raised enormous sums on my landed estate, and put all that I was worth, and more too, into the speculation. I was fiiscinated, not by this man, but by the wealth that he seemed to represent. I believed in him .to the utmost. In vain my friends warned me. I turned from them, and quarreled with most of them. In my madness I refused to listen to the entreaties of my poor wife, and turned' even against you. I can not bear to allude to those mournful days when you denounced that villain to his face before me ; when I ordered you to beg his pardon or leave I'ly roof forever; when you chose the latter al- ternative and became an outcast. My noble boy — my true-hearted son, that last look of yours, wiih all its reproach, is haunting my dying hours. If you were oii'iy near me now how peacefully I could die ! " Jly strength is failing. I can not describe the details of my ruin. Enough that the mine broke down utterly, and I as chief stockholder was responsible for all. I had to sell out every thing. The stock was worthless. The Hall and the estates all went. I had no friend to helj) me, for by my madness I had alienated them all. All this came upon me during the last year. "But mark this, my son. This man Potts was not ruined. He seemed to have grown pos- sessed of a colossal fortune. When 1 reproached him with being the author of my calamity, and insisted that he ought to share it with me, the scoundrel laughed in my face. "The Hall and the estates were sold, for, nn- fortunately, though they have been in our fam- ily for ages, they were not entailed. A feeling of honor was the cause of this neglect. They were sold, and the purchaser was this man Potts. He must have bought them with the money that he had plundered from me. Ifl CORD AND CREESR "Now, BUice my eyes have been opened, I have had ii:any thoughts; and among all that occurs to me none is more prominent than the iityBterious murder of my friend. Thin man Potts was with him at the time, lie was chief witness bgainst the Malay. The counsel for the defense bore down hard on him, but he man- aged to escape, and Uracao was executed. Yot this much is evident, thai Potts was largely ben- efited t)y the death of Despard. He could not have made all his money by his own savings. I believe that the man who wronged me so foully was fully capable of murder. Ho strong is this conviction now that I sometimes have a super- stitious feeling that because I neglected all in- quiry into the death of my friend, therefore he has visited me from that other life, and punished me, by making the same man the ruin of us both. "The mine, I now believe, was a colossal sham- and all the money that I invested in stocks went directly to Potts. Good God I what madness was mine ! "O my boyl Your mother and your brother are lying here sick ; your sister attends on us al!, though little more than a child. Soon I must leave them ; and for those who are destined to live there is a f'Uure which I shudder to contem- plate. Come home at once. Come home, what- ever you are doing. Leave all business, and all prospects, and come and save them. That much you can do. Come, if it is only to take them back with you to that new land where you live, where they may forget their anguish. "Come home, my son, and take vengeance. Tbis, perhaps, you can not do, but you at least can try. By the time that you ret d these words they will be my voice from the grt.ve ; and thus I invoke you, and call you tC' take venge- ance. "But at least come and save your mother, your brother, and your sister. The danger is imminent. Not a friend 's left. They all hold aloof, indignant at me. This miscreant has his own plans with regard to them, I doubt not ; and he w^ill disperse them or send them off to starve in some foreign land. Come and save them. " But 1 warn you to be careful about yourself for their sakes. For this villain is powerful now. and hates you worse than any body. His arm may reach even to the antipodes to strike you there. Be on your guard. Watch every one. For once, from words which fell from him hasti- ly, I gathered that he bad some dark plan againit you. Trust no one. Rely on yourself, and miy God help you ! "Poor boy! I have no estate to leave yon now, and what I do send to you may seem to you like a mockery. Yet do not despise it. Who knows what may be possible in these days of science? Why may it not be possible to force the sea to give up its prey? "I send it, at any rate, for I have notliing else to send. You know that it has been in our family for centuries, and have heard how fitout old Peter Leggit, with nine sailors, escaped by night through the Spanish flee*^ and what suffer- ing they endured before they reached England. He brought this, and it has been preserved ever since. A legend has groi^'n up, as a matter of course, that the treasure will be recovered one day when the family is at its last extremity. It may not be impossible. The writer intended that something should come of it. "If in that other world to which I am going the disembodied spirit can assist man, then be sure, O my son, I will assist you, and in the crisis of your fate I will be near, if it is only to communicate to your spirit what you ought to do. " God bless you, dear boy, and farewell. "Your affectionate father, "Ralph Bkandon." This letter was evidently written by fragment- ary portions, as though it had been done at in- tenals. Some parts weie written lei.?urely — others apparently in haste. The first half had been written evidently with the greates* ease The writing of the last half showed weakness «• tremulousness of hand ; many words would havt been quite illegible to one not familiar with the handwriting of the old man. Sometimes the word was written two or three times, and there were numerous blots and unmeaning lines. It grew more and more illegible toward the close. Evidently it was the work of one who was but ill able to exert even suflBcient strength to hold a pen in his trembling hand. In this letter there was folded a large piece of coarse paper, evidently a blank leaf torn from a book, brown with age, which was worn at the folds, and protected there by pieces of cotton which had been pasted upon it. The paper was covered with writing, in ink that was much faded, though still quite legible. Opening this Brandon read the following : CORD AND CREESE. It iP^. * ,- - ^ i**^-^-^k < ^ ^^^%^^a^ ( m. el to ^Z/Vv ^ffod' (VV^ a/i3 enf course, my first efforts were directed toward detaching my son from these scoundrels. I did all that I could. I offered to give him half of my property, and finally all, it he would only leave thom forever and come back. The wretched boy refuse^. He did not appear to be altogether i»d, but he had a weak nature, and could not get rid of the in- fluence of these mciu "I staid in India a year and a half, until I found at last tbut there was no hope. I could find nothing to do then;, and if I remained I would have to starve or go out to service. This I could not think of doing. So I prepared to come back here. But ray wife nefused to leave her son. She was resolved, she said, to stay by him till the last. I tried to dissuade her, but could not mova her. I told her that I could not be a domestic. She said that she could do even that for the sake of her boy. And she went off at once, and got a situation as nurse with the same Colonel Despard with whom Briggs, or, as he called himself, Potts, was staying." " What was the Christian name of this Potts ?" asked Brandon, calmly. "John— John Potts." Brandon said Qothiag furtlier, And Compton resumed. "Thus my wife acttudly left me. I could not stay and be a slave. So I made her promise to ^viite me, and told her that I woidd send her as much money as I could. She clnng to me half broken-hearted as I left her. Our parting was a bitter one — bitter enough ; but I would rather break my heart 'with grief than be a sen'ant. Besides, she knew taat whenever she came back my heart was open to receive her. " I came back to my lonely life out here and lived for nearly two years. At last, in Septem- ber 1828, a mail arrived from India bringing a letter from my wife, and Indian papers. The news which they brought well-nigh drqve me mad." Compton buried his face in his hands and re- mained silent for some time. "You couldn't have been more than a child at that time, but perhaps you may have heard of the mysterious murder of Colonel Des- pard?' He looked inquiringly at Brandon, but the lat- ter gave no sign. "Perhaps not," he continued — "no; you were too young, of course. Well, it was in the Vishnu, a brig in which the Colonel had em- barked for Manilla. The brig was laden with hogshead staves and box shooks, and the Col- 16 CORD i\ND CREESE. v-^ "xuuue's somk mysteky aboct it which I can't fathom. onel went there partly for his health, partly on business, taking with him his valet Potts." "What became of his family?" interrupted Brandon. "He had a son in England at school. His wife had died not long before this at one of the hill stations, where she had gone for her health. Grief may have had something to do with the Colonel's voyage, for he was very much attached to his wife. " Mails used only to come at long intervals in those days, and this one brought the account not only of the Colonel's fate, but of the trial at Manilla and the execution of the man that was condemned. "It was a very mysterious case. In the month of July a boat arrived at Manilla which carried the crew and one passenger from the brig Vishnu. One of the men, a Malay named Ura- cao, was in irons, and he was immediately given up to the authorities." " Who were the others ?" "Potts, as he called himself, the Colonel's valet, Clark, three Lascars, and the Captain, au Italian named Cigole. Information was at once laid against the Malay. Potts was the chief wit- ness. He said that he slept in the cabin whila the Colonel slept in an inner state-room ; that one morning early he was roused by a frightful shriek and saw Uracao rushing from the Col- onel's state-room. He sprang up, chased him, and caught him just as he was about to leap overboai'd. His creese covered with blood was in his hand- The Colonel, when they went to look at him^ had his throat cut from ear to ear. Clark swore that he was steering the vessel and saw Potts catch Uracao, and helped to hold him. The Captain, Cigole, swore that he was waked by the noise, and rushed out in time to see this. Clark had gone as mate of the vessel. Of the Lascars, two had been down below, but one was on deck and swore to have seen the same. On this testimony Uracao was condemned and exe- cuted." " How did they happen to leave the brig ?" " They said that a great storm came up about three days' sail from Manilla, the vessel sprang a leak, and they had to take to the boat. Their testimony wtts very clear indeed, and there were no contradictions ; but in spite of all this it was CORD AND CREESE. If felt to be a very mysterioas case, and even the exhibition of the Malay creese, carefully cov- ered with the stains of blood, did not altogether dispel this feeling." " Have you got the papers yet, or are there any in Sydney that contain an account of this ati'air ? ' " I have kept them all. You mav read the whole case if you care about it." "I should like to, very much," said Brandon, with great calmness. " When I heard of this before the mail was opened I felt an agony of fear lest my miserable boy might be implicated in some way. To my immense relief his name did not occur at all." " You got a letter from your wife ?" saiC Bran- don, interrogatively. " Yes," said the old man, with a sigh. " The last that I ever received from her. Here it is. " Auu, ing this, he opened his pocket-book and took c JL letter, worn and faded, and blackened by frequent readings. Brandon took it respectfully, and read the fol- lo^ving : "Caloctta, August 15, 1828. "Mtdbahest Henby, — By the papers that I send you, you will see what has occurred. Our dear Edgar is well, indeed better than usual, and I would feel much cheered if it were not for the sad fate of the poor Colonel. This is the last let- ter that you will ever receive from me. I am going to leave this countiy never to return, and do not yet know where I ^vill go. Wherever I go I will be with my darling Edgar. Do not worry about me or about him. It will be better for you to try and forget all about us, since we are from this time the same as dead to you. Good-by forever, my dearest husband ; it shall be my daily prayer that God may bless you. " Your affectionate wife, Mary." Brandon read this in silence, and handed it back. "A strange letter," said Compton, mournful- ly. "At first it gave a bitter pang to think of my Mary thus giving me up forever, so coldly, and for no reason : but afterward I began to un- derstand why she wrote this. "My belief is, that these villains kept my son in their clutches for some good reason, and that they had some equally good reason for keeping her. There's some mystery about it which I can't fathom. Perhaps she knew too much about the Colonel's affairs to be allowed to go free. They might have detained her by working upon her love for her son, or simply by terrifying her. She was always a timid soul, poor Mary. That letter is not her composition ; there is not a word there that sounds like her, and they no doubt told her what to write, or wrote out something, and made her copy it. "And now, " said Compton, after another long pause, "I have got to the end of my story. I know nothing more about them. I have lived here ever since, at first despairing, but of late more resigned to my lot. Yet still if I have one desire in Ufe it is to get some trace of these dear ones whom I still love as tenderly as ever. You, my dear boy, with your ability may conjecture some way. Besides, you will perhaps be travel- ing more or less, and may be able to hear of their &te. This is the condition that I make. I implore you by your pity for a heart-broken father to do as I say and help me. Half! why, I viould give all that I have if I could get tbem back attain." Brandon shuddered peixeptiblj «4 the words "heart-broken father;" but he quickly recov- ered himself He took Comptcm's hand aad pressed it warmly. ' ' Dear friend, I will make no objection to any thing, and I promise you that all my best efforts shall be directed toward finding them oat." "Tell them to come to me, that I am rich, and can make them happy. " " I'll make them go to you if they are alive," said Brandon. "Grod bless you!" ejaculated the cAd man, fervently. Brandon spent the greater part of that day in making busineds arrangements, and in reading the papers which Compton had proserved con- taining an account of the Despard mnrdsr. It was late at night before he returned to bis hotel. As he went into the hall he saw a stran- ger sitting there in a lounging attitude raiding the Sydney News. He was a thin, small-sized man, with a foreign air, and quick, restless manner. His features were small, a heavy beard and mustache covered his face, his brow was low, and his eyes black and twinkling. A sharp, furtive glance which he gave at Brandon attracted the attention of the latter, for there was something in the glance that meant more than idle curiosity. Even in the midst of his cares Brandon's curi- osity was excited. He walked with assumed in- diftierence up to the desk as though looking for the key of his room. Glancing at the hotel book his eye ranged down the column of nwues till it rest- ed on the last one, '' Pietro Cigole." — Cigole ! the name brought singular associa- tions. Had this man still any connection with Potts ? The words of his father's letter rushed into his mind — "His arm may reach even to the antipodes to strike you. Be on your guard. Watch every one. He has some dark plan against you ! " With these thoughts in his mind Brandon went up to his room. CHAPTER ni. "a man overboard!" Ik so small a town as Sydney then was Bran< don could hope to learn all that could be learned about Cigole. By casual inquiries he learned that the Italian had come out in the Rival, and had given out that he was agent for a London house in the wool business. He had bought up a considerable quantity which he was preparing to ship. Brandon could not help feeling that there was some ruse about this. Yet he thought, on the other hand, why should he flaunt his name so boldly before the world ? If he is in reality fol- lowing me why should he not drop his name ? But then, again, why should he? Perhaps he thinks that I can not possibly know any thing about his name. Why should I ? I was a child when Despard was murdered. It may be merely a similarity of names. 18 CORD AND CREESE. >ft Brandon from time to time had opportunities of hearing mure about Cigole, yet always the Kian seemed ubsorbed in business. He wondered to himself whether he had better confide his suspicions to Mr. Compton or not. Yet why should he ? The old man would become excited, and feel all sorts of wild hopes about discovering his wife and son. Could it be possi- ble that the Italian after so many years could now aflbrd any dew whatever ? Certainly it was not very probable. On the whole Brandon thought that this man, whoever he was or whatever his purpose might be, would be encountered best by liimself singly. If Mr. Compton took part he would at once awaken Cigole's fears by his clumsiness. Brandon felt quite cerUiin that Mr. Compton would not know any tiling about Cigole's presence in Sydney unless he himself told liim. For the old man was so filled with trouble at the loss of his partner that ho could think of nothing else, and all his thought!! were taken up with closing up the concern so as to send forward remittances of money to London as soon as possible. Mr. Compton had arranged for him to draw £2000 on iiis niTivol at London, and three months after- ward iintlOO— £10,000 would be remitted daring tlie following year. Brandon had come to the conclusion to tell Mr. Compton about Cigole before he left, so that if the man remained in the country he might be bribed or otherwise induced to tell what he knew ; yet thinking it possible that Cigole had designed to return in the same ship with him, he waited to see how things would turn out. As he could not help associating Cigole in his mind with I'otts, so lie thought that whichever way he turned this man would try to follow him. His anticipations proved correct. He had taken pas- sage in the ship Java, and two days before the vessel left he learned that Cigole had Uikcn his passage in her also, having put on board a con- siderable quantity of wool. On the whole Bran- don felt gratified to hear this, for the close asso- ciation of a long sea voyage would give him op- portunities to test this man, and probe him to the bottom. The thought of danger arising to himself did not enter his mind. He believed that Cigole meant mischief, but liad too much confi- dence in his own powers to fear it. On the Sth of August the ship Java was ready, and Mr. Compton stood on the quarter- deck to bid good-by to Brandon. "God bless you, dear boy ! You will find the money coming promptly, and Smithers & Co.'s house is one of the strongest in London. I have brought you a parting gift," said he, in a low voice. He drew from his pocket a pistol, which in those days was less known than now — indeed, this was the first of its kind which had reached Australia, and Mr. Compton had paid a fabulous price for it. " Here," said he, "take this to re- member me by. They call it a revolver. Here is a box of patent cartridges that go with it. It is from me to you. And mind," he continued, while there came over his face a vengeful look which Brandon had never seen there before — " mind, if ever you see John Potts, give him one of those patent cartridges, and tell him it is the last gift of a broken-hearted father." Brandon's face turned ghastly, and his lips seemed to freeze into a smile of deadly meaning. " God bless yon 1" cried Compton, " I see by your face that you will do it. Good-by. " He wrung Brandon's hand hard and left the ship. About six feet away stood Cigole, looking over the stem and smoking a cigar. He was near enough to hear what had been said, but he did not appear to have heard it. Throwing his cigar into the water, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and began whistling a lively air. "Aha, Capitano," said he, in a foreign Decent, " I have brought my wool off at last." Brandon paced the deck silently yet watch- fully. ^ The good ship Java went out with a fine breeze, which continued for some days, until at last nothing could be seen but the wide ocean. In those few days Brandon had settled himself comfortably on board, and had learned pretty well the kind of life which he would have to lead for the next six months or so. The captain was a quiet, amiable sort of a person, without much force of character; the mate was more energetic and somewhat passionate ; the crew consisted of the average order of men. There was no chance, certainly, for one of those conspiracies such as Mr. Compton had hinted at as ha^•i^g taken place on the Vishnu ; for in his account of that affair he evidently believed that Uracao had been made a scape-goat for the sins of the others. Brandon was soon on the best of terms with the officers of the ship. As to Cigole it was dif- ferent. The fact of their being the only passen- gers on board might of itself have been a sufl[i- cient cause to draw them togiiiher ; but Brandon found it difficult to pass beyond the extremest limits of formal intercour&e. Brandon himself considered that his purposes would be best scr^'ed by close association with this man ; he hoped that in the course of such association he might draw something from Cigole. But Cigole baffled him constantly. He was as polite and courteous as all Italians are ; he had an abundance of remarks all ready about the state of the weather, the pros- pects of the voyage, or the health of the seamen ; but beyond these topics it was difficult to induce him to go. Brandon stifled the resentment which he felt toward this man, in his efforts to break down th2 barriers of formality which he kept up, and sought to draw him out on the subject of the wool trade. Yet here he was baffled. Cigole always took up the air of a man who was speak- ing to a rival in business, and pretended to be very cautious and guarded in his remarks about wool, as though he feared that Brandon would interifere with his prosjiects. This sort of thing was kept up with such great delicacy of man- agement on Cigole's part that Brandon himself would have been completely deceived, and would have come to consider him as nothing more than a speculator in wool, had it not been for a certain deep instinct within him, which made him re- gard this man as one who was actuated by some- thing far deeper than mere regards for a success- ful speculation. Cigole managed to baffle the most dextrous efforts and the most delicate contrivances of Brandon. He would acknowledge that he was an Italian, and had been in all p.irts of Italy, but carefully refrained from telling where he was bom. He asserted that this was the first time that he had been in the Eastern seas. He re- CORD AND CREESE. 1» marked once, casoully, that Cigole was a very common name among Italians. He said that he had no acquaintances at all in England, and was only going there now because he heard that there was a good market for wool. At another time he spoke as though much of his life had been piissed in Marseilles, and hinted that he was a partner of a commercial house there. (Cigole never made any advances, and never even met half-way those which Brandon made. He was never oif his guard for one instant. Polite, smiling, furtive, never looking Brandjn fairly in the face, he usually spoke v i;h a niofu- sion of bows, gestures, and commonplaces, ado; t- ing, in fact, that part which is always at once both the easiest and the safest to play — the non- committal, pure and perfect. It was cunning, but low cunning after all, and Brandon perceived that, for one who h id some purpose to accomplish with but a common soul to sustain him, this was the most ordinary way to do it. A villain of profounder cunning or of larger spirit would have pursued a different path. He would have conversed freely and with ap- parent unreser\'e ; he would have yielded to all friendly advances, and made them himself; he would have shown the highest art by concealing art, in accordance with the hacknejed proverb, " Ars est celare artem." Brandon despised him as an ordinary villain, and hardly thought it worth his while to take any particular notice of him, except to watch him in a general way. But Cigole, on the con- trary, was very different. His eyes, which never met those of Brandon fairly, were constantly watching him. When moving about the quar- ter-deck or when sitting in the cabin he usually had the air of a man who was pretending to be intent on something else, but in reality watching Brandon's acts or listening to his words. To any other man the knowledge of this would have been in the highest degree irksome. But to Brandon it was gratifying, since it confirmed his suspicions. He saw this man, whose con- stant efforts were directed toward not commit- ting himself by word, doing that very thing by his attitude, his gesture, and the furtive glance of his eye. Brandon, too, had his part, but it was infinitely greater than that of Cigole, and the purpose that now animated his life was un- intelligible to this man who watched him. But Cigole's whole soul was apparent to Brandon ; and by his small arts, his low cunning, his sly observation, and many other peculiarities, he ex- hibited that which is seen in its perfection in the ordinary spy of despotic countries, such as nsed to abound most in Home and Naples in the good old days. For the common spy of Europe may deceive the English or American traveler; but the Frenchman, the German, the Spaniard, or the Italian, always recognizes him. So Brandon's superior penetration discovered tlie true character of Cigole. He believed that this man was the same Cigole who had figured in the affair of the Vishnu; that he had been sent out by Potts to do some injury to himself, and that he was capable of any crime. Yet he could not see how he could do any thing. He certainly could not incite the sim- ple-minded captain and the honest mate to con- spiracy. He was too great a coward to attempt any violence. So Brandon concluded that he had simply come to watch him so as to learn his character, and carry back to Potts all the knowl- edge that ho might gain. This was his conclusion after a close associa- tion of one month with Cigole. Yet he made up his mind not to lose sight of this man. To him he appeared only an agent in villainy, and there- fore unworthy of vengeance ; yet he might be made use of as an aid in that vengeance. He therefore wished to have a clew by which he might afterward find him. " You and I," said he one day, in conversa- tion, "are both in the same trade. If I ever get to England I may wish some time to see you» Where can I find you ?" Cigole looked in twenty different directions, and hesitated for some time. !' Wellj" said he at last, " I do not think that you will wish to see me — " and he hesitated ; "but," he resumed, with an evil smile, "if yon should by any possibilit/ wish to do so, you can find out where I am by inquiring of Giovanni Cavallo, 16 Red Lion Street, London." "Perhaps I may not wish to," said Brandon, coolly, "and perhaps I may. At any rate, if I do, 1 will remember to inquire of Giovanni Ca- vallo, 16 Red Lion Street, London." He spoke with deep emphasis on the address. Cigole looked uncomfortable, as though he had at last made the mistake which he dreaded, and had committed himself. So the time passed. After the first few days the weather had be- come quite stormy. Strong head-winds, accom- panied often by very heavy rains, had to be en- countered. In spite of this the ship had a very good passage northward, and met with no par- ticular obstacle until hftr course was turned to- ward the Indian Ocean. Then all the winds were dead against her, and for weeks a succes- sion of long tacks far to the north and to the south brought liei but a short distance onward. Every day made the wind more violent and the storm worse. And now the season of the equi- nox was approaching, when the monsoons change, and all the winds that sweep over these seas alter their courses. For weeks before and after this season the winds are all unsettled, and it seems as if the elements were let loose. From the first week in September this became manifest, and every day brought them face to face with sterner difficulties. Twice before the captain had been to Australia; and for years he had been in the China trade ; so that he knew these seas well ; but he said that he had never known the equinoctial storms begin so early, and rage with such violence. Opposed by such difficulties as these the ship made but a slow passage — the best routes had not yet been discovered — and it was the middle of September before they entered the Indian Ocean. The weather then became suddenly calm, and they drifted along beyond the latitude of the western extremity of Java, about a hun- dred miles south of the Straits of Sunda. Here they began to encounter the China fleet which steers through this strait, for every day one or more sails were visible. Here they were borne on helplessly by the ocean currents, which at this place are numerous and distracted. The streams that flow through CORD AND CREESE. the many isles of the Indian Archipelago, uniting with the greater southeni btreams, here meet and blend, causing great difficulties to navigation, and often baffiing even the most experienced sea- man. Yet it was not all left to the current, for frequently and suddenly the storms came up; und the weather, ever changeful, kept the sailors constantly on the alert. Yet between the storms the calms were fre- quent, and sometimes long continued, though of such a sort as required watchfulness. For out of the midst of dead calms the storm would sud- denly rise in its might, and all the care which cixperience could suggest was nof always able to avert disaster. ' ' I don't like thi^ weather, Mr. Brandon. It's the worst that we could have, especially just here/' "\VTiy just here?" "Why, we're opposite the Straits of Sonda, the worst place about these parts. " "What for?" "Pirates. The Malays, you know. We're not over well prepared to meet them, I'm afraid. If they come we'll have to fight them the best way we can ; and these calms are the worst thing for us, because the Malay proas can get along in the lightest ^vind, or with oars, when we can't move at alL" " Are the Malays any worse than usual now ?" asked Brandon. " Well, no worse than they've been for the last ten years. Zangorri is the worst of them all." ' ' Zangorri ! I've heard of him. " " I should think you had. Why, there never was a pirate in these seas that did so much dam- age. No mortal knows the ships that devil has captured and burned. " "I hope you have arms for the seamen, at any rate." "Oh, we have one howitzer, and small-arms for the men, and we will have to get along the best way we can with these; but the owners ought never to send us here without a better equipment." " I suppose they think it would cost too much. " "Yes; that's it. They think only about the profits, and trust to luck for our safety. Well, I only hope we'll get safely out of this place — that's all." And the captain walked off much more ex- cited than usual. They drifted on through days of calm, which were succeeded by fierce but short-lived storms, and then followed by calms. Their course lay sometimes north, sometimes south, sometimes nowhere. Thus the time passed, until at length, about the .middle of September, they came in sight of a long, low island of sand. "I've heard of that sand-bank before," said the captain, who showed some surprise at see- ing it; "but I didn't believe it was here. It's not down in the charts. Here we are three hun- dred and fifty miles southwest of the Straits of Sunda, and the chart makes this place all open water. Well, seein's believin' ; and after this I'll swear that there is such a thing as Cofiin Island. " "Is that the name?" " That's the name an old sea-captain gave it, and tried to get the Admiralty to put it on the charts, but they wouldn't. But this is it, and DO mistake." " Why did he call it Coffin IsUnd ?" "Well, he thought that rock looked like a coffin, and its dangerous enough when a fog comes to deserve that name. " Brandon looked earnestly at the island which the captain mentioned, and which they were slowly approaching. It lay toward the north, while the ship's course, if it had any in that calm, was southwest. It was not more than six miles away, and appeared to be about five miles long. At the nearest ex- tremity a black rock arose to a height of about fifty feet, which appeared to be about five hun- dred feet long, and was of such a shape that the imagination might ftasily see a resemblance to a coffin. At the farthest extremity of the island was a low mound. The rest of the island was flat, low, and sandy, with no trace of vegetation perceptible from the ship, except a line of dingy green under the rock, which looked like grass. The ship drifted slowly on. Meanwhile the captain, in anticipation of a storm, had caused all the sailf to be taken in, and stood anxiously watching the sky towai'd the southwest. There a dense mass of clouds lay piled along the horizon, gloomy, lowering, menacing; frown- ing over the calm seas as though they would soon destroy that calm, and fling forth all the fury of the winds. These clouds seemed to have started up from the sea, so sudden had been their ap- pearance ; and now, as they gathered themselves together, their forms distended, and heightened, and reached forward vast arms into tne sky, striving to climb there, rolling upward volumin- ous cloud masses which swiftly ascended toward the zenith. So quick was the progress of these clouds that they did not seem to come from the banks below ; but it was rather as though all the air suddenly condensed its moisture and made it visible in these dark masses. As yet there was no wind, and the water was as smooth as glass ; but over the wide surface, as far as the eye could reach, the long swell of the ocean had changed into vast rolling undula- tions, to the motion of which the ship yielded, slowly ascending and descending as the waters rose and fell, while the yards creaked, and the rigging twanged to the strain upon them. Every moment the sky grew darker, and as gloom gathered above so it increased below, till all the sea spread out a smooth ebon mass. Darkness settled down, and the sun's face was thus obscured, and a preternatural gloom gather- ed upon the face of nature. Overhead vast black clouds went sweeping past, covering all things, faster and faster, till at last far down in the northern sky the heavens were all obscured. But amidst all this there was as yet not a breath of wind. Far above the wind careered in a narrow current, which did not touch the sur- face of the sea but only bore onward the clouds. The agitation of the sky above contrasted with the stillness below made the latter not consoling but rather fearful, for this could be none other than that treacherous stillness which precedes the sudden outburst of the hurricane. For that sudden outburst all were now look- ing, expecting it every moment. On the side of the ship where the wind was expected the captain was standing, looking anxiously at the i black clouds on the horizon, and all the crew CORD AND CREESE. 21 HE FU8HBD HIM HEADLONG OVER THE RAIL ASU HELPLESSLY INTO THE SEA. were gazing there in sympathy with him. From that quarter the wind would burst, and it was for this assault that all the preparations had been made. For some time Brandon had watched the col- lecting clouds, but at length he turned away, and seemed to find a supreme fascination in the sand-bank. He stood at the stern of the ship, looking fixedly toward the rock, his arms fold- ed, and his thoughts all absorbed in that one thing. A low railing ran round the quarter- deck. The helmsman stood in a sheltered place which rose only two feet abo\ 3 the deck. The captain stood by the companion-way, looking south at the storm ; the mate was near the caj)- stan, and all were intent and absorbed in their expectation of a sudden squall. Close by the rudder-post stood Cigole, look- ing with all the rest at the gathering storm. His face was only half turned, and as usual he watch- ed this with only a furtive glance, for at times his stealthy eyes turned toward Brandon ; and he alone of all on board did not seem to be ab- sorbed by some overmastering thought. Suddenly a faint, fluttering ripple appeared to the southward ; it came quickly ; it seemed to flash over the waters ; with the speed of the wind it moved on, till a quick, fresh blast struck the ship and sighed through the rigging. Then a faint breathing of wind succeeded ; but far away there rose a low moan like that which arises from some vast cataract at a great distance, whose roar, subdued by distance, sounds faintly, yet wamingly, to the ear. At this first touch of the tempest, and the menacing voice of its approach, not a word was spoken, but all stood mute. Brandon alone ap- peared not to have noticed it. He still stood with folded arms and absorbed air, gazing at the island. The roar of the waters in the distance grew louder, and in the direction from which it came the dark water was all white with foam, and the boiling flood advanced nearer in myriad-num- bered waves, which seemed now like an army rushing to the charge, tossing on high its crested heads and its countless foam-plumes, and threat- ening to bear down all before it. At last the tornado struck. At the fierce blast of the storm the ship rolled far over, the masts creaked and groaned, the waves rushed up and dashed against the side. At that instant Cigole darted quickly toward Brandon, and the moment that the vessel yield- 23 CORD AND CREESE. ed to tho blow of the Btorm he fell Aiolently against him. Before Brandon had noticed the storm or had time to steady himself lie had 1)a8hed him headlong over the rail and he'pless- y into the sea — " liquidaa projecit In nndas Pr«clpltein."^ Cis;ole clung to the rail, and instantly shrieked out: ' ' Man overboard ! " The startling cry rang through the ship. The captain tamed round with a face of agony. "Man overboard!" shouted Cigole ngain. "Help! It's Brandon!" "Brandon!" cried the captain. "He's lost! OGod!" He took up a hen-coop from its fastenings and flung it into the sea, and a couple of pails afte" it He then looked alofb and to the south with eyes of despair. He could do nothing. For now the storm was upon them, and the ship was plunging furiously through the waters with the speed of a race- horse at the touch of the gale. On the lee -side lay the sand -bank, now only three miles away, whose unknown shallows made their present position perilous in the extreme. The ship could not turn to try and save the lost passenger; it was only by keeping straight on that there was any hope of avoiding that lee-shore. All on board shared the captain's despair, for all saw that nothing could be done. The ship was at the mercy of the hurricane. To turn was impossible. If they could save their own lives now it would be as much as they could do. Away went the ship — away, farther and far- ther, every moment leaving at a greater distance the lost man who struggled in the waters. At last they had passed the danger, the island was left behind, and the wide sea lay all around. But by this time the storm was at its height ; the ship could not maintain its proper course, but, yielding to the gale, fled to the northwest fer out of its right direction. CHAPTER IV. SINKING IN DEEP WATERS. Brandon, ovenvhelmed by the rush of waters, half suffocated, and struggling in the rush of the waves, shrieked out a few despairing cries for help, and sought to keep his head above water as best he could. But his cries were borne off by the fierce winds, and the ship as it careered madly before the blast was soon out of hearing. He was a first-rate swimmer, but in a sea like this it needed all his strength and all his skill to save himself from impending death. Encum- bered by his clothes it was still more difficult, yet so fierce was the rush of wind and wave that he dared not stop for a moment in his struggles in order to divest himself of his clothing. At first, by a mere blind instinct, he tried to swim after the ship, as though by any possibility he could ever reach her again, but the hurricane was against him, and he was forced sideways far out of the course which he was trying to take. At last the full possession of his senses was re- stored, and following the ship no longer, he turned toward the direction where that sand isl- and lay which had been the cause of his disaster. At first it was hidden from view by the swell of waves that rose in front, but soon rising upon the crest of one of these he perceived far away the dark form of the coffin-shaped rock. Here then before him lay the inland, and toward this both wind and wave impelled him. But the rock was far to the right, and it might be that the island did not extend far enough to meet him as he neared it. It was about five miles in length, but in his efforts he might not be able to reach even the western extremity. Still there was nothing elsp to do but to trj'. Reso- lutely, therefore, though half despairingly, he put forth ids best strength, and struggled manfully to win the shore. That lone and barren sand-bank, after all, of- fered bui a feeble chance for life. Even if he did reach it, which was doubtful, what could he do? Starvation instead of drowning would be his fate. More than once it occurred to him that it would be better then and there to give up all efforts and let himself go. But then there came the thought of those dear ones who waited for him in England, the thought of the villain who had thrown him from the ship, and the greater villain who had sent him out on his murderous errand. He could not bear the idea that they should triumph over him so easily and so quick- ly. His vengeance should not be taken from him ; it had been bafiSed, but it still nerved his arm. A half hour's struggle, which seemed like many hours, had brought him much nearer to the island, but his strength was almost exhausted. His clothes, caught in the rush of the waves, and clinging to him, confined the free action of his limbs, and lent an additional weight. Another half hour's exertion might possibly bring him to the shore, but that exertion hardly seemed possi- ble. It was but with difficulty now that he could strike out. Often the rush of the waves from be- hind would overwhelm him, and it was only by convidsive efforts that he was able to surmount the raging billows and regain his breath. Efforts like these, however, were too exhaust- ive to be long continued. Nature failed, and already a wild despair came over him. For a quarter of an hour longer he had continued his exertions ; and now the island was so near that a quarter of an hour more might bring him to it. Rut even that exertion of strength was now no longer possible. Faintly and feebly, and with failing limbs and fiercely- throbbing heart, he toiled on, until at last any further effort seemed impossible. Before him was the mound which he had noticed from the ship. He was at the western extremity of the island. He saw that he was being carried in such a direction that even if he did struggle on he might be borne helplessly past the island and out into the open sea. Already he could look past the island, and see the wide expanse of white foaming waves i which threatened to engulf him. The sight weakened what little strength was left, and made ! his etibrts even feebler. Despairingly he looked around, not knowing I what he sought, but seeking still for something, he knew not what. In that last look of despair I his eyes caught sight of something which at once gave him renewed hope. It was not far away. CORD AND CREE6E. 28 Borne along by the waves It waa but a few yards distant, and a little behind him. It was the hen- coop which the Captain of the Java had thrown overboard so as to give Brandon a chance for life. That last chance was now thrown in his way, for th«} hen-coop had followed the same, course with himself, and had been swept along not very far from him. Brandon was nerved to new efforts by the sight of this. He turned and exerted the last rem- nants of his strength in order to reach this means of safetj'. It was near enough to l)e accessible. A few vigorous strokes, a few struggles with the waves, and his hands clutched the bars with the grasp of a drowning man. It was a large hen-coop, capable of keeping several men afloat. Brandon clung to this and at last had rest. Every minute of respite from such struggles as he had carried on restored his strength to a greater degree. He coidd now keep his head high out of the water and avoid the engulfing fury of the waves behind. Now at last he could take a better survey of the prospect before him, and see more plainly whither he was going. The sand-bank lay before him ; the monnd at the western extremity was in front of him, not very far away. The rock which lay at the east- em end was now at a great distance, for he had been swept by the current abreast of the island, and was even now in danger of being carried past it. Still there was hope, for wind and wave were blowing directly toward the island, and there was a chance of his being carried full upon its shore. Yet the chance was a slender one, for the set of the tide rather carried him beyond the hne of the western extremity. Every minute brought him nearer, and soon his fate would be decided. Nearer and nearer he came, still clinging to the hen-coop, and mak- ing no efforts whatever, but reserving and collect- ing together all his strength, so as to put it forth at the final hour of need. But as he came nearer the island appeared to move more and more out of the line of his ap- proach. Under these circumstances his only chance was to float as near as possible, and then make a last effort to reach the land. Nearer and nearer he came. At last he was close by it, but the extreme point of the island lay to the right more than twenty yards. This was the crisis of his fate, for now if he floated on any longer he would be earned farther away. The shore was here low but steep, the waters appeared to be deep, and a heavy surf dashed upoL the island, and threw up its spray far over the mound. He was so near that he could dis- tinguish the pebbles on the beach, and could see beyond the mound a long, flat surface with thin grass growing. Beyond this point was another a hundred yards away, but farther out of his reach, and affording no hope whatever. Between the two points there was an inlet into the island showing a I'ttle cove ; but the surf just here became wilder, and long rollers careered one past another over the inter- vening space. It was a hopeless prospect. Yet it was his last chance. Brandon made up his mind. lie let go the hen-coop, and summoning up all his strength he struck out for the shore. But this time the wind and sea were against him, bearing hhn past the point, and the waves dashed over him more qnick- ly and furiously than before. He was swept past the point before he had made half a dozen strokes ; he was borne on still struggling; and now on his left lay the rollers which he had seen. In spite of all his efforts lie was farther away from the island than when he had left the hen-coop. Yet all hope and all life dejtended ujion the issue of this last effort. The fifteen or twenty min- utes of rest and of breathing-space which lie had gained had been of immense advantage, and he struggled with all the force which could be in- spired by the nearness of safety. Yet, after all, Imman efforts can not withstand the fury of the elements, and here against this strong sea tho strongest sv/immer could not hope to contend successfully. " Never I ween was swimmer In such au evil case." He swam toward the shore, but the wind strik- ing him from one side, and urging on the sea, drove him sideways, ir^ome progress was made, but the force of the waters was fearful, and for every foot that he moved forward 1ie was carried six feet to leeward. He himself saw this, and calculating his chances he perceived with despair that he was already beyond the first ])oint, and that at the present rate there was no possibility of gaining the farther point. Already the waves leaped exultingly about him, dashing over him now more wildly, since he was exposed more than before to their full 8w«?ep. Already the rollers lay close beside him on his left. Then it seemed as though he would be engulfed. Turning his head backward with a last faint thought of trying to regain the hen- coop, so as to prolong life somewhat, he saw it far away out of his reach. Then all hope left him. He was now at the outermost line of rollers. At the moment that he turned his head a huge wave raised him up and bore him forward. He struggled still, even in that time of despair, and fought with his enemies. They bore him on- ward, however, none the less helplessly, and de- scending carried him with them. But now at last, as he descended with that wave, hope came back, and all his despair van- ished. For as the wave flung him downward his feet touched bottom, and he stood for a moment erect, on solid, hard sand, in water that scarcely reached above his knees. It was for a moment only that he stood, however, for the sweep of the water bore him down, and he fell forward. Before he could regain himself another wave came and hurled him farther forward. By a violent effort he staggered to his feet. In an instant he comprehended his position. At this western end the island descended gently into the water, and the shonl which it formed ex- tended for miles away. It was this shoal that caused the long rollers that came over them so vehemently, and in such marked contrast with the more abrupt waves of the sea behind. In an instant he had comprehended this, and had tiken his course of action. Now he had foothold. Now the i^round be- neatn lent its aid to his endeavor ; he w as no lon- ger altogether at the mercy of the wfcter. He ' bounded forward toward the shore in such a di- ref:tion that he could approach it without oppos- M CORD AND CREE-5E. "he staggered up a few paces upon the sandy declivity." ing himself entirely to the waves. The point that stretched out was now within his reach. The waves rolled past it, but by moving in an obliciue direction he could gain it. Again and again the high rollers came for- ward, hurling him up as they caught him in their embrace, and then casting him down again. As he was caught up from the bottom he sustained himself on the moving mass, and supported him- self on the crest of the wave, but as soon as his feet touched bottom again he sprang forward to- ward the point which now became every minute more accessible. Wave after wave came, each more furious, each more ravenous than the pre- ceding, as though hounding one another on to make sure of their prey. But now that the hope of life was strong, and safety had grown almost assured, the deathlike weakness which but short- ! ly before had assailed him gave way to new-bom ! strength and unconquerable resolve. I At length he reached a place where the rollers were of less dimensions. His progress became : more rapid, until at length the water became ex- i ceedingly shallow, being not more than a foot in i depth. Here the first point, where the mound was, protected it from the wind and sea. Tliis j was the cove which he had noticed. The water j was all white with foam, but offered scarcely any j resistance to him. He had but to wade onward i to the shore. CORD AND CREESE. n Tliat shore wns -^t lut attained. He stag- gered up a few paces . pon the sandy declivity, and then fell down exhaiui^'* upon the ground. He could not move. ItwasNte; night came on, hut he lav where he hod falle. until at last bo fell iiito a u^und nleep. CHAPTER V. THE MYSTERY OP COFFIN ISLAND. When Brandon av>aked on the following morning the sun was already high in the sky. He rose at once and walked slowly up, with stifr- ened limbs, to a higher spot. His clothes already were partly dry, but they were uncomfortable and impeded his motion. He took off nearly every thing, and laid them out on the sand. Then he examined his pistol and the bo.K con- taining cartridges. This box held some oil also, with the help of which the pistol was r-oon in good order. As the cartridges were encased in copper they were uninjured. He then exam- ined a silver case which was suspended round his neck. It was cylindrical in shape, and the top unscrewed. On opening this he took out his father's letter and the inclosure, both of which were uninjured. He then rolled them up in a small compass and restored them to their place. He now began to look about him. Tlie storm had ceased, the waves had subsided, a slight breeze was blowing from the sea which just ruf- fled the water and tempered the heat. The isl- and on which he had been cast was low, flat, and covered with a coarse grass which grew out of the sand. But the sand itself was in many places thrown up into ri.l;,'es, and appeared as though it was constantly shifting and changing; The mound was not far away, and at the eastern end of the island he could see the black outline of the rock which he had noticed from the ship. The length he had before heard to be about five miles, the width appeared about one mile, and in its whole aspect it seemed nothing better than the abomination of desolation. At the end where he was the island termina- ted in two points, between which there was the cove where he had found refuge. One of these points was distinguished by the mound already mentioned, which from where he stood appeared of an irregular oblong sha-e. The other point was low, and descended gently into the water. The island itself appeared to be merely the emerg- ence of some sand-bank which, perhaps, had boen foi-med by currents and eddies ; for here tht currents of the Strait of Sunda encounter those from the Southern and Indian oceans, and this bank lay probably near their point of union. A short survey showed him this. It showed him also that there was but little if any hope of sustaining life, and that he had escaped drown- ing only perhaps to perish by the more lingering agonies of starvation. Already hunger and thirst had begun to be felt, and how to satisfy these wants he knew not. Still he would not despair. Perhaps the Java might return in search of him, and his confine- ment would only last for a day or so. He understood the act of Cigole in a way that was satisfactory to himself. He had thrown him overboard, but had made it appear like ai^ accident. As he fell he had heard the shout " Man overboard !" and was now able to account for it in this way. So a faint hope remained that the captain of ihe Java would not give him up. Still subsistence of some kind was necessary, and there was nothing to be done but to explore the sandy tract before him. Setting forth he walked toward the rock along the sea-shore. On one side toward the north the shore was shallow and sloped gently into the water; but on the southern side it descended more abruptly. The tide was out. A steep beach appeared here cov- ered with stones to which myriads of shell-fish were attached. The sight of these suggested the idea to him that on the opposite side there might be clams in the sand. He walked over there in search of them. Here the slope was so gradual that extensive flats were left uncovered by the receding tide. When a boy he had been sometimes accus- tomed to wander on sand flats near his home, and dig up these clams in sport. Now his boy- ish experience became useful. Myriads of little holes dotted the sand, which he knew to be the indications of these molluscs, and he at once be- g-an to scoop in the sand with his hands. In a short time he had found enough to satisfy his hunger, and what was better, he saw all around an unlimited supply of such food. Yet food was not enough. Drink was equally necessary. The salt of these shell-fish aggrava- ted the thirst that he had already begun to feel, and now a fear came over him that there might be no water. The search seemed a hopeless one ; but he determined to seek for it neverthe- less, and the only place that seemed to promise success was the rock at the eastern end. To- ward this htj now once more directed his steps. The island was all of sand except the rocks on the south beach and the clifl* at tlie eastern end. Coarse grass grew very extensively over the sur- face, but the sand wvts fine and loose, and in many places thrown up into heaps of many dif- ferent shapes. The grass grew in tufts or in spires and blades, thinly scattered, and nowhere forming a sod. The soil was difficult to walk over, and Brandon soupht the beach, where the damp sand att'orded a firmer foothold. In about an hour and a half he reached the rock. It was between five hundred and (fix hundred feet in length, and about fifty in height. There was no resemblance to a coffin now as Brandon approachetl it, for that likeness was only discern- ible at a distance. Its sides were steep and pre- cipitous. It was one black solid mass, without any outlying crags, or any fragments near it. Its upper surface appeared to be level, and in various places it was very easy to ascend. . Up one of these places Brandon cUmbed, and soon stood on the top. Near him the summit was somewhat rounded ; at the farther end it was flat and irregular ; but between the two ends it sank into a deep hollow, where he saw that which at once excited a tu- mult of hope and fei^r. It was a pool of water at least fifty feet in diameter, and deep too, since the sides of the rock went down steeply. But was it fresh or salt ? Was it the accumulation from ^he showers of the rainy seasoa of the trop- ics, or was it but the result of the past night's CORD AND CREESE. •tomt, which had hurled wave after wave here till the hollow was tilled ? With haaty footste]m he rushed toward the margin of the pool, and bent down to taste. For a moment or ho, hy a very natural feeling, ho beititated, then, throwing off the fever of sus- pense, he bent down, kneeling on the margir., till hia lips touched the wuter. It was fresh! Yes. it w»i from the heavens above, and not from the sea below. It was the fresh rains from the sky that had filled this deep pool, and not the spray from the seii. Again and again he quaffed the refreshing liijuid. Not a trace of the salt-water could be detected. It was a natural cistern which thus luy Insfore him, formed as though for the reception of the ruin. For the present, at least, he was safe. He had food and drink. As long as the rainy season lasted, and for some time after, life was secure. Life becomes doubly sweet after being purchased by such efforts as those which Bran- don had put fortli, and the thought that for the I)resent, at least, he v.iw snfo did not fail to fill iiim with the most buoyant hope. To him, in- deed, it seemed just then as if nothing more could be desired. He had food and drink in abund- once. In that climate shelter was scarcely need- ed. What more could he wish ? The first day was passed in exploring the rock to see if there was any place which he miglit select for his abode. There were several fissures in the rock at the eastern end, and one of these he se- lected. He then went back for his clothes, and brought them to this place. So the first day went. All the time his eyes wandered round the ho- rizon to see if a sail might be in sight. After two or three days, in which nothing appeared, he ceased his constant watch, though still from time to time, by a natural impulse, he continued to look. After all he thought that rescue might come. He was somewhat out of the track of tlie China ships, but still not very much so. An adverse wind might bring a ship close by. The hope of this sustained him. Hut day succeeded to day and week to week with no appearance of any thing wliatever on the wide ocean. During these long days he passed the greater part of his time either under the shelter of the rock, where he could best avoid the hot sun, or when the sea-breeze blew on its summit. The frightful solitude offered to him absolutely no- thing which could distract his thoughts, or pre- vent him from brooding upon the hopelessness of his situation. Brooding thus, it became his chief occupation to read over and over his father's letter and the inclosure, and conjecture what might be his course of action if he ever escaped from this place. His father's voice seemed now to sound to him more imploringly than ever; and the winds at night, as they moaned round the rock, seemed to roodidate themselves, to form their pounds to something like a wild cry, and wail forth, ' ' Come home !" Yet that home was now surely farther removed than ever, and the winds seemed only to mock him. More sad and more despairing than Ulysses on the Ogj'gian shore, he too wasted away with home-sickness. Karii^tTO ck yXviei's aiijjv voarov oSvpontvif). Fate thns far had been against him, and the melancholy recollections of his post life conid vield nothing but des|)ondency. Driven froi : home when but a l)oy, he had become an exile, had wandered to the other side of the world, and was just beginning to attniii some pro)i))ect of a fortune when this letter came. Rising up from the prostration of that blow, he had struggled against fate, but only to encounter a more over- mastering force, and this last stroke had Iwen the worst of all. Could he rally after this'/ Could he now Iiojks to escape ? Fate had been against hiin; but yet, perhaps, here, on this lonely i.shind, he might find a tuni- ing-|Mjint. Here lie might find that turning in the long lane which the jiroverb speaks of. ' ' The day is darkest before the mom, " and perhaps he would yet have Fate on his side. But the sternest and most courageous spirit can hardly maintain its fortitude in an utter and unmitigated solitude. St. Simeon Stylites could do so, but he felt that on the top of that pillar there rested the eyes of the heavenly hosts and of admiring mankind. It is when the conscious- ness of utter solitude comes that the soul sinks. When the prisoner thinks that he is forgotten by the outside world, then he loses that strength which sustained him while he believed himself remembered. It was the lot of Brandon to have this sense of utter desolation ; to feel that in all the world there was not one human being that knew of his fate ; and to fear that the eye of Providpnce only saw him with indifference. With bitterness he thought of the last words of his father's letter: " If in that other world to which I am going the disembodied sjiiiit can assist man, then be sure, () my son, I will assist you, and in the crisis of your fate I will be near, if it is only to com- municate to your spirit what you ought to do." A melancholy smile passed over his face as ha thought of what seemed to him the utter futility of that promise. Now, as the weeks passed, his whole mode of life affected both mind and body. Yet, if it be the highest state of man for the soul to live by itself, as Socrates used to teach, and sever itself from bodily association, Brandon surely had at- tained, without knowing it, a most exalted stage of existence. Perhaps it was the period of pu- rification and preparation for future work. The weacher varied incessantly, calms and storms alternating ; sometimes all the sea lying dull, listless, and glassy under the burning sky ; at other times both sea and sky convulsed with the war of elements. At last there came one storm so tremendous that it exceeded all that Brandon had ever seen any where. The wind gathered itself up from the south- east, and for a whole day the forces df the tem- pest collected themselves, till at last they burst in fury upon the island. In sustained violence and in the frenzy of its assault it far surpassed that first storm. Before sundown the storm was at its height, and, though yet day, the clouds were so dense and so black that it became like night. Night came on, and the storm, and roar, and darkness increased steadily every hour. So intense was the darkness that the hand, when held close by the face, could not be distingiushed. So resistless was the force of the wind that Bran- doi:, on looking out to sea, had to cling to the CORD AND CREESE. n rock to prevent himself from lieint; blown awav. A denMe ruin of Mpray streamed through the air, aiul the §urf, rolling up, flung iu crcat all arroHit the island. Brandon roiild hear l)«neath him, amidst Home of the i)au.'n the land, and on the lee-side of the rock, so that he was sufficiently protected. Sand, which he hud earned up, formed his lied. In this place, which was more like the lair of a wild beast than the alxMle of a human l>eing, he had to live. Moiiy wakeful nights he had pa.tsed there, but never had he known such a night as thi.s. There was a frenzy about this hurricane that would have been inconceivable if he had not witnessed it. His senses, refined and rendered acute by long vigils and slender diet, seemed to detect audible words in the voice of the storm, looking out through the gloom his sight seemed to discern 8hai>es flitting by like lightning, as though the fubled 8])irits of the storm had gath- ereeen on tho island he had never Iwen close to the mound. He had remained for tho most part in the neigh- borhood of the riH'k, and had never thougirt that a barren sand hillock was wofthy of a vii^it. But now it ap|)eared a veiy different object in hit eyes. He walked on over half the intervening dis- tance, and now the resemblance instead of fading out, as he anticiuuted, grew more close. It was still ttH) far to !)« hoen very distinctly ; but there, even from that distance, he saw the unmistaka- ble outline of a ship's hull. There was now scarcely any doubt about this. There it lay. Every step only made it more vis- ible. He walked more quickly onward, filled with wonder, and marveling by what strange chance this vessel could have reached its present position. There it lay. It could not by any possibility have been cast ashore on the preceding night. The mightiest billows that ever rose from ocean could never have lifted a ship so far upon the shore. To him it was certain that it must have been there for a long time, and that the sand had been heaped around it by successive storms. Ashe walked nearer he regarded more closely the formation of this western end. He saw the low northern point, and then the cove where he had escaped from the sea. He noticed that the southern point where the mound was appeared to be a sort of peninsula, and the theory sug- gested itself to him by which he could account for this wonder. This ship, he saw, must have been wrecked at some time long before upon this island. As the shore was shallow it bad run aground and stuck fast in the sand. But suc- cessive storms had continued to beat upon it un- til the moving sands which the waters were con- stantly driving about had gathered all around it higher and higher. At last, in the course of time, a vast accumulation had gathered about this obstacle till a new bank had been formed and joined to the island ; and the winds had lent their aid, heaping up the loose sand on high till all the ship was covered. But last night's storm had to some extent undone the work, and now the wreck was once more exposed. Brandon was happy in his conjecture and right in his theory. All who know any thing about the construction and nattu'e of sand islands such as this are aware that the winds and waters work perpetual changes. The best known example of this is the far-famed Sable Island, which lies off' the coast of Nova Scotia, in the direct track of vessels crossing the Atlantic between England and the United States. Here there is repeated on a far larger scale the work which Brandon saw on Coffin Island. Sable Island is twenty miles long and about one in width — the crest of a vast heap of sand which rises out of the ocean's bed. Here the wildest storms in the world rage uncontrolled, and the keeper^ of the light-house have but little shelter. Not long ago an enormotis flag-staff" was torn from out its place and hurled 2S CORD AND CREESK '•CHEAT HKAVENS!" CBIED BRANDON, STARTING HACK — " THE 'viSHSUl'" away into the sea. in fierce storms the spray drives all across, and it is impossible to venture out. But most of all. Sable Island is famous for the melancholy wrecks that have taken place there. Often vessels that have the bad fortune to nin aground are broken up, but sometimes the sand gathers about them and covers them up. 'I'here are numerous mounds here which are known to conceal wrecked ships. Some of these have been opened, and the wreck beneath has been brought to view. Sometimes also after a severe gale these sandy mounds are torn away and the buried vessels are exposed. Far away in Australia Brandon had heard of Sable Island from different sea captains who had .-jen in the Atlantic trade. The stories which these men had to tell were all largely tinged with the supernatural. One in particular who had been wrecked there, and had taken refuge for the night in a hut built by the British Government for wrecked sailors, told some wild storj- about the apparition of a negro who waked him up at dead of night and nearlj' killed him with horror. With all these thoughts in his mind Brandon approached the wreck and at last stocKl close be- side it. It had been long buried. The hull was about two-thirds uncovered. A vast heap of sand still dung to the bow, but the stern stood out full in view. Although it must have been there for a COKD AND CREESE. 29 long time the planks were iitill Mund, for thoy tteumed to have l>een preserved from decay by the sand. All the ralkin);, however, had be- come louse, and the seams gitfied widely. There were no musts, but the lower part of the shrouds still rcmuined, showing that (he vessel was a \ttig. So deejily was it buried in the sand, that lirandon, from where he stood, could look over the whole deck, he himself l>eing almost on a level with the deck. The musts appeared to have been chopped away. The hatchways were gone. The hold api)eared to be filled with sand, but there mny have been only a layer of sand con- cciiling something beneath. I'nrt of the plunk- ing of the deck us well as most of the taflruil on the other side hud l)cen carried away. Astern there was a quarter-deck. There was no sky- light, but only dead-lights set on the deck. The door of the cabin still remained and was shut tight. . All these things nrandon took in at a glance. A |>ensive melancholy came over him, and a feel- ing of pity for the inanimate ship as though she were capable of feeling. By a natiind curiosity lie walked around to the stern to see if he coulil reud her name. The stem was buried deep in tho sand. He had to kneel to read it. On the side nertrest him the letters were obliterated, but he ?aw some remaining on the opposite side. He went over there and knelt down. There were four letters still legible and part of a fifth. These were the letters : VISH^ '•Great Heavens!' cried Brandon, starting back— "the i'Mnu!" CHAPTER VI. THB DWELLER IN THE SUNKEN SHIP. After a moment of horror Brandon walked away for a short distance, and then turning he looked fixedly at the wreck for a long time. Could this be indeed the ship — the Vishnu f By what marvelous coincidence had he thus fallen upon it? It was in 1828 that the Vishnu sailed from Calcutta for Manilla. Was it possible for this vessel to be preserved so long ? And if so, how did it get here ? Yet why not ? As to its preservation that was no matter in itself for wonder. East Indian ves- sels are sometimes built of mahogany, or other woods which lust for immense periods. Anv wood . ■ -ht endure for eighteen years if covered up by sa ' Besides, this vessel he recollected had been . lei with staves and bo.\ shocks, with "''•:r woou materials which would keep it t- It m t have drifted about these seas till tnt •'•onf bore it here. After all it was not so wonuv. hat this should be the Vishnu of Colonel Desj 1. The true mj.. el was that he himself should have been .cast ashore here on the same place where this ship was. He stood for a long time not caring to enter. His strength had been worn down by the priva- tions of his island life ; his nerves, "usually like steel, were becoming unstrung; his mind had fallen into a morbid state, and was a prey to a thousand ttninge fancie*. 'I'lie duMd iloont of the cabin stood there Itefore him, and h« l)egaii to imagine that some fri(,-htful s))ectttcle was cun- ceale«l within. I'erhaps he would find some tnu-es of that tragedy of which be hud heard, ^ince tho ship had come here, and he hod l>cen cast usiiore to meet it, there was nothing which he miglu not anticipate. A strange horror came over him as he looked at the cabin. But he was not the man to yield tu idle fimcies. Taking a long breath he walketh of a foot. As yet, however, he could not enter. There was nothing else to do except to kick at it till it was all knocked away, and this after somo patient labor was accomi)lished. He entered. The cabin was about twelve feet square, lighted by dead-lights in the deck above. On each side we.i two state-rooms, probably in- tended for the ship's oflScers. The doors we.e all open. The sand had drifted in here and covered the floor and the berths. 'I'he floor of the cabin was covered with sand to the depth of a foot. There wns no large opening through which it could enter ; but it had probably pene- trated through the cracks of the doorway in a fine, impalpable dust, and had covered every available surface within. In the centre of the cabin was a table, secured to the floor, as ships' tables alwoys are ; and im- mediately over it hung the barometer which was now all corroded and coversd with mould and rust. A half dozen stools were around, some lying on their sides, some upside down, and one standing upright. The door by which he had entered was at one side, on the other side was another, and between the two stood a sofa, the shape of which was jilainly discernible under the sand. Over this was a clock, which had ticked it& last tick. On some racks over the closet there were a few guns and swords, intended, perhaps, for the de- fensive armament of the brig, but all in the la.st stage of rust and of decay. Brandon took one or two down, but they broke with their own weight. The sand seemed to have drifted more deeply into the state-rooms, for while its depth in the cabin was only a foot, in these the depth was nearly two feet. Some of the l)etlding projected from the l)ertlis, but it was a mass of mould and crumbled at the touch. Brandon went into each of these rooms iu sac- 8U CORD AND CREESE. cession, and brnshed ont the heavy, wet sand from the berths. The rotten quilts and blankets fell with the sand in matted masses to the floor. In each room was a seaman's chest. Two of these were covered deeply ; the other two bL^ lightly : the latter were unlocked, and he opened the Uds. Only some old clothes appeared, hov/ever, and these in the same stage of decay as every thing else. In one of them was a book, or rather ■vhat had once been a book, but now the leaves were all stuck together, and formed one lump of slime and mould. In spite of his most care- ful search he had thus far found nothing what- ever which could be of the slightest benefit to him in his solitude and necessity. There were still two rooms which he had not yet examined. These were at the end of the cabin, at the stern of the ship, each taking up one half of the width. The sand had drifted in here to about the same depth as in the side- rooms. He entered first the one nearest him, which was on the right side of the ship. This room was about ten feet long, extending from the middle of the ship to the side, and about six feet wide. A telescops was the first thing which attracted his attention. It lay in a rack near the doorway. He took it down, but it tell apart at once, being completely corroded. In the mid- dle of the room there was a compass, which hung from the ceiling. But the iron pivot had rusted, and the plate had fallen down. Some more gui.s and swords were here, but all rusted like the others. There was a table at the wall by the stem, covered with sand. An arm-chair stood close by it, and opposite this was a couch. At the end of this room was a berth which had the same appearance as the other berths in the other rooms. The quilts and mattresses as he felt them beneath the damp sand were equally de- cayed. Too long h;id the ship been exposed to the ravages of time, and Brandon saw that to seek for any thing hsre which could be of the slightest service to himself was in the highest degree useless. This last room seemed to him as though it might have been the captain's. That ca[)tain was CJgole, the very man who had flung him overboard. He had unconsciously by so doing sent him to the scene of his early crime. Was this visit to be all in vain ? Thus far it seemed so. But might there not yet be something beneath this sand which might satisfy him in his search ? There still remained another room. Might there not be something there ? Brandon went back into the cabin and stood looking at the open doonvay of that other room. He hesitated. Why? Perhaps it was the thought that here was his last chance, that here his exploration must end, and if nothing came of it then all this adventure would be in vain. Then the fantastic hopes and fears which by turns had agitated him would prove to have been ab- surd, and he, instead of being sent by Fate as the minister of vengeance, would be only the commonplace victim of an everyday accident. Perhaps it was some instinct within him that made known to his mind what awaited him there. For now as he stood that old horror came upon him full and strong. Weakness and e.xcitement made his heart beat and his ears ring. Now his fancy became wild, and he recalled with painful vividness his father's words : " In the crisis of your fate I will be near." The horrors of the past night recurred. The air of the cabin was close and suffocating. There seemed in that dark room before him some dread Presence, he knew not what ; some Being, who had uncovered this his abode and enticed him here. He found himself rapidly falling into that state in which he would not have been able either to advance or retreat. One overmastering horror seized him. Twice his spirit sought to over- come the faintness and weakness of the flesh. Twice he stepped resolutely forward ; but each time he faltered and recoiled. Here was no place for him to summon up his strength. He could bear it no longer. He turned abruptly and rushed out from the damp, gloomy pla'-e into the warm, bright sunshine and the free air of heaven. The air was bright, the wind blew fregh. He drank in great draughts of that delicious breeze, and the salt sea seemed to be inhaled at each breath. The sun shone brilliantly. The sea rolled afar and all around, and sparkled before him under the sun's rays with that infinite laughter, that avripiOiiov ykXaana of which JEschylus spoke in his deep love of the salt sea. Speaking i)aren- thetically, it may be said that the only ones from among articulate speaking men wlio have found fitting epithets for the sea are the old Greek, the Scandinavian, and the Englishman. Brandon drew in new strength and life with every breath, till at last he began to think once more of returning. But even yet he feared that when l:e entered that cabin the spell would be on l.im. The thought of attempting it was intolerable. Yet what was to be done ? To remain unsatisfied was equally intolerable. To go back to hib rock was not to be thought of. But an effort must be made to get rid of this womanly fear ; why should he yield to this ? Sure- ly there were other thoughts which he might call to his mind. There came over him the memory of that villain who had cast him here, who now was exulting in his fancied success and bearing back to his master tlie rews. There came to him the thought of his father, and his wrongs, and his woe. There came to his memory his father's dying words summoning him to venge- ance. There came to him the thought of those who yet lived and suffered in England, at the mercy of a pitiless enemy. Should he falter at a superstitious fancy, he — who, if he lived, had so great a purpose ? All superstitious fancy laded away. The thirst for revenge, the sense of intolerable wrong arose. Fear and horror died out utterly, destroyed by Vengeance. "The Pre?'ince, then, is my ally," he mur- mured. " I will go and face It." And he walked resolutely, with a firm step, back into the cabin. Yet even then it needed all the new-bom res- olution which he had summoned up, and nil the thought of his wrong, to sustain him as he en- tered that inner room. Even then a shai'fi thrill passed through him, and bodily weakness could only be sustained by the strong, resolute, stub- bom soul. The room was about the size of the captain's. CORD AND CREESE. 81 'THURE SEEMED A GHASTLY COMICALITY IN SUCH / THING A8 THIS, ETC. There was a table agijinst the side, which looked like a leaf which could hang down in case of ne- cessity. A trunk stood opposite the door, with the open lid projecting upward out of a mass of sand. Upon the wall there hung the collar of a coat and part of the shoulders, the rest having a])parently fallen awav from decay. The color of the co:;t could still be distinguished ; it was red, and tlie epaulets showed that it had belr.nged to a Hritish oftii-er. Brandon on entering took m all these detaris at a glance, and then his eyes were drawn to the berth at the end of tlie room, where that Thing lay whose ])resence he had felt and feared, and which he knew by an internal conviction must be here. There It awaited nim. on the berth. Sand had covered it, like a coverlet, up to the neck, *hile beyond that protruded the head. It was turned toward him ; a bony, skeleton head, whose hollow cavities seemed not altogether va- cancy but rather dark eyes which looked gloom- ily at biin dark eyes fixed, motionless ; which had HcHMi thus fixed through the long years, watcliinif wi^tfi.lly for him, expecting his en- trance through that doorway. And this was the Being who nad assisted him to the shore, and who had thrown off the covering of sand with which he had concealed himself, so as to bring him here before him Brandon stood motion- less, mute. The face was turned toward iiim — that face which is at once human and yet most frightful, since it is the face of Death — the face of a skeleton. The jaws had fallen apart, and that fearful grin which is fixed on the flesliless face here seemed like an effort at a smile of wel- come. The hair still clung to that head, and hung down over the lleshless forehead, giving it moie the appearance of Death in life, and lending a new horror to that which already penaded this Dweller in the Ship. "The nightmare Life-hi-Death was he. That thicks men'? Wood with cold." Brandon stood while his blood ran chill, and his breath came fast. If that Form had suddenly thrown oflF its sandy coverlet and risen to his feet, and advanced with extended hand to meet him. he would not have been surprised, nor would he have been one whit more horror-stricken. Brandon stood fixed. He could not move. 83 CORD AND CREESE. He was like one in a nightmare. His limbs seemed rigid. A spell was upon him. His eyes seemed to fasten themselves on the hollow cavities of the Form before him. But under that tremendous pressure he did not altogether sink. Slowly his spirit rose ; a thought of flight came, but it was instantly rejected. The next moment he drew a long breath. " I'm an in- fernal fool and coward," he muttered. He took three steps forward, and stood beside the^igure. He laid his hand firmly upon the head ; the hair fell off at his touch. "Poor devil," said he, "I'll bury your bones at any rate." The spell was broken, and Brandon was himself again. Once more Brandon walked out into the open air, but this time there was not a vestige of hor- ror left. He had encounteied what he dreaded, and it was now in bis eyes only a mass ot bones. Yet there was much to think of, and the struggle which had raged within him had exhausted him. The sea-breeze played about him and soon restored his strength. What next to do was the question, and after some deliberation he decided at once to remove the skekton and bury it. A flat board which had served as a shelf sup- plied him with an easy way of turning up the sand. Occupation was pleasant, and in an hour or two he had scooped out a place large enough for the purpose which h» had in view. He then went back into the inner cabin. Taking his board he removed carefully the sand which had covered the skeleton. The clothes came away with it. As he moved his board along it struck something hard. He could not see in that -Vim light what it was, so he read ed down his hand and grasped it. It was something which the fingers of the skeleton also encircled, for his own hand as he grasped it touched tlwse fingers. Drawing it tbrth he perceived that it was a common junk bottle tightly corked. There seemed a gh.istly comicality in such a thing as this, that this lately dreaded Being should be nothing more than a common skele- ton, and that he should be discovered in this bed of horror doing nothing more dignified than clutching a junk bottle like a sleeping drunkard. Brandon smiled faintly at the idea; and then thinking that, if the liquor weie good, it at least would be welconve to him in his present situation. He walked out ni)oii the deck, in- tending to open it and test its contents. So he «at down, and, taking his knife, he pushed the cork in. Then he smelled tlie supposed liquor to see what it might be. There was only a musty odor. He looked in. The bottle appeared to be filled with paper. Then the whole truth flashed upon his mind. He struck the bottle upon the deck. It broke to atoms, and there lay a scroll of paper covered with writing. He seized it eagerly, and was about opening it to read what was written when he noticed something else that also had fallen from the bottle. It was a cord about two yards in length, made of the entrail of some animal, and still as strong and as flexible as v.'hen it was first made. He took it up carefully, wondering why such a thing as this should have been so carefully sealed up and preserved when so many other things had been neglected. The cord, on a close examination, presented nothing very remarkable except the fact that, though very thin, it appeared to have been not twisted but plaited in a very peculiar manner out of many fine strands. The intention had evidently been to give to it the utmost possible strength together with the smallest size. Bran- don had heard of cords used by Malays and Hindus for assassination, and this seemed like the description which he had read of them. At one end of the cord was a piece of bronze about the size of a common marble, to which the cord was attached by a most peculiar knot. The bronze itself was intended to represent the head of some Hindu idol, the grotesque ferocity of its features, and the hideous grimace of the mouth being exactly like what one may see in the images of Mother Kali or Bowhani. At once the cord associated itself in his mind with the horrors which he had heard of as hav- ing been perpetrated in the names of these fright- ful deities, and it seemed now to be more than a common one. He carefully wound it up, placed it in his pocket, and prepared to examine the manuscript. The sun was high in the heavens, the sea- breeze still blew freshly, while Brandon, opening the manuscript, began to read. CHAPTER VIL MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN A BOTTLE. " BbIG ' VlSUNir,' APEIFT IN THE CuiNEBB SeA. July 10, 1828. "Whoever finds this let him know that I, Lionel Despard, Colonel of H. M. 3"th Regi- ment, have been the victim of a foul conspiracy performed against me by the captain and crew of the brig Vishnu, and especially by my servant, John Potts. "Expecting at any time to perish, adrift help- lessly, at the mercy of winds and waves, I sit down now before I die, to write all the circum- stances of this affair. I will inclose the manu- script in a bottle and fling it into the sea, trust- ing in God that he may cause it to be borne to those who maj' be enabled to read my words, so that they may know my fate and bring the guilty to justice. Whoever finds this let him, if possi- ble, have it sent to my friend, Ralph JJrandon, of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, England, who will do more than any other man to cause justice to have its due. "To further the ends of justice and to satisfy the desires of my friends, I will write an account of the whole case. "In the name of God, I declare that John Potts is guilty of my death. He was my servant. I first found him in India under very remarkable circumstances. "It was in the year 182G. The Government was engaged in an eft'ort to put down bands of assassins by whom the most terrific atrocities had been committed, and I was appointed to conduct the work in the district of Agi'a. "The Thuggee society is still a mystery, though its nature may yet be revealed if they can only ca])ture the diief* and make him confess. As yet it is not fully known, and though I have • The chief was captured In lS.^o, and by his con- fession all the atrocious system of Thuggee was re- vealed. '. CORD AND CREESE. 88 heard much which I have reported to the Got- emment, yet I am slow to believe that any human beings can actually practice what I have heard. "The assassins whom I was pursuing eluded our pursuit with manelous agility and cunning, but one by one we captured them, and punished them summarily. At last we surrounded a band of Thugs, and to our amazement found among them a European and a small boy. At our at- tack the Hindus made a desperate resistance, and killed themselves rather than fall into our hands ; but the European, leading for\vard the little boy, fell on his knees and implored us to save him. " I had heard that an Englishman had joined these WTetches, and at first thought that this was the man ; so, desirous of capturing him, 1 or- dered my men whenever they found him to spare his life if possible. This man was at once seized and brought before me. " He had a piteous story to tell. He said that his name was John Potts, that he belonged to Southampton, and had been in India a year. He had come to Agra to look out for employ as a servant, and had been caught by the Thugs. They ottered to spare his life if he would join them. According to him they always make tliis offer. If it had only been himself that was con- cerned he said that he would have died a hun- dred times rather than have accepted ; but his little boy was with him, and to save his life he consented, hoping that somehow or other he might escape. They then received him with some horrible ceremonies, and marked on his arm and on the arm of his son, on the inner part of the right elbow, the name oi' Bowhani in Hindu characters. Potts showed me his arm and that of his son in proof of this. " He had been with them, according to his own account, about three months, and his life had been one continuous horior. He had picked up enough of their language to conjecture fi some extent the nature of their belief, which, he assert- ed, would be most important information for the Government. The Thugs had treated him very kindly, for they looked upon him as one of them- selves, and they are all very humane and affec- tionate to one another. His worst fear had been that they would compel him to do murder ; and he would have died, he declared, rather than con- sent ; but, fortunately, he was spared. The rea- son of this, he said, was because they always do their murder by strangling, since the shedding of blood is not acceptable to their divinity. He could not do this, for it requires great dexterity. Almost all their strangling is done by a thin, strong cord, curiously twisted, about six feet in length, with a weight at one end, generally carved so as to represent the face of Bowhani. This they throw with a peculiar jerk around the neck of their victim. The weight swings the cord round and round, while the strangler pulls at the other end, and death is inevitable. His hands, lie said, were coarse and clumsy, unlike the delicate 1 iindu hands ; and so, although they forced him to practice incessantly, he could not learn, lie said nothing about the boy, but, from what I saw of that boy afterward, 1 believe that nature created him especially to be a Thug, and have no doubt that he learned then to wield the cord >vith as much dexterity as the best strangler of them all. "His associr.iion with them had shown him much of their ordinary habits and some of their beliefs. I gathered from what he said that the basis of the Thugse« society is the v.'cr«htn of Bowhani, a frightful d2mon, whose highest joy is the sight of death or dead bodies. Those who are her disciples must offer up human victims killed without the shedding of blood, and the more he can kill the more of a saint he becomes. The motive for this is never gain, for they rarely plunder, but purely religious zeal The reward is an immortality of bliss hereafter, which Bow- hani will secure them ; a life like that of the Mo- hammedan Paradise, where there are material joys to be possessed forever without satiety. Destruction, which begins as a kind of duty, be- comes also at last, and naturally perhaps, an ab- sorbing passion. As the hunter in pursuing his prey is carried away by excitement and the en- thusiasm of the chase, or, in hunting the tiger, feels the delight of braving danger and displaying courage, so here that same passion is felt to an extraordinary degree, for it is Juan that must be pursued and destroyed. Here, in addition to courage, the hunter of man must call into exer- cise cunning, foresight, eloquence, intrigue. All this I afterward brought to the attention of the Government with very good results. "Potts declared that night and day he had been on the watch foe a chance to escape, but so infernal was the cunning of these wretches, and so quick their senses, sharpened as they had been by long practice, that success became hopeless. He had fallen into deep dejection, and concluded that his only hope la^ in the efforts of the Gov- ernment to put down these assassins. Our ap- pearance had at last saved him. " Neither I, nor any of my men, nor any En- glishman who heard this story, doubted for an instant the truth of every word. All the news- papers mentioned with delight the fact that an En- glishman and his son had been rescued. Pity was felt for that fiitlier who, forhis son's sake, had con- sented to dwell amidst scenes of terror, and sym- pathy for the anguish that he must have endured during that terrific captivity. A thrill of horror passed through all our Anglo-Indian society at the revelation which he made about Thuggee ; and so great was the feeling in his favor that a handsome subscription was made up for hiui by the ofBcers at Agra. "For my part I believed in him most im- plicitly, and, as I saw him to be unusually clever, I engaged him at once to be my serv- ant. He staid with me, and every month won more and more of my confidence. He had a good head for business. Matters of considerable delicacy which I intrusted to him were well per- formed, and at last I thought it the most fortu- nate circumstance in my Indian life that I had found such a man. "After about three years he expressed a wish to go to England for the sake of his son. He thought India a bad place for a boy, and wished to try and start in some business in his native land for his son's sake. "That boy liad always been my detestation — a crafty, stealthy, wily, malicious little demon, who was a perfect Thug in his nature, without any religious basis to his Thuggeeism. I pitied Potts for being the father of such a son. I could i not let the little devil live in my house ; his cru- 84 CORD AND CREESK elty to animals which he delighted to torture, his thieving propensities, and his infernal deceit, were all so intolerable. He was not more than twelve, but he was older in iniquity than many a grny-headed villain. To oblige Potts, whom I still trusted implicitly, I wrote to my old friend Ralph Brandon, of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, requesting him to do what he could for so de- serving a man. " Just about this time an event occurred which has brought me to this. "My sweet wife had been ill for two years. I had obtained a faithful nurse in the person of a Mrs. Compton, a poor creature, but gentle and affectionate, for whom my dear love's sympathy had been excited. No one could have been more faithful than Mrs. Compton, and I sent my darling to the hill station at Assurabad in hopes that the cooler air might reinvigorate her. "She died. It is only a month or two since that frightful blow fell and crushed me. To think of it overwhelms me — to write of it is impossible. " I could think of nothing but to tiy from my unendurable grief. I wished to get away from India any where. Before the blow crushed me I hoj)ed that I might carry my dai-ling to the Cape of Good Hope, and therefore I remitted there a large sum ; but after she left me I cared not where I went, and finding that a vessel was go- ing to Maiiilhi I decided to go there. " It was Potts who found out this. I now know that he engaged the vessel, put the crew on board, who were all creatures of his own, and took the route to Manilla for the sake of carrj-- ing out his designs on me. To give every thing a fair api)earance the vessel was laden with store? and things of that sort, for which there was a demand at Manilla. It was with the most per- fect indifference that I embarked. I cared not where I went, and hoped that the novelty of the sea voyage might benefit me. " The captain was an Italian named Cigole, a low-browed, evil-faced villain. The mate was named Clark. There were three I^ascars, who formed the small crew. Potts came with me, and also an old servant of mine, a Malay, whose life I had saved years before. His name was Uracao. It struck me tliat the crew was a small one, but 1 thought the caj)tain knew his business better than I, and so I gave myself no concern. " After we embarked Potts's manner changed very greatly. I remember this now, though I did not n(.:ice it at the time, for I was almost in a kind of stupor. He was ])avticuhirly insolent to Uracao. I remember once thinking indiffer- ently that Potts would have to be reprimanded, or kicked, or something of that sort, but was not capable of any action. " Uracao had for years slept in front of my door when at home, and, when traveling, in the same room. He always waked at the slightest noise. He regarded his life as mine, and thought that he was bound to watch over me till I died. Although this was often inconvenient, yet it would have broken the affeoionate fellow's heart if I had forbidden it, so it went on. Potts made an effort to induce him to sleep fonvard among the Lascars, but though Uracao had borne insolence from him without a murmur, this proposal made his eyes kindle with a menacing fire which si- lenced the other into fear. "The passage was a quick one, and at last we were only a few days' sail from Manilla. Now our quiet came to an end. - One night I was awakened by a tremendous strnggle in my cabin. Starting nij, I saw in the gloom two figures struggling desperately. It was impossible to see who they were. 1 sprang from the berth and felt for my jnstols. 'I'hey were gone. " ' What the devil is tliis ?' 1 roared fiercely. " No answer came ; but the next moment there was a tremendous fall, and one of the men clung to the other, whom he held downward. I sprang from my berth. There were low voices out in the cabin. " 'You can't,' said one voice, which I recog- nized as Clark's. ' He has his j.'istols.' ' 'He hasn't,' said the voice of Cigole. 'Potls took them away. He's unarmed. ' " 'Who are you?' I cried, grasping the man who was holding the other down. " ' Uracao,' said he. ' Get your pistols or you're lost ! ' " 'What the devil is the matter?' I cried, an- grily, for I had not even yet a suspicion. " 'Peel around j'our neck,' said lie. " Hastily I i)ut my hand up. A thrill of hor- ror passed through me. It was the Thuggee cord. '"Who is this?' I cried, grasping the man who had fallen. "' Potts, ' cried Uracao. 'Your j.istols are under your berth. Quick ! Potts tried to stran- gle you. There's a plot. The Lascars are Thugs. I saw the mark on their arms, the name of Bow- hani in Hindu letters.' "All the truth now seemed to flash across me. I lea))ed back to the berth to look under it f ;r my pistols. As I stooped there was a rush be- hind me. " ' Help ! Clark ! Quick !' cried the voice of Potts. ' This devil's strangling me !' "At this a tumult arose round the two men. Uracao was dragged oft". Potts rose to his feet. At that moment I found my pistols. I could not distinguish persons, but I ran the risk and fired. A sharp cry followed. Somebody was wounded. " ' Damn him !' cried Potts, ' he's got the pis- tols. ' "The next moment they had all rushed out, dragging Uracao with them. The door was drawn to violently with a bang and fastened on the outside. They had captured the only man who could help me, and I was a prisoner at the mercy of these miscreants. "All the remainder of the night and until the following morning I heard noises and tramp- ling to and fro, but had no idea whatever of what was going on. I felt indignation at the treachery of Potts, who, I now jierceived, had deceived me all along, but had no fear whatever of any thing that might happen. Death was rather grateful than otherwise. Still 1 determ- ined to sell my life as dearly as possible, and, loading my pistol once more, I waited for them to come. The only anxiety which 1 felt was about my poor faithful Malay. "But time passed, and at last all was still. There was no sound either of voices or of foot- steps. I waited for what seemed hours in im- patience, until finally I could endure it no lon- ger. I was not going to die like a dog. but de- termined at all hazards to go out anned, fac*i them, aud meet my doom at once. CORD AND CREESE. "A few ^-igorous kicks at the door broke it opeu and I walked out. There •■vas no one in the cabi'.i. I went out on deck. There was no one there. I saw it all. I was deserted. More ; the brig had settled down so low in the water that the sea was up to her gunwales. I looked out over the ocean to see if i could perceive any trace of them — Potts and the rest. I saw no- thing. They must have left long before. A faint smoke in the hatchway attracted my attention. Looking there, I perceived that it had been burn- ed away. The viiiiuns had evidently tried to scuttle the brig, and then, to make doubly sure, had kindled a fire on the cargo, thinking that the wooden materials of which it was composed would kindle readily. But the water had rush- ed in too rapidly for the flames to spread ; never- theless, the water was not able to do its work, for the wood cargo kept the brig afloat. She was water-logged but still floating. "The masts and shrouds were all cut away. The vessel was now little better than a raft, and was drifting at the mercy of the ocean currents. For iny part I did not much care. I had no desire to go to Manilla or any where else ; and the love of life which is usually so strong did not exist. I should have preferred to have been killed or drowned at once. Instead of that I lived. "She died on June 15. It was the 2d of Juiy when tliis occurred which I have narrated. It is now the lOth. For a week I liuve been drifting I know not where. I have seen no land. There are enough provisions and water on board to sustain mc for months. The weather has been fine thus far. "I have written this with tiie wish that who- ever may find it will send it to Ralph Brandon, Esq. , of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, that he may see that justice is done to Potts, and the rest of the conspirators. Let him also try, if it be not too late, to save Uracao. If this fall into the hands of any one going to England let it be de- livered to him as above, but if the finder be going to India let him place it in the hands of the Gov- ernor-Genoral ; if to China or any other place, let him give it to the authorities, enjoining them, however, after using it, to send it to Ralph Brandon as above. "It will be seen by this that John Potts was in connection with the Thugs, probably fur the sake of plundering those whom they murdered ; that he conspired against me and tried to kill me ; and that he has wrought my death (for I expect to die). An examination of my desk r-hows that he has taken papers and bank bills to the amount of four thousand pounds with him. It was this, no doubt, that induced him to make this attempt against me. , " I desire also hereby to appoint Henry Thorn- ton, Sen., Esq., of Holby Pembroke, Solicitor, my executor and the giiardian of my son Court- enay, to wiom I bequeath a fiithers blessing and all th tt I possess. Let him try to secure my money in v'^ape Town for my boy, and, if possible, to regain for him the four thousand jKJunds which Potts has carried oflT. "Along with this manuscript I also inclose the strangling cord. "May God have mercy ui)on my soul! Amen. "Lionel Deupakd." "July 28. — Since I wrote this there has been a series of tremendous storms. The weather has cleared up again. I have seen no land and no ship. ^^ July 31. — Land to-day visjble at a great distance on the south. I know not what laud it may be. I can not tell in what direction I am drifting. '■''August 2. — Land visible toward tlie south- we.st. It seems like the summit of a range of mountains, and is probably fifty miles distant. ^' Atujust '). — A sail apjjeared on tiie lioiizon. It was too distant to perceive me. It passed out of sight. '■'■ August 10. — A series of severe giiles. The sea always rolls over the brig in these stonns, and sometimes seems about to carry her tlown, '^^ August 20. — Storms and calms alternating. When will this end ? '■''August 25. — Land again toward the west. It seems as though I may be drifting among the islands of the Indian Archipelago. "September 2. — I have been sick for a week. Unfortunately I am beginning to recover again. A faint blue streak in the north seems like land. "■September 10. — Open water. " September 23. — A series of storms. How the brig can stand it I can not see. I remem- ber Potts telling me that she was built of mahog- any and copper-fastened. She does not iijijjear to be much injured. I am exceedingly weak from ivant and exposure. It is witli difiieulty that I can move about. " October 2. — Three months adrift. My God have mercy on me, and .nake haste to deliver me I A storrn is rising. Let all Thy waves and billows ovenvhelm me, O Lord ! " October r>. — A terrific storm. Eaged three days. The brig has run aground. It is a low island, with a rock about five miles away. Thank God. my last hour is at hand. The sea is rush- ing in with tremendous violence, hurling sand upon the brig. I shall drift no more. I can scarcely hold this pen. These are my last words. This is for Ralph Brandon My bless- ing for my loved son. I feel death coming. Whether the storm takes me or not, I must die. "Whoever finds this will take it from my hand, and, in the name of God, I charge him to do my bidding. " This \cas the last. The concluding pages of the manuscript were scarcely legible. The en- tries were meagre and formal, but the hand- writing spoke of the darkest despair. What agonies had this man not endured during those three months! Brandon folded up the manuscript reveren- tially, and put it into his pocket. lie then went back into the cabin. Taking the bony skeleton hand he exclaimed, in a solemn voice, "In the name of God, if I am saved, I swear to do your bidding!" He next proceeded to perform the last officeg to the remains of Colonel Despard. On remov- ing the sand something bright struck his eye. It was a gold locket. As he tried to open it the rusty hinge broke, and the cover came off. It was a painting on enamel, which was as bright as when made — the portrait of a beauti- ful woman, with pensive eyes, and delicate, in- tellectual expression; and appeared as though ,i CORD AND CREESE. THREE MONTHS ADRIFT. It might have heen worn around the Colonel's neck. Bramlon sighed, then putting tliis in his pocket with the manuscript he proceeded to his task. In an liour the remains were buried in the grave on CofBn Ishmd. CHAPTER VIII. THE SIGNAL OB' FIRE. The wreck oroke in upon the monotony of Brandon's island lii'e and changed the current of liis thoughts. 'I'iie revelations contained in Despard's manuscript cunie with perfect novelty to his mind. I'otts. liis enemy, now stood be- fore him in darker colors, the foulest of miscre- ants, one who had descended to an association with Thuggee, one who bore on his arm the dread mark of Bowhani. Against such an en- emy as this he would have to be wary. If this enemy suspected his existence could he not read- ily find means to effect his destruction for- ever ? Who coidd tell what mysterious allies this man might have ? Cigole had tracked and fol- lowed him with the jiatience and vindictiveness of a blood-hound. There might be many such as he, He sa-,v plainly 'that if he ever escaped his first and highest necessity would be to work in secret, to conceal his true name, and to let it be supposed that Lonis Brandon had been drowned, while another name would enable him to do what he wished. The message of I^csjiavd was now a sacred legacy to himself The duty which the murdered man had imjiosed upon his father must now be inherited by him. Even this could scarcely add to the obligations to vengeance under which he already lay ; yet it freshened his passion und quickened his resolve. The brig was a novelty to him here, and as day succeeded to day he found occupation in searching her. During the hotter part of the day he busied himself in shoveling out the sand from the cavern with a board. In the cool of the morning or evening he 'vorked at the hatch- way. Here he soon reached the cargo. This cargo consisted of staves and short boards. All were blackened, and showed traces of fire. The fire seemed to have burned down to a depth of four feet, and two or three feet under the sides ; then the water coming in had quenched it. He drew out hundreds of these staves and boards, which were packed in bundles, six boards being nailed together as box-shooks, and thirty or forty staves. These he threw out upon the deck and on the sand. What remained he drew abouf and scattered loosely in the hold of the vessel. He did this with a purpose, for he looked fonvard to the time when some ship might pasa, and it woidd then be necessary to attract her at- tention. There was no way of doing so. He had no pole, and if he had it might not be no- ticed. A fire would be the surest way of draw- ing attenti-n, and all this wood gave him the means cf building one. He scattered it about CORD AND CREESE. 87 on the Eand, so thnt it might dry in the hot Kun. Yet it was also necessarj' to have some sort of a signal to elevate in case of need. He had no- thing but a knife to work with ; yet patient ef- fort will do much, and after about a week he had cut away the rail that ran along the (juarter-deck, which gave him a jiole some twenty feet in length. The nails that fastened the boards were all rust- ed so that they could not be used in attaching any thing to this. He decided when the time came to tie his coat to it, and use that as a flag. It certainly ought to be able to attract attention. Occupied with such ])lans and labors and pur- poses as these, the days passed quickly for two weeks. By that time the fierce rays of the sun had dried every board and staVe so that it be- came like tinder The ship itself felt the heat ; the seams gaped more widely, the boards warjied and fell away from their rusty nails, the timbers were exposed all over it, and the hot, dry wind penetrated every cranny. The interior of the hold and the cabin became free from damp, and hot and dry. Then Brandon flung back many of the boards and staves loosely ; and after enough had been thrown there he worked laboriously for days cut- ting up large numbers of the lK)urds into fine splints, until at last a huge pile of these shavings were accunmlated. With these and his pistol he would be able to obtain light and fire in the time of need. The post which he had cut off was then sharp- ened at one end, so that he could fix it in the sand when the time came, should it ever come. Here, then, these preparations were completed. After all his labor in the cabin nothing was found. The bedding, the mattresses, the chests, the nautical instruments had all been ruined. The tables and chairs fell to pieces when the sand was removed; the doors and wood-work sank away ; the cabin when cleared remained a wreck. The weather continued hot and drj'. At night Brandon flung himself down wherever he hap- pened to be, either at the brig or at the rock. Everj- day he had to go to the rock for water, and also to look out toward the sea from that side. At first, while intent upon his work at the ship, the sight of the barren horizon every day did not materially affect him ; he rose superior to despondency and cheered himself with his task. But at length, at the end of about three weeks, all this work was done and nothing more re- mained. His only idea was to Inbor to effect hi.- escape, and not to insure his comfort during hit stay. Now as day succeeded to day all his old gloom returned. The excitement of the last few weeks had acted favorably upon his bodily health, but when this was removed he began to feel more than his old weakness. Such diet as his might sustain nature, but it could not preserve health. He grew at length to loathe the food which he had to take, and it was only by a stem resolve that he forced himself to swallow it. At length a new evil was superadded to those which had Already afflicted him. During the first part of his stay the hollow or pool of water on the rock had always been kept filled by the frequent rains. But now for three weeks, in fact ever since the uncovering of the Fishnu, not a single drop of rain had fallen. The sun shone with intense heat, and the evaporation was great. The wind at first temjiered this heat somewhat, but at last this ceased to blow by day, and often for hours there was a dead calm, in which the water of the sea lay unrutHed and all the air was motionless. If there could only have been something whi( h he could stretch over thnt ])recious pool of wafer he might then have arrested its flight. Biit lie had nothing, and could contrive nothing. Kvery day saw a jierceptiblc decrease in its volume, anil at last it went down so low that he thought he could count the number of days that were left him to live. Hut his despair could not stay the operation of the laws of nature, and he w attlied the decrease of that water as one watches the failing breath of a dying child. ■'iany weeks jmssed, and the water of the pool still diminished. At last it had sunk so low that Brandon could not hope to live more than another week unless rain came, and that now he could scarcely expect. The look-out be- came more hopeless, and at length his thoughts, instead of turning toward escape, were occupied with deliberating whether he would probably die of starvation or simjile physical exhaustion, lie began to enter into that state of mind which he hud read in Despard's MSS., in which life ceases to be a matter of desire, and the only wish left is to die as quickly and as ]:ainlessly as possible. At length one day as his eyes swept the wa- ters mechanically out of pure habit, and not ex- pecting any thing, he saw far iway to the north- east something which looked like a sail. He watched it for an hour before he fairly decided that it was not some mocking cloud. But at the end of that time it had grown larger, and had a.ssumed a form which no cloud could keep so long. Kow his heart beat fast, and all the old long- ing for escape, at d the old love of life returned with fresh vehemence. This new emotion over- jioweved him, and he did not try to struggle with it. Now hat' come the day and the hour when all life vi-as '.i suspense. This was his first hope, and he felt that it must be his last. Experience had shown that the island must lie outside the common track of vessels, and, in the ordinary course of things, if this passed by he could not hope to see another. Now he had to decide how to attract her no- tice. She was still far away, yet she was evi- dently drawing nearer. The rock was higher than the mound and more conspicuous. He de- termined to caiTy his signal there, and erect it somewhere on that place. So he took up the heavy staff, and bore it laboriously over the sand till he reached the rock. By the time that he arrived there the vessel had come nearer. Her top-sails were visible above the horizon. Her progress was very slow, for there was only very little wind. Her studding-sails were all set to catch the breeze, and her course was such that she came gradually nearer. Wheth- er she would come near enough to see the island was another question. Yet if they thought of keeping a look-out, if the men in the top^ had glasses, this rock and the signal could easily be seen. He feared, however, that this would not he thought ot^ The existence of Coffin Island wm CORD AND CKEE8E. .f STILL HE STOOD THERE, HOLDING ALOFT HIS SIGNAL. not generally known, and if they supposed that there was only open water here they would not be on the look-out at all. Nevertheless Brandon erected his signal, and as there was no place on the solid rock where he could insert it he held it up in his own hands. Hours passed. The ship had come very much nearer, but her hull was not yet visible. Still he stood there under the burning sun, holding aloft his signal. Fearing that it might not be sufficiently conspicuous he fastened his coat to the top, and then waved it slowly backward and forward. The ship moved more slowly than ever ; but still it was coming nearer ; for after some time, which seemed to that lonely watcher like entire days, her hull became visible, and her course still lay nearer. Now Brandon felt that he must be noticed. He waved his signal incessantly. He even leaped in the air, so that he might be seen. He thought that the rock would surely be perceived from the ship, and if they looked t that they would see the figure upon it. Then despondency came over him. The hull of the ship was visible, but it was only the up- permost line of the hull. He was standing on the very top of the rock, on its highest point. From the deck they could not see the rock it- self. He .stooped down, and perceived that the hull of the ship sank out of sight. Then he knew that the rock would not be visible to them at all. Only the upper half of his body could by any possibility be visible, and he knew enough of the sea to understand that this would have the dark sea for a back-ground to observers in the ship, and therefore could not be seen. Still he would not yield to the dejection that was rapidly coming over him, and deepening into despair ever}' minute. Never before had he so clung to hope — never before had his soul been more indomitable in its resolution, more vigor- ous in its strong self-assertion. He stood there still waving his staff as though his life now depended upon that dumb yet elo- quent signal — as though, like Moses, as long as his arms were erect, so long would he be able to triumph over the assault of despair. Hours passed. Still no notice was taken of }iim. Still the ship held on her course slowly, yet steadily, and no change of direction, no movement of any kind whatever, showed that he had been seen. What troubled him now was the idea that the ship did not come any nearer. This at first he CORD AND CREESE. refused to beiiere, but nt last he raw it beyond doubt, for ut length the liuU was no longer visi- ble Above the horizon. The ship was now due north from the rock, sailinK on a line directly parallel with the iHluiid. It came no neiirer. It was only pausing by it. And now Urandon saw that his last hoi)e of at- tracting attention by the signal was gone. The fillip was moving onward to the west, and eveiy minute would make it less likely that those on board could see the rod*. During the hours in which he had watched the siiip lie had been busy conjecturing what she might be, and from what )K)rt she might have come. The direction indicated China almost undoubtedly. He depicted in his mind a large, commodious, and swift shij), with many passen- gers on their way back to England. He imag- ined pleasant society, and general intercourse. His fancy created a thousand scenes of delight- ful association with "the kindly race of men." All earthly happiness seemed to him nt that time to find its centre on board that ship which pass- ed before his eyes. The seas were bright and sparkling, the skies calm and deeply blue, the winds breatlied softly, the wliite swelling sails putted out like clouds against the blue sky beyond. That ship seemed to the lonely watcher like Heaven itself. Oh ! to pass beyond the limits of this narrow sandy waste ! to cross the waters and enter there ! ( )h ! to reach that ship which moved on so ma- jestically, to enter there and be at rest ! It wa- not given him to enter there. Bran- don soon saw this. The ship moved farther away. Already the sun was sinking, and the sudden night of the tropics was coming swiftly on. There was no longer any hope. He flung the staff down till it broke asunder on the hard rock, and stood for a few moments looking out at sea in mute despair. Yet could he have knov/n what was shortly to be the fate of that ship — shortly, only in a fcAv days — he would not have despaired, • he would have rejoiced, since if death were to be his lot it were better to die where he was than to be rescued and gain the sweet hope of life afresh, and then have that hope extinguished in blood. But Brandon did not remain long in idleness. There was yet one resource — one which he had already thought of through that long day, but hes- itated to try, since he would have to forsake his signal-station ; and to remain there with his staft" seemed to him then the only pui-pose of his life. Now since the signal-staff had failed, he had broken it, as some magician might break the wand which had fiiiled to work its appropriate spell^ and other things were before him. He took his coat and descended from the rock to make a last effort for life. He walked back through the gathering gloom toward the wreck. He did not run, nor did he in any way exhibit any excitement whatever. He walked with a firm step over the sand, neither hastening on nor lagging back, but advancing calmly. Before he liad gone half-way it was dark. The sun had gone down in a sea of fire, and the western sky, after flaming for a time, had sunk into darkness. There was no moon. The stars shone dimly from behind a kind of haze that overspread the sky. The wind came up more freshly from the east, and Brandon knew that this wind v/onld carry the ship which he wished to attract further ami further away, 'i'hat ship had now died out in the dark of the ebon sea ; the chances that he could catch its notice were all against him, yet he never faltered. I He hud come to u fixed resolution, which was at all hazards to kindle his siguul-hre, whatever the chances against him might Ite. He thought that the flames flaring up would of necessity at- tract attention, and that the vessel might turn, or lie-to, and try to discover what this >night be. If this lust ho|ie failed, he was ready to die. Death had now become to him rather a thing to l)e desired than avoided. Tor he knew that it was only a change of life ; and how much better I would life be in a t-piritual world than life on this lonely isle. This decision to die took away despair. De- spair is only possible to those who value this earthly life exclusively. To the soul that looks forward to endless life despair can never come. It was with this solemn jjuqjose that Brandon went to the wreck, seeking by a last chance after life, yet now prepared to relinquish it. He had siniggled for life all these weeks ; he had fought and wrestled for life with unutterable spiritual agony, all day long, on the summit of that rock, and now the bitterness of death was past. An hour and a half was occupied in the walk over the sand to the wreck. Fresh waves of daik had come over all things, and now, though there were no clouds, yel the gloom was intense, and faint points of light in the sky above showed where the stars might be. Where now was the ship for which Brandon sought? He cared not. He was going to kindle his signal-fire. The wind was blowing freshly by the time that he reached the place. huch a wind had not blown for weeks. It would take the ship away farther. What mattered it? He would seize his last chance, if it v.ere only to put that last chance away forever, and thus make an end of susj)ensc. All his preparations had long since been made; the dry wood lay loosely thrown about the hold ; the pile of shavings and fine thread-like .splinters was there awaiting him. He had only to apply the fire. He took his linen handkerchief and tore it up into fine threads, these he tore a])art again and rubbed in his hand till they were almost as loose as lint. He then took these loose fibres, and de- scending into the hold, jjut them underneath the pile which he had prepared. Then he took his pistol, and holding it close to the lint fired it. The explosion rang out with startling force in the naiTow hull of the ship, the lint received the fire and glowed with the sparks into spots of red heat. Brandon blew with his breath, and the wind streaming down lent its assistance. In a few moments the work was done. It blazed ! But scarcely had the first flame appeared than a putt" of wind came down and extinguished it. The sparks, however, were there yet. It was as though the fickle wind were tantalizing liim — at one time helping, at another baffling him. Once more Brandon blew. Once more the blaze arose. Brandon flung his coat skirts in front of it till it might gather strength. The blaze ran rapidly through the fine splints, it extended itself toward the shavings, it threw its arms upward to tha larger sticks. 40 CORD AND CREESE. ./ The dry wood kindled. A million uparkg flew out aa it cracked under the assault of the devour- ing tire. Tlie Hame Hprend itttelt' out to a larger volume ; it widened, expanded, and cla8))ed the kindling all around in its fervid embrace. The flame had been haflied at first; hut now, as if to assert its own supremacy, it ni.ihcd out in all di- rections, with Homething that !*ecmcd uhnost like exultation. That flame had on<'e been conquered by the waters in this very ship. The wood had saved the shij) from the waters. It was an though the Wool) had once invited the Fiuk to union, but the Water had stepped in and prevented the union by force ; as though the Wood, resent- ing the interference, had baffled the assaults of the Water, and saved itself intact through the long years for the embrace of its first love. Now the Fire sought the Wood once more after so many yuars, und in ardor unspeakable embraced its bride. Such fantastic notions passed through Bran- don's fancy as he looked at the triumph of the flame. But he could not stay there long, and as he had not made up his mind to give himself to the flames he clambered up quickly out of the hatchway and stood upon the sand without. The smoke was pouring through the hatchway, the black voluminous folds being rendered visible by the glow of the flames beneath, which now had gained the ascendency, and set all the winds at defiance. Indeed it was so now that what- ever wind came only assisted the flames, and Bnindon, as he looked on, amused himself with the thought that the wind was like the world of man, which, when any one is first struggling, has a tendency to crush him, but when lie has once gained a foothold exerts all its efTorts to help him along. In this mood, half cynical, half imaginative, he watched the progress of the flames. Soon all the fine kindling had crumbled away at the touch of the fire, and communicating its own heat to the wood around, it sank down, a glowing mass, the foundation of the rising fires. Here, from this central heart of fire, the flames rashed on upon the wood which lay loosely on nil sides, filling the hull. Through that wood the dry hot wind had streamed for many weeks, till every stave and every board had become dry to its utmost possibility. Now at the first breath of the flame the wood yielded; at the first touch it flared up, and prepared to receive the embrace of the fire in every fibre of its being. The flame rolled on. It threw its long arms through the million interstices of the loose piles of wootl, it jjenetrated every where with its sub- tle, far-reaching power, till within the ship the glow broadened and widened, the central heart of fire enlarged its borders, and the floods of flame that flowed from it rushed vith consuming fury through the whole body of the ship. Glowing with bright lustre, increasing in that brightness every moment, leaping up as it con- sumed and flashing vividly as it leaped up. A thousand tongues of flame streamed upward through the crannies of the gaping deck, and between the wide orifices of the pl.anks and tim- bers the dazzling flames gleamed; a thousand resistless arms seemed extended forward to grasp the fabric now completely at its mercy, and the hot breath of the fire shriveled up all in its path before yet its hands were laid upon it. And fast and furioas, with eager advanre. tho flames rushed on devouring every thing. Through the hatchway, around which the fiercest fire* gathered, the stream of flame rose im])etuouMly on high, in n straight upward torrent, hurling up a vast pyramid of fire to the ebon skies, a ipXoyuQ fiiyav irwyuiva which, like that which once il- lumed the Slavonic strait with the signal-fire first caught from buniing 'IVoy, here threw its radi- ance far over the deep. While the lighter wood liwted the flame was in the a.scendiuit, and nobly it did its work. Whatever could be done by bright radiance and far-penetrating lustre was done here. If that ship which had passed held any men on board capable of feeling a human interest in the visible signs of ..'alamity at sea, they would be able to reml in this flame that there was disaster some- where uf)on these waters, and if they had human hearts they would tuni to see if there was not some fluttering which they might relieve. But the lighter and the dryer wood was at last consumed, and now there remained that which Brandon had never touched, the dense masses which still lay piled where they had been placed eighteen years before. UjX)n these the fire now marched. But olready the long days and weeks of scorching sun and fierce wind had not been without their ettects, and the dampness had been subdued. Besides, the fire that advanced upon them had already gained immense ad\ antage ; for one half of the brig was one glowing mass of heat, which sent forth its consuming forces, and withered up, and blighted, and annihilated all around. The close -bound and close -packed masses of staves and boards received the resist- less embrace of the fire, and where they did not flame they still gave forth none the less a blaze- less glow. Now from the burning vessel the flame arose no more ; but in its place there ajipeared that which sent forth as vivid a gleam, and as far- flashing a light. The fire had full sway, though it gave forth no blaze, and, while it gleamed but little, still it devoured. From the sides of the ship the i>lanks, blasted by the intense heat and by the outburst of the flames, had spnmg away, and now for nearly all the length of the vessel ■ the timbers were exposed without any covering. ' Between these flashed forth the gleam of the five inside, which now in one pure mass glowed witH dazzling brightness and intense heat. But the wood inside, damp as it was, and solid in its fibre, did not allow a very swift progress to the fire. It burned, but it burned slowly. It glowed like the charcoal of a furnace from be- hind its wooden bars. The massive timbers of mahogany wood yield- ed slowly and stubbornly to the conflagration. They stood up like iron bars long after all the interior was one glowing mass. But, though they yielded slowly, still they had to yield with the passage of hours to the progress of the fire. And so it came to pass that at length the strong sides, sapped by the steady and resistless assault, surrendered. One by one the stout timbers, now wasted and weakened, gc:7e way and sank down into the fen-id mass kmeath. At last the whole centre was one accumulation of glow ing ashes, and all that remained were the bow, coverei with sand, and the ste.m, with the quarter-deck. The tire spread in both directions. The stern COKI) AND CREESE. 41 Yielded first. Here the Htrong deck siiNtaine ' fur a time the onset uf he Ki-c that had coiisuined CTury thing beneath, hut at huti ii nunk in; the timhers uf th'^ sideM followed next, and all had gone. With the huw ihcre woh a longer and a harder struggle. The tire had |>enetrated fur into that piiit of the vesMel; the liAmus Mtnoul- .jered there, 'ut the conflagration went on, and {•moke and hlue Hatnes issued from every part of tliut sandy mound, which, fiercely uxsailed by the heat, gave way in every direction, broke into a million crevice.'*, and in places melted and ran to- gether in a glowing molten heap. Here the fires lAinied longest, and here they lived and gleamed utitil morning. Long before morning B'-andon had fallen asleep. He had stood firt>' near the burning wreck. Then the heat force J him to move away, .ind he had gone to a. ridge of sand, where this ]>eninsula joined the island. There he sat down, w atching the conflagration for a long time. There the light flashed, and if that ship for whom he wa.H signaling had noticed this sign, and had ex- amined the island, his flgure could be seen to any one that chose to examine. But hours passed on. He strained his eyes through the gloom in the direction in which the ship had vanished to see if there were any sign there. None appeared. The progre.'^s of the fire was slow. It went on burning and glowing with wonderful energy all through the night, till at last, not long before dawn, the stem fell in, and nothing now was left but the sand-mound that coverei' the bows, which, burning beneath, gave forth smoke and fire. Then, exhausted by itigne, he sank down on the sand and fell into u. sound sleep. In the midst of thronging dreams, from the depths of that imaginary land where his weary spirit wandered in sleep, he was suddenly roused. A hand was laid on his shoulder, which shook him roughly, and a hoarse voice shouted in his ear, •'Mess-mate ! Halloo, mess-mate ! Wake up !" Brandon started up and ga^ed with wild, as- tonished eyes around. It was day. The sun was two or three hours above the horizon. He was surrounded by half a dozen seamen, who were regarding him with wondering but kindly faces. The one who spoke appeared to be their leader. He held a spy-glass in his hand. He was a sturdy, thick-set man of about fifty, whose grizzled hair, weather-beaten face, groggy nose, and whiskers, coming all round under his chin, gave him the air of old Benbow as he appears on the stage — "a reg'lar old salt," "sea-dog," or whatever other name the popular taste loves to apply to the British tar. " Hard luck here, mess-mate," said this man, with a smile. " But you're all right now. Cornel Cheer up I Won't you take a drink ?"' And he held out a brandy-flask. Brandon rose mechanically in a kind of maze, not yet understanding his good fortune, not yet knowing whether he was alive or dead. He took the flask and raised it to his lips. The inspirit- ing draught gave him new life. He looked earn- estly at the Captain as he handed it back, and then seized both his hands. ' ' God Almighty bless you for this, noble friend, whoever you are ! But how and when did you get here ? W^ho are you ? Did you not see my signal on the rock yesterday — ?" C " One (piestion at a timo, mesi^'inatc, " said ih. other, laughingly. " I'm ( aptuin ( orl.ct, of ihe ship t'alioH, iMiund from Sydney to London, and thene are some cf niy men. Wo saw this light last night about midnight, right on our wcather- Ixiw, and ( ame uj) to see what it was. Wc found shoal water, and kept ofl' till morning. There's the Fulton, Sir." The Captain waved his hand proudly to where a large, handsome ship lay, about seven miles away to tlie south. " On vour Ik)w ? Did you see the fire ahead of you ?' asked Brandon, who now began to com- prehend the situation. "Yes." ' ' Then you didn't pass me toward the north yesterday ?" "No; never was near tliis place before this morning." "It must have been some other ship, then," said Brandon, musingly. "But how did you get here, and 'how long have you been here?" Brandon had long since decided on the part he was to jihiy. His story was all ready : " My name is ILdward Wheeler. I came out sufjcrcargo in the brig Arf/o, with a cargo of hogshead staves and box shooks from London to Manilla. On the 10th of September last we encountered a tremendous stonn and struck on this sand-bank. It is not down on any of the charts. The vessel stuck hard and fast, and the sea made a clean breach over us. The cap- tain and crew put out the boat, and tried to get away, but were swamped and drowned. I staid by the wreck till morning. The vessel stood the storm well, for she had a solid cargo, was strongly, built, and the sand formed rajiidly all about her. The storm lasted for several tlays, and by the end of that time c shoal had formed. iSeveral storms have occurred >iince, and have heaped the sand all over her. I have lived here ever since in great miserj'. Yesterday a vessel passed, and I put up a signal on the rock over there, which she did not notice. In despair I set fire to the brig, which was loaded with wood and burned easily. I vsatched till morning, and then fell asleep. You found me so. That'c all I have to say. " On hearing this story nothing could exceed the kindness and sympathy of these honest- hearted seamen. The Captain insisted on his taking another drink, apologized for having to carry him back to England, and finally hurried him oft' to the boat. Befoie two hours Brandon stood on the deck of the Falcon, CHAPTER IX. THE MAL.IT PIRATE. Two days had i)assed since Brandon's rescue. The light wind which had brought up the Falcon soon died out, and before the island had been left far behind a calm succeeded, and there was nothing left but to drift. A calm in other seas is stillness, here on the Indian Ocean it is stagnation. The calmness is like Egyptian darkness. It may be felt. The stagnation of the waters seems deep enough to destroy all life there. The air is thick, oppress- ive, feverish ; there is not a breath or a murmur 4t CORP AND CREESE. .V jf wind ; even tho iiwell oi" ooenn, which ia ner- er-ending, here np|>n)arhe« hh near im |M>^il)le to an end. The ocean rolled but Mlightly, hut the light undulationa gave a lazy, liHtleita motion to the ship, the »]Mn creaked monotonouiily, and the great fuiiis Hapfieil idly in the air. At iuch a time the calm itself is »ufBcient- Ij dreary, hut now there waij Hoiuething which made nil thmgn still more drear. For the calm was atteiKled by a thick fog ; not iv nioi: