il
 
 LOST ENDEAVOUR
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
 
 ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 
 
 LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 
 
 TORONTO
 
 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 Author of "Captain Margaret," "Multitude and 
 Solitude," "The Everlasting Mercy," etc. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1917
 
 TO 
 
 c
 
 • • . • • • 
 
 • • *
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAET FIEST. 
 Chaeles Harding's Story 5 
 
 PART seco:n'd. 
 
 Little Theo's Story 103 
 
 PAET THIED. 
 Charles Harding's Story 211
 
 . ■ V 
 
 PART FIRST 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY
 
 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 PART FIRST 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 
 
 I GOT my learning, such as it is, from Dr. Carter, 
 who kept an Academy for the Sons of Gentle- 
 men, in a great old haunted house which stood at 
 that time (1690) near the coach road to Shooter's Hill, 
 on the southern border of Black Heath. Dr. Carter 
 was one of the old school, " birch and bottle men " I 
 think they called them, because they flogged without 
 mercy, and drank port wine without stint ; but he knew 
 a great deal of Greek, they say, and he was always very 
 good to me, so his faults may rest. His house, at one time, 
 long before he came there, was one of the old, bad coach- 
 ing inns. The cellar was said to be full of secret rooms, 
 where the conspirators used to meet in the time of the 
 Powder Plot. And we boys always heard that from 
 somewhere in the cellar one could get into those secret 
 passages, cut under the gi'ound, which run all across 
 Greenwich, and away south to Chislehurst, like the 
 workings of great moles. I went down into the cel- 
 lars one night, I remember, with a boy called Thomas 
 
 3
 
 4 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 Davies, but we could find no secret passages. They 
 were ghostly, damp, vaulty pierces those cellars, full of 
 empty barrels, and a melancholy noise of dripping; 
 I think the rats must have gone melancholy mad there. 
 Old Carter came down for a bottle of port while we 
 were there ; so that we had to blow out our candle, and 
 creep back to bed in the dark. We never went down 
 again because, not long afterwards, they found a skele- 
 ton buried under a heap of rubbish in one of the darker 
 comers. He was supposed to have been a traveller 
 who had been murdered for his money in the old inn 
 days, long before. I saw the skeleton when they brought 
 it up into the light. It put us all in awe of that cellar, 
 you may be sure. Who the traveller was, who can tell ? 
 There was nothing to show. The Doctor said that it 
 was the skeleton of a man of about fifty — a black- 
 haired, well-built man, used to taking tobacco, and 
 perhaps limping on his left leg, the bone of which had 
 been broken and rather clumsily set. It was thought 
 that he had lain there for seventy or eighty years. 
 Whoever he may have been, his people had long done 
 sorrowing for him. It made a little stir at the time. 
 One old man came from Charlton to say that in his 
 father's time the house had had a gallows bad name, 
 and that it had been kept by a man called Taylor, who 
 was afterwards hanged for horse-stealing. One of our 
 boys made up a story of a limping ghost (with long 
 black hair), who appeared to him night after night, 
 beckoning him to follow, as though to reveal where his 
 treasure had been buried. He scared us all finely with
 
 CHAELES HAKDING'S STORY 5 
 
 this tale; but some of our boldest spirits sat up one 
 night to watch for the ghost, and old Carter caught us, 
 and soundly birched the lot of us for not being in bed. 
 
 II 
 
 I had been at old Carter's for about three years when 
 my misfortune came to me. I was then a lad of four- 
 teen, rather lanky and overgrown, but still sturdy and 
 comely. I was a steady boy on the whole, though 
 rather a noisy one, and old Carter had a fondness for 
 me, which proved my ruin in the end, as you shall hear. 
 Every Friday afternoon, winter and summer, he used 
 to send in to Deptford for his week's allowance of 
 snuff. Generally, he sent the school-porter; but if the 
 porter were busy, he would make some excuse to send 
 one of the boys. He did this shamefacedly, as though 
 he thought it wrong to ask any boy to go upon an er- 
 rand for him. He would bid his messenger to go to the 
 Deptford sweetstuff shop to buy cookies for supper, 
 and ask him, as an afterthought, to call for his parcel 
 at the druggist's, or at the Boscobel coffee-house, which- 
 ever it might be, on his way home. The boys liked this 
 going to Deptford ; for at other times Deptford was out 
 of bounds to us. The messengers sometimes escaped 
 afternoon school, which was another pleasure to them. 
 In any case, even if they had no money for cookies, 
 they always had the delights of Deptford streets to 
 recompense them for the trouble of their walk.
 
 6 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 I had fetched old Carter's snuff half a dozen times 
 before my troubles began. I liked the business very 
 well, for Deptford streets were amusing in those days, 
 when the naval docks were there. The river used to 
 be full of shipping. The docks and building slips were 
 full, too. It was one of the gayest, brightest sights in 
 the world that little naval station. The ships with 
 their flags and their scarlet gun-ports (all triced up in 
 a line above the brass gun-muzzles), made a fair show 
 from the river bank. And then to see a great ship 
 coming up under sail, firing her guns to salute the flag, 
 and all the other ships firing, or dipping their colours, 
 moved one to the bone. There were sailors everywhere 
 in Deptford, at all times; mostly men-of-war's men; 
 but you must not think that I sought their company. 
 In those days one shunned a sailor, as a sort of rough 
 bear without a soul, who had somehow escaped hang- 
 ing. Afterwards, when I came to mix with sailors, I 
 found that people were right about them. They were 
 a hard and vicious company, with a few good among 
 them, but not many. Most of them were turned out 
 of the gaols to serve in the fleet. Some of them were 
 branded. Some of them had been under sentence of 
 death. Some of them were deserters from other navies. 
 The few allowed free in Deptford were old men, whose 
 toughness had raised them to warrants, and to some 
 little responsibility in the hulks or arsenal. 
 
 Now a little while before my tale begins, old Carter 
 took in a new assistant to teach modern languages. This 
 assistant was a young man, aged about twenty-three.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 7 
 
 Spanish hj birth, French by education, and English 
 by choice — a mixture of three good things. His name 
 was Teodoro Mora. Most English boys delight in 
 teasing their foreign masters; but there was no teas- 
 ing Teodoro. He was the strictest master in the school, 
 and in many ways one of the best. He had travelled a 
 great deal for a man of that rustic age. He had been 
 in the Canary Islands, and knew a lot about ships. He 
 once told us that he understood navigation, and could 
 take a ship round the world. He was a man of very 
 great physical strength, not tall exactly, but bigly 
 made. We called him Little Theo among ourselves. 
 I think that in some way he gave us the impression 
 that there was a mystery about him. I know that in 
 dormitory, when we discussed our masters, we made 
 up romantic tales about him, instead of passing criti- 
 cisms, as we did upon the others. One of us would say 
 that perhaps he was the son of a Spanish duke, exiled for 
 making love to a princess; and then that he was a 
 criminal, a romantic criminal, a political criminal — 
 a conspirator or the like ; another that he was a spy in 
 Erench pay, sent over to report on the N'avy Yard, or, 
 possibly, to creep out one night and fire it. I don't 
 think we believed this last, quite. If we did, we had 
 some sneaking feeling that it did him credit, as a brave, 
 romantic man; and although we hoped that he would 
 not burn the N"avy Yard, we hoped that, if he did, he 
 would get away, and not get himself hanged. I shall 
 come back to Little Theo later in my tale. I need only 
 say at present that he was a fine, handsome, bustling
 
 8 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 figure of a man, smart at his work, an excellent teacher, 
 and a good friend to boys in trouble. He gave us all 
 the impression that he was a man of too much talent to 
 be a teacher all his life. 
 
 One Friday, in March, 1692, old Carter sent me 
 off to Deptford for his snuff, with the excuse that I 
 looked pale, and in need of a walk. " The east wind 
 will do you good, boy," he said. He called me back 
 after I had started. " Boy," he said, " I would send 
 the porter, but the press-gangs are out all along the 
 river, and if a man enters Deptford he is as good as 
 pressed. They won't touch you, of course, but I'll give 
 you a Protection, in case you should be questioned." 
 He fumbled in his pockets, and at last produced some 
 sealed envelopes, one of which he gave to me. " That 
 is a Protection," he said. " You show that if anybody 
 lays hands upon you. Be back early, because Deptford 
 after dark is no place for a boy." He thrust his hands 
 behind his coat-skirts, and gave the peculiar throaty 
 snort with which he always ended a conversation. I 
 saw him going across the lawn, deep in dreams, with 
 his yellow handkerchief trailing out behind from his 
 pocket. I never saw him again. 
 
 I knew that the press was hot along the river ; for all 
 through the winter there had been talk of a war with 
 France, to begin as soon as the winter gales were over. 
 The French were going to invade England, to restore 
 that bad king the second James ; that was what people 
 said. Why a sensible people should wish to fight for a 
 Stuart was a great puzzle to Dr. Carter ; but so it was
 
 CHAELES HAEDI^G'S STORY 9 
 
 to be. ^ow that the weather was getting fair, the 
 Deptford Yards were working day and night, fitting 
 out a squadron with sails and powder and seamen, he- 
 fore the French should begin the war by landing an 
 army in Kent, and marching on London. It was a 
 stirring time in Deptford. 
 
 I set out over Black Heath, feeling very proud of 
 my Protection, and half hoping that I might have a 
 chance of showing it. To my regret, it was sealed 
 up. I was tempted to open it, to see what a Protec- 
 tion looked like; for, though they were common 
 enough in those days, and could be obtained from the 
 lawyers by those entitled to them, I had not then seen 
 one. If I have ever regretted anything in my life, I 
 have regretted that I did not break the seal to examine 
 that Protection. 
 
 Deptford was in a great bustle of preparation that 
 windy March afternoon. The creek was full of light- 
 ers, loading provision casks for the ships in the river. 
 The yards had double sentries at their gates with 
 bayonets fixed, ready to challenge any one who tried 
 to enter. A few companies of troops marched in from 
 the camp at Kensington, all the gartered legs swinging 
 out in time to the flute, marching swiftly, followed by 
 the women and children, in half a dozen ordnance wag- 
 gons. The river was full, almost as far as Greenwich, 
 with a fleet of great ships and the host of victuallers en- 
 gaged in giving them their stores. The flagship lay 
 off Greenwich with a signal flying, which made me 
 think that the fleet was about to sail. I did not stay
 
 10 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 long in Deptford after getting the packet of snuff; 
 but with so much happening all about me, in a village 
 so tiny, I could not help noticing things. I knew that 
 my schoolfellows would want to know what I had seen. 
 Having bought a few lollipops at a sweetstuff shop, I 
 started back towards Black Heath, intending to rest at 
 the top of Point Hill, looking down on the bend of the 
 river where the ships were thickest, before going in for 
 supper and preparation. Some naval officers, who had 
 been dining at a tavern in Deptford, stopped me in the 
 road, just by the bridge over the creek, to ask me if I 
 would like to go in a ship with them to see the beautiful 
 foreign countries. I thought at first that they were 
 going to press me. So I said, " No, thank you, sir. I 
 have a Protection," and out I lugged my precious en- 
 velope. They laughed at this, as though it were a 
 good joke. " The young lawyer," they said. " He's 
 got a Protection. Don't have anything to do with 
 him. He'll get you into lawsuits." So they laughed, 
 and let me go, and told me that I should be a man 
 before my mother. They were wild young men, a 
 little the worse for claret. In that far-off age the vice 
 of drinking was common, almost universal. Even 
 gentlemen got drunk. And when gentlemen set an 
 example, who can wonder if they find many imita- 
 tors? 
 
 A minute or two later, just as I was turning up to the 
 hill. Little Theo came out of the barber's shop at the 
 corner and walked over the road to join me. 
 
 " Well, Harding," he said, " we will walk home to-
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 11 
 
 gether. You've been buying lollipops, I suppose. 
 I've been buying a new wig." 
 
 " Oh, sir," I answered, rather dashed at his daring 
 to come so far into Deptford. " Aren't you afraid of 
 being impressed, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, no," he answered ; " I wear a sword, and 
 know how to use it. Aren't you afraid ? " 
 
 " 'No, sir," said I proudly. " I have a Protection." 
 
 " Why then," he said, " a fig for fear. Tell me what 
 you have seen at Deptford." 
 
 After that we set off up the steep hill. When we 
 had got to within about a hundred yards of the road to 
 Lewisham, I noticed the figure of a little old woman 
 standing against the wall of a garden, looking up the 
 hill away from me. It was a lonely part of the road 
 at the best of times; and just now, with the press out 
 man-hunting, and the countryside beset with drunken 
 sailors, robbing and cutting throats, it was even lone- 
 lier than usual. I hardly caught sight of the woman 
 when she turned, saw us coming, and began slowly to 
 walk towards us, leaning on a stout stick, as though 
 she were infirm with age. She was coughing very 
 hard, poor creature. I thought that she would break 
 a blood vessel. When she was within a dozen yards 
 of us, she burst out coughing so violently that she 
 staggered back against a wall. She looked so desper- 
 ately ill that I ran up to her, to ask if I could help 
 her in any way. She was a little old woman, meanly 
 and dirtily dressed, with dirty grey hairs poking out 
 from under a broken bonnet. Her face was small
 
 12 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 aud wretched-looking, and all flushed with the cough- 
 ing, which seemed to tear her in pieces. 
 
 " Ah ! " she gasped, " ah ! " (pointing to a small inn 
 along the Lewisham road), "there. Help me." I 
 must say this, that I liked neither the woman's looks 
 nor the thought of helping her to a tavern, from which 
 most probably she had just issued, for she smelt very 
 strongly of gin. However, she was in distress, and 
 the tavern, if not her home, might be her lodging, or 
 the place where her husband was drinking ; and in any 
 case, there was Little Theo at my side, so I caught her 
 arm and bade her lean on me. 
 
 She leant on me so heavily that I found it difficult 
 to walk with her. She clutched my arm with a force 
 that gave me a great deal of pain. She was coughing 
 hard, but less terribly than when I had spoken. In 
 the intervals of coughing she made some attempt to 
 thank me, with a sly thievish look out of the corners 
 of her eyes, which made me sick of the creature. 
 
 " Ah ! " she gasped at last ; " ah ! I'm better. To 
 the inn, my dear. I'll be all right in the inn. A 
 good boy. Good boy to help a poor old woman. Oh, 
 this cough is very bad. It'll be my death. It's the 
 dust that does it. Grinding the knives for the gentle- 
 men." 
 
 At the inn door her coughing broke out again with 
 great violence, till I expected to see her drop dead. 
 She signed to me, in the storm of coughs, to knock at 
 the door, which I did, though with difficulty, for she 
 was clinging to me like a wrestler, and leaning most
 
 CHARLES HARDI:N"G'S STORY 13 
 
 of her weight upon me. Little Theo, walking up after 
 us, and looking with grave distaste at the woman, also 
 knocked. About a minute after mj knock the door was 
 opened by a very evil-looking, dirty woman, with a 
 coarse red face much inflamed by drink. She opened 
 fire upon us at once, with ready abuse. " Why don't 
 yer bring 'er in? Don't yer see she's 'aving a fit or 
 somethink? Don't stand starin' there. 'Ere, come 
 on out of the street, Eliza. 'Elp 'er in, you." 
 
 She reached out for Eliza's arm, and fetched the 
 pair of us indoors with a single tug; she must have 
 been as strong as an ox. Little Theo, giving his sup- 
 port to Eliza, entered also. When we were fairly in- 
 side, the woman slammed to the door, shutting out the 
 light. 
 
 " Wait 'ere in the dark," she said testily, " till I 
 can get the settin'-room door open, I'm not goin' to 
 'ave the 'all door open to kill us all with the draught. 
 I'll get you a drop o' somethink, Eliza." 
 
 After fumbling at a door which I could not see (for 
 the passage was as dark as a tomb), she forced it open, 
 letting in upon us a smell of sawdust, stale tobacco- 
 smoke, and spirits — the filthy smell which pot-houses 
 of the dirtier kind exude. She had opened the door 
 into a private drinking bar, one of those squalid dens 
 " where sot meets sot in beery beastliness." A drunk- 
 ard inside somewhere was talking to the pot-boy about 
 a main of cocks, in which one called Jouncer had killed 
 the other, 
 
 " Help me in, boy," said Eliza, coughing grievously.
 
 14 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Ah ! this cough. It tears me in pieces. 'Elp me in. 
 A drop a gin. Gimme a drop a gin." We helped her 
 into the sitting-room, where she had her drop a gin, 
 a good big drop. Her cough ceased directly she had 
 swallowed it. She began then to leer at us with sick- 
 ening, half-drunken ogling. 
 
 " Weren't you a kind boy," she said, " to 'elp me 'ere. 
 I dunno as I could a got 'ome without a kind boy to 'elp 
 me. And the kind gentleman, too. Wot a kind gentle- 
 man ! Much obliged, I'm sure, sir." 
 
 By this time we had had more than enough of her. 
 Little Theo said that he thought that she would be all 
 right now that she was at home, and that we would be 
 going. For my part I was eager to be gone. I hated 
 being in such a place, for I had been brought up by 
 my father to look upon a tavern as one of the devil's 
 best recruiting sergeants. We turned out of the sitting- 
 room, and stepped quickly into the darkness of the 
 passage. The publican, a bloated, pasty-faced lout, 
 with something (which looked like a duster) in his 
 left hand, came after us from behind the bar. " I'll 
 just open the door for you," he said. 
 
 " It's a tricky door that," said the frowsy woman 
 who had let us in. I caught just a glimpse of her 
 red dress in the light near the sitting-room door. 
 Looking ahead, I saw a blacker mass in the blackness, 
 as though some one else were in the passage. Then, 
 before I knew what was happening, something came 
 down, dark and stifling, round my head. I heard the 
 woman cry out, " Got 'im, Bill ? I got 'is legs." My
 
 CHAKLES HAKDING'S STORY 15 
 
 ankles were clutched together by a cord. I was flung 
 violently. Something was thrust between my teeth, 
 my arms were pinioned. I heard a vigorous scuf- 
 fling, thudding noise, which told my confused brain 
 that Mr. Mora was being tackled also ; then I was lifted 
 and tossed down again, a hopeless, motionless bundle, 
 on a heap which, by the smell, seemed to be onions. 
 
 " There, my little joker," said the voice of the pub- 
 lican, "you'll be as right as ninepence." He laughed 
 with the hard mirthless laughter of the townsman. 
 
 " Did 'e get 'is teeth into yer, Bill ? " asked Eliza 
 an:xiously. 
 
 " 1^0 fear," said Bill, " I was too quick." 
 
 " Well," said Eliza, who had a quicker eye for profit 
 than her friend. " Eip that nice little suit from 'im. 
 Eh, lovey. That's good broadcloth, that suit. I'll be 
 able to get somethink on that. Oh, and lovey, look at 
 wot nice boots 'e's wearin'." 
 
 At first I did not know what was happening; it was 
 as though I had died suddenly, and found the want of 
 a body most distressing. When I felt them stripping 
 off my boots I realised that I was trussed up like a 
 fowl, so that I could not even kick. There was a sack 
 on my head, a leather wad in my mouth, and rope at 
 my wrists, knees, and ankles. I had been trapped by 
 a bad gang of thieves, from whom I might expect a 
 thorough overhaul before being flung forth. I could 
 just lie still, promising myself that I would keep calm, 
 so that (when they came to strip me) I might make a 
 struggle. But what can one boy do against three strong
 
 16 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 people? When thej stripped me, thej took very good 
 care to run no risks of disturbance. I was so carefully 
 held that they got my clothes from me unharmed. 
 
 " There," they said, when they had stripped me to 
 my underclothes ; " there, lovey. ISTow wot's in 'is 
 pocket ? " 
 
 They flung away the sweets impatiently, but I heard 
 Eliza opening the bag a moment later. As she munched 
 at a lollipop she kept reproving Bill for having flung 
 them aside. " You know quite well as I like a bit o' 
 sweet," she said. " Wot d'd yer fling them away for ? " 
 
 At last Bill told her to hold her jaw. After this 
 they examined the snuff, and tried it critically on their 
 own noses. 
 
 " Wot d'yer think 'e is ? " asked the red-faced woman, 
 referring to me. " A errand boy ? " 
 
 " No," said Bill ; " a kid sent out by his father to 
 bring 'is snuff back 'ome. Wot's in this 'ere en- 
 velope ? " 
 
 In spite of the sack over my head I could hear 
 everything, but it was all so horribly dark and unreal 
 that it was liker a nightmare than life. I heard the 
 coarse paper of the envelope crackle as they tore it 
 open, and then I heard Bill whistle with delighted 
 wonder. 
 
 " Wot is it ? " said the red-faced woman. 
 
 " Wot is it. Bill ? " said Eliza. 
 
 " Look 'ere," said Bill, " that's wot's wot. A golden, 
 great beastly banker's draft for twenty pounds. With
 
 CHARLES HARDI:N'G'S STORY 17 
 
 wot we'll get for the kid, this job's a prime cut to us, 
 I must say." 
 
 " Mj," said Eliza, " wot's a kid like that doing 
 with a banker's draft ? " 
 
 " Well," answered Bill, " 'e ain't doin' nuffin' with 
 it, that's wot." 
 
 They all laughed at this, as though it were funny. 
 It came into my mind then that poor old short-sighted 
 Dr. Carter had given me an envelope containing money 
 instead of the seaman's press Protection. I could only 
 hope that he had discovered his mistake and given word 
 to his banker to stop the payment. 
 
 " ISTow, Jane," said Bill, " wot you got to do is to 
 wash your mug, put on your togs, and take a coach to 
 this 'ere Mr. Banker for to lift this money before the 
 paper's proclaimed." 
 
 " Ow," said Jane, " an' suppose it is proclaimed, 
 and I'm took, wot'll 'elp me from being 'anged ? " 
 
 " Your beauty," said Bill. " So run along, or I'll 
 flat your jaw with a batten." 
 
 They argued the point for a time, but at last Jane 
 decided to run the risk of being caught (and hung) for 
 two pounds more than her third share of the booty. 
 I heard her stumping about, growling sour-temperedly 
 as she dressed for the adventure. Then I heard her 
 clumping out of the house, slamming the door behind 
 her. I remember trying to guess, from the noise of 
 the shutting door, how I lay with regard to it, so that, 
 if a chance offered, I might make a dash for liberty. 
 
 ^•'
 
 18 LOST ENDEAYOUR 
 
 It lay to my left, along the passage, and probably, by 
 the noise it made in closing, it opened by a spring catch 
 of which I did not know the secret. Altogether, I 
 decided with a sick heart that I was in a bad way. My 
 gaolers had the whip hand of me. I had to wait their 
 pleasure. 
 
 Bill began to talk with Eliza about the chance of 
 getting enough for a " small keg " out of the pawning 
 of my clothes. They argued it " back and to " for 
 about ten minutes, with the pertinacity of brutes. I 
 concluded that a " small keg " was some measure of 
 gin. I sincerely hoped that they might get a small 
 keg, and that it might choke them. I was not fright- 
 ened all this time. They say that a man caught by a 
 tiger is not frightened, but curious, full of interest in 
 the tiger's doings, and strangely calm, so that he can 
 reckon up his past life like a sum in addition. If I 
 thought at all, I thought of old Carter losing all that 
 money, and of the letter which I should write to my 
 father, telling him of my adventure. I remember that, 
 long afterwards, in the Indies, when I was sickening 
 for a fever, I had just such a clear mind, and much 
 such thoughts, not anxious thoughts, but troubled and 
 uncomfortable. If I longed for anything it was for 
 the night to come, so that I might be turned out of that 
 filthy house, which seemed to be contaminated in every 
 particle. I did not think of the black-haired skeleton 
 in the schoolhouse ; he never crossed my mind. Had 
 he done so I might have been less easy. I gathered, 
 but was not quite certain about it, that Little Theo
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 19 
 
 had been put in another part of the house. My mind 
 was confused about it; but I seemed to have heard a 
 blow, which ended that scuffling in the passage. I 
 wondered vaguely whether he had been killed. 
 
 Presently Bill began another conversation. At first 
 I did not understand it, as much of it was in that vile 
 debased jargon called thieves' patter; but when I began 
 to pick up little bits of it, my blood ran cold with 
 terror ; for now, for the first time, I realised what these 
 ruffians were planning to do with me. Having made 
 a good booty of me, they could not afford the risk of 
 my informing upon them. If taken they would, all 
 three, be hanged without mercy, so much I had realised 
 from the first. I now learned that they were going to 
 get me well out of the way, not by knocking me on 
 the head, and shoving me down a manhole into the 
 river, as was a common method in the infamous dens 
 near the water, but by another way which would bring 
 them in a comfortable sum. At first I thought that 
 they meant to sell us to the press, with a drugged 
 drunkard or two to bear us company, for the few 
 shillings which naval officers paid to the innkeepers for 
 hands taken from their premises. But when they be- 
 gan to quarrel about the prices then being paid in Vir- 
 ginia for white slaves (convicts or others) by the to- 
 bacco planters near the Chesapeake, I knew that we 
 were to be " kidnapped," or " trepanned " — that is, 
 carried across the sea to be sold as slaves for whatever 
 we would fetch ; perhaps ten pounds, perhaps more. 
 My heart sank, when the talk of that infamous couple
 
 20 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 warned me of my fate. I thought of my poor father 
 and his anxiety. He would never know what had hap- 
 pened to me. I thought of poor old Dr. Carter, and 
 of the efforts he would make to find us. When I 
 thought of what it would be to these people, and of 
 their agony, and of my own utter ruin and wretched- 
 ness, I felt myself going mad. The worst despair of 
 all was thinking that they would think me dead, and 
 perhaps mourn for me*, while all the time I should 
 be alive and in misery, and unable to send a word to 
 them, not so much as to say that I was alive. I re- 
 member thinking sometimes that it must all be a night- 
 mare, and that I should wake up in bed presently, and 
 be thankful that the dream was over. Then I thought 
 that such wickedness would never be allowed on this 
 earth, as for me to be dragged away thus, and sold into 
 savage lands, in a free country, to the ruin of the life 
 prepared for me. Hope kept burning up in me that I 
 should be rescued on the road to the ship, or sent home 
 by the captain, when he heard my tale ; for I knew that 
 my father would gladly pay more than my price as a 
 slave to have me safe at home with him. Then some 
 words from Bill about getting me to the ship unob- 
 served, and about the certainty of the Virginian con- 
 voy's sailing the next morning, if the northerly wind 
 held, dashed my hope dovm again, till I was nearly 
 delirious. I fear that my misery made me very selfish. 
 I did not think much of poor Mr. Mora, nor of what 
 it might be to him. I think that I felt that he was a 
 man, grown up and strong, and that nothing very bad
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 21 
 
 could possibly happen to him. The tragedy, I felt, 
 was all for me. 
 
 The time dragged by as slowly as it drags in a fever. 
 When one is excited, evilly excited, one lives through 
 so much in a moment that half an hour seems like a 
 week. Thus it was now with me. I was not certain 
 of the passage of time; but after a long, long while 
 Bill struck a light with a flint and steel, so that he might 
 have a look at me. Eliza said that she would get sup- 
 per if Bill would " hot drop a gin " ; so by that I reck- 
 oned it might be supper-time, or six in the evening. 
 Presently some one flooded the house with a vile smell 
 of toasted cheese, and some one else added a stink of 
 reeking spirits. The two supped together, growling 
 about not going to wait all night for Jane, who, if she 
 didn't come in in time, might cook her own supper. 
 After supper they both lit pipes, and smoked strong 
 ships' tobacco, till the air was like poison. It was over 
 their pipes that they began to grow uneasy about Jane. 
 They wondered if she had been stopped while trying 
 to cash the draft (long afterwards I learned that she 
 had been stopped), and if so, whether she would be 
 likely to " get them all into trouble " — that is, turn 
 evidence against them. After this I learned, from a 
 chance remark of Bill's, that the drunkard whose voice 
 I had heard on entering that house was " sleeping 
 proper," owing to a dash of some drug in his last pot 
 of gin. He, too, would " make the grand tour," said 
 Bill, and " fetch a good twenty anyway." So we were 
 to have company, it seemed. I do not know that any-
 
 22 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 thing else happened worth mentioning during that 
 miserable evening. I think that I can say all, in say- 
 ing merely that I was in a dull, shaking delirium of 
 misery, which need not be described more fully. 
 
 Ill 
 
 It was two in the morning (I could hear the clocks 
 of the churches) when a cart came to the door to carry 
 us away. Jane had not returned, so Bill, to his evident 
 disgust, had to take us down to the ship to barter us, 
 dressed up as a woman, for fear the press should take 
 him. The driver of the cart was an old crone, who 
 sat on the shafts smoking a pipe. She asked Bill if he 
 weren't making his fortune. Bill sourly answered that 
 it wasn't none of her business if he was. Then with 
 Eliza's help he flung the drunkard into the cart, and 
 pitched me on top of him, with Little Theo, evidently 
 unconscious still, on the top of all. Little Theo was 
 breathing in great choking gasps. He had been 
 knocked on the head. I remember a blessed gush of 
 cold, fresh night air, then the shock of my collapse on 
 to the body, and that continuous gasping breathing, 
 like snoring, and the grunt of the drunkard as I struck 
 him. I heard Eliza bid Bill to cover us in case the 
 watch or the press should be about. A tarpaulin was 
 flung across us. Bill, gathering up his skirts, stepped 
 into the cart, kicking my ribs because he trod on me. 
 I heard the old crone slash the horse cruelly with a
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 23 
 
 stick; I heard Eliza slam the door. Then we started 
 off on our journey of misery, down the roads which I 
 had so often walked when going to Greenwich on a 
 half-holiday. It was all pitch dark to me, for my eyes 
 were blinded; but I could guess whereabouts we were 
 by our halts at the turnings, and once (when we passed 
 Flyer's tanpits) the smell of the soaking leather brought 
 back so many jolly days to me that I choked. I under- 
 stood then how the criminals feel when they are driven 
 up the town to be hanged at Tyburn. The old crone 
 asked Bill if he were going to Tiger Wharf or to the 
 old place. 
 
 " The old place," Bill answered, " 'cos that's where 
 the ship is lying." So turning down past Greenwich 
 Church, we stopped at last by one of the wharfs on 
 Greenwich Reach, within earshot of the gurgle of the 
 tide. 
 
 Bill gave a low whistle on three notes, which was 
 answered by three more from somewhere in the night. 
 Then I heard clumsy footsteps clumping slowly to- 
 wards us, and smelt that smell of candle-grease and hot 
 metal which a lantern gives out when it has burnt for 
 a long time. The footsteps came nearer, so that I could 
 hear the lantern-ring click as the bearer raised it aloft 
 to look at us. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked a deep voice. " Is it for the 
 grand tour ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bill. " You know what it is as well 
 as I do." 
 
 The newcomer did not answer, but twitched our cov-
 
 24 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 erings off with one powerful wrench of his wrist. He 
 felt our hands to see if we were still alive. Then, 
 reaching down, he swung me up on his shoulder as 
 though I were a sack of shavings. 
 
 " This is a young one," he grunted. 
 
 Balancing himself in the sea style, he carried me 
 gingerly along the plank which served as a gangway 
 to the ship at the wharf's edge. He muttered to him- 
 self all the way, " A young one, a very young one, to 
 be going the grand tour." Then he dropped me down, 
 not unkindly, on to some rather hard soft stuff (so it 
 felt), which I afterwards knew to be a sail, not yet 
 bent, so that he might go back for the rest. After a 
 minute or two he returned. Bill, who helped him with 
 the other bodies, made a good deal of fuss over the 
 exertion, as though he were in very bad condition. 
 
 " There," said Bill, " two of the best I ever sent on 
 their travels. Now per'aps you'll talk a little English 
 to me." 
 
 " Come on into the cabin," said the seaman ; " I'm 
 only watchman. The old man'll have to see them before 
 you get your English talked to you (that is, your money 
 paid). We'll fetch 'em into the cabin and freshen 
 them up." 
 
 A few minutes later I was turned over on my face, 
 so that my bonds might be cut. The sack was pulled 
 off from my head, my gag was removed. I stood up, 
 blinking, a miserable figure, under two swinging lamps 
 in a ship's cabin. Just behind me stood Bill, dressed 
 crudely in a woman's gown ; at my side was a big burly
 
 CHAKLES HARDING'S STORY 25 
 
 seaman in an apron ; in front of me was a row of lock- 
 ers, on the top of which lay a languid-looking dark man, 
 in a green silk sleeping suit. He was flushed with 
 sleep; I fancy he had just been roused. He looked at 
 me without interest for a moment, but said nothing. 
 Then he turned to the seaman, who was waiting for 
 a sign from him. " The other," he said curtly. The 
 seaman cast loose the lashings on the drunkard, splashed 
 a mug of water in his face, and finally kicked him in 
 the ribs, without more effect than to raise a grunt. As 
 for Mr. Mora, he was allowed to lie. The heavy breath- 
 ing was enough to tell anybody that no amount of 
 kicking could bring him to life. 
 
 " Dead ? " asked the man on the lockers. The sea- 
 man turned to Bill. 
 
 " What have you been giving this feller ? " he asked. 
 
 " I give him a little sleeping drink," said Bill. 
 " He's only goin' to sleep it orf." 
 
 " And the other ? " 
 
 " Why," said Bill, " I give him a whang on the nut. 
 He's only shammin' sick." 
 
 " Shamming ? " said the man on the lockers. " Be 
 quiet. How much for the three ? " 
 
 " Forty pound," said Bill. 
 
 " Take them away," said the man on the locker. 
 " Take them out of here, and yourself too." 
 
 He was the captain and owner of the ship, but he 
 talked with as much authority as an emperor. " Take 
 them away," he repeated. 
 
 " Where to, sir ? " asked Bill.
 
 26 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " That's your business." 
 
 " Come, captain," said Bill ; " don't you tell me they 
 ain't worth forty. I amn't such a pup at this job. 
 They're well worth forty. Why, you'll get eighty for 
 'em in the colony." 
 
 The captain turned over on his side, hitched the rug 
 over his shoulders, and made as if to fall asleep. 
 
 " Forty's my price," said Bill truculently, losing his 
 temper at the sight of the captain's calm ; " and you'll 
 pay me forty, Captain whatever your grand name is, 
 or you'll find yourself in lob's pound, although you 
 think yourself a lord. I could pitch a tale to the 
 magistrates'd bring your gall into your throat." 
 
 The captain opened his eyes gravely and looked into 
 Bill's face without speaking. Bill's angry speech came 
 to an abrupt end under that quiet gaze. When he 
 stopped, the captain swung himself from his bed with 
 a slight heave of his body, which showed him to be a 
 man of fine muscular development. He dipped his 
 feet into a pair of embroidered slippers and stood erect, 
 a splendid creature, with no trace of languor in all his 
 figure. " Twenty is my price, my man," he said. 
 " This beast here (indicating the drunkard) may die 
 from your poison. The boy isn't worth sea-carriage. 
 As for the gentleman, I don't like gentlemen-slaves, and 
 you've clumped him so hard that he may die too." 
 
 Bill seemed to think for a moment as to his plan of 
 action, and then made up what mind he had that he 
 could gain his point by savagery. 
 
 " You give me any of your gall," he said, " I'll 'ave
 
 CHAELES HAEDIN'G'S STORY 27 
 
 you fetched out of your ship and 'ung. You're in my 
 power, that's wot you are — all the lot of yer. So 
 cough up them forty pahnds. I don't want to stay 'ere 
 all night. You give me wot's mine by rights. Don't 
 you give me any of your gall." 
 
 " What are your rights ? " said the captain. 
 
 " Forty pahnds is my rights," said Bill, " and I'm 
 going to 'ave them before I leave 'ere. See ? " 
 
 " I see," said the captain. " Well, there's no sense 
 in quarrelling ; let us talk it over quietly. — Bring some 
 brandy, Mr. Mate. IsTo man can talk business without 
 brandy. — Sit down, Mr. What's-your-name." 
 
 He motioned Bill to a chair at the table, and sat 
 down himself at my side, paying no more attention to 
 me than he would have paid to a fly. Something in 
 his face made me feel that perhaps he would hear an 
 appeal from me, so I flung myself down in front of 
 him and begged him not to tear me away from my 
 father. I suppose I had spoken twenty words of en- 
 treaty before the mate, coming in with the brandy and 
 a couple of tumblers full of punch, choked the words 
 from my throat with his great fist, and shoved the gag 
 back into my mouth. The captain paid no attention 
 to me. He merely stared at Bill, who seemed amused 
 at my outcry for mercy. Something in the captain's 
 stare (which Bill was too dull to notice) gave me a 
 sense of something terrible about to happen. I remem- 
 ber quite plainly how the sudden sense of something 
 terrible about to happen turned my thoughts a little 
 from myself and in a way comforted me. I began to
 
 28 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 watch the captain, as one would watch a tiger about to 
 spring upon his victim. 
 
 " We mustn't quarrel, Bill," said the captain ; 
 " must we ? " 
 
 " You give me wot I ask, and wot's right, an' you 
 won't get no quarrel," said Bill surlily. 
 
 " True," said the captain. " We've done business 
 for a long time. Bill. How many have we set travel- 
 ling between us ? " 
 
 " A matter of thirty odd," said Bill. " I give you 
 a matter of seven last year." 
 
 " Why, so you did, to be sure," said the captain. 
 " Certainly you must have what is right. Here's the 
 brandy. If your punch isn't strong enough, just add 
 from the bottle." 
 
 Bill looked at the captain with low cunning. " I 
 want your special brandy," he said. " JSTone. of your 
 ordinary dollops for me." 
 
 " Oh," said the captain, " you'll find this above 
 proof. Your very good health, Bill." 
 
 He raised his glass towards Bill and took a good 
 draught. Bill sipped his glass to get a taste of the 
 liquor's quality, then shot it down his throat, just as 
 one flings earth from a shovel. Almost instantly he 
 collapsed over the table as though he had been pole- 
 axed. It was as though his bones had suddenly been 
 removed from him. 
 
 " That was a strong shot, sir," said the mate calmly. 
 " Shall I put him in the lazarette ? " 
 
 The captain merely nodded. The mate swiftly
 
 CHAKLES HAEDING'S STORY 29 
 
 lashed Bill's hands and ankles with some spun-yam, 
 shoved a rag into his mouth to keep him quiet when 
 he woke, and then, pulling up a small hatch in the 
 floor, dropped the body down into darkness. 
 
 " He was getting too uppish," said the mate. " And 
 forty. He'll fetch fifty guineas, may be. He'll have 
 a lo.t of friends there, glad to see him when we get to 
 the West." 
 
 The captain did not answer, but, after pitching Bill's 
 glass into the river, returned quietly to his bed upon 
 the lockers. He just motioned to the mate with one 
 finger to remove me from his presence. 
 
 Just outside the cabin door, we found the old crone, 
 who had come aboard for Bill. She was getting cold 
 and sleepy out there on the wharf, and wanted to know 
 how much longer she was going to be kept there. The 
 mate advised her not to wait any longer, since Bill was 
 making a beast of himself with the captain's brandy. 
 
 " Guzzling 'og," said the old crone. " Nor I won't 
 wait." 
 
 So ashore she went, and a moment later I heard the 
 cart wheels crunching on the earth as she drove away. 
 The mate took me into a dark place of many smells, 
 close enough to the great cabin to be covered by the 
 poop. Here he kicked about with his feet till he as- 
 sured himself that the cat was not asleep on some boat 
 covers which had been tossed into one corner of this 
 room to be out of the way. Then he took out my gag, 
 and gave my throat a friendly squeeze. 
 
 " See here," he said. " Your old life, whatever it
 
 30 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 was, is over. See? What your new one '11 be like 
 depends on yourself. If you scream or caterwaul, now 
 your gag's gone, my orders are to club your silly bead 
 in, and dump you into the river. There's nothing I'd 
 enjoy doing better. If you'll give your word not to 
 raise the Peak here, I'll give you your hands and legs 
 free. If not, I'll truss you up like a Christmas duck. 
 Which is it to be ? " 
 
 I said as well as I could, for I was too miserable to 
 say much, that I would be quiet ; but might I have some 
 water. 
 
 " Water," he said ; " water's for fishes. You can 
 have beer if you like." So he gave me some of the 
 very weak, thin beer which sailors drink. 
 
 " You drink like Sunday Jack, who broke the 
 brewer," he said; for truly I was mighty thirsty. 
 " Now cover yourself in them rugs, and sleep while 
 you get the chance. You got some sense I see." After 
 that he locked me in for the night. 
 
 The beer, and my misery together, overpowered me. 
 I fell into the deep sleep of utter exhaustedness, and 
 though I woke once in a half-hearted kind of way, at 
 a strange noise from up above me, I dropped off again 
 and slept like a log. I woke up at last with a start, 
 not remembering what had happened. The room in 
 which I was was strange to me. It was fully twenty 
 seconds before I came to myself, and realised that I 
 was in a ship, going to be sold as a slave. I was really 
 on my way to slavery at that moment; for the ship 
 was lifting and rolling slightly ; the water was clucking
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 31 
 
 past. I could hear the creaking of timher as the ship 
 rolled. Some mugs, dangling from hooks in the ceil- 
 ing above me, inclined gingerly to one side at each 
 roll, and then with the same deliberation inclined back. 
 We were under way, the ship was moving. I w^as go- 
 ing from my home, from my father, from everything 
 which I held dear, to something horrible, far off, which 
 I could not understand nor foresee. In a fury of de- 
 spair I ran to the door, and kicked and struck at it with 
 my stockinged feet and fists. But it was fast locked: 
 I might have spared myself the trouble. Then, in 
 great distress, I flung myself down upon my sail and 
 wept myself sick. 
 
 IV 
 
 The mate roused me out of my misery at about seven 
 o'clock. 
 
 " You needn't blubber your heart out," he said 
 roughly. " You ain't pretty when you blubber. 
 You'll just rouse out and lend a hand here. How old 
 are you ? " 
 
 I told him that I was fourteen. 
 
 " Are you ? " he said. " Then you ought to be 
 ashamed of blubbing that way. And it's time you 
 earned your living." 
 
 So he dragged me out on deck by the ear just as I 
 was, bootless and half dressed, and put me to scrub 
 some paintwork with soap and water. He stood over 
 me while I worked, and made a jest of my poor sue-
 
 32 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 cess. Whenever I lifted my head to look at the Eng- 
 lish shores slipping away from me, for we were under 
 all sail and travelling fast, he jerked a couple of hairs 
 out of my neck to remind me of my duty. At last 
 some one struck " eight bells " on the bell above my 
 head, and the mate told me to knock off for a moment. 
 Standing up, I saw that the river was full of ships 
 under full sail, all the great Virginian convoy, bowling 
 away down tide, with colours flying. Half a dozen 
 men-of-war were heading them up as dogs head sheep, 
 firing stray guns as signals where a dog would have 
 barked. I made up my mind from that moment, bitter 
 as it was to do so, that my life was changed beyond hope 
 of remedy. My task now, I saw, was to make what I 
 could of myself under the new conditions, at present 
 so strange and hateful to me. I remembered some advice 
 given to me by my father upon my first going to school. 
 He had told me to make very sure that I impressed folk 
 favourably at a first meeting by answering smartly and 
 clearly, acting willingly, and taking care of my ap- 
 pearance. It was little enough that I knew of the great 
 world apart from this advice; but it was like hearing 
 a word from my father to remember them at this time. 
 It gave me a great deal of comfort. When the mate 
 came back from mustering the watch, I went up to him 
 boldly. 
 
 " Please, sir," I said. " May I have some proper 
 clothes to wear while I am at work ? " He growled 
 out, like the sea-bear he was, that I had not yet earned 
 my clothes, and that it wasn't much good giving me
 
 CHARLE& HARDING'S STORY 33 
 
 clothes, since I evidently couldn't keep them when I 
 had them. Still, for all his growl, I saw that he liked 
 me for the question. He came back to me in a few 
 minutes bearing a " teaser," or blood-knot of hard, 
 tarred spunyarn, with which he smacked his left hand 
 affectionately. 
 
 " Here," he said, " can you run ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered. 
 
 " Do you know a cross-tree when you see it ? " 
 
 " 'No, sir," I answered. 
 
 "Then I'll teach you," he said. "Them little 
 branches on the tree there (the mainmast) is the cross- 
 trees. And if you don't get over them and dovvai the 
 other side, before I do, you'll taste ISTero here." 
 
 With that he darted at me lashing at me with his 
 teaser, but I dodged him. I skipped into the rigging 
 like a monkey, with JSTero slashing at my calves just 
 below, and the ratlines giving my stockinged feet acute 
 pain. I went up like a bird, over the giddy futtocks, 
 with the big man shaking the shrouds beneath me. 
 Then, quite out of breath, I scrambled over the cross- 
 trees, and somehow down the other side. 
 
 " There," said the mate, when he joined me on the 
 deck, " now you've been aloft, I can make a man of 
 you. Come below, and get some proper clothes on." 
 
 After this, I lived the life of a common ship's boy. 
 It is a pretty hard life, without much pleasure in it. 
 I was put in a watch with the other seamen, and did 
 what they did, scrubbing paint and woodwork, toiling 
 aloft at the ropes and sails, getting wet through con-
 
 34 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 tinually, wearying my arms with pumping, getting more 
 kicks than ha'pence, for very bad food and little sleep ; 
 but finding some of it pleasant all the same, when I 
 could keep from thinking of my father. The mate, to 
 whom I confided some of my story, one night when he 
 was inclined to talk to me, told me to keep a "stiff up- 
 per lip " and " watch out." " What's the odds," he 
 said ; " what'd you a been in the old country ? A 
 shark (a lawyer) or a preacher man. Well. Now 
 you'll be sold in Virginia. We shall be there in a fort- 
 night from this. What's the odds ? You watch out 
 and keep a stiff upper lip; you'll be free by the time 
 you're twenty-one, and have money coming to you, and 
 be a farmer on your own account. That's better than 
 being a lawyer, and having to live in a filthy hole like 
 London all your life." 
 
 " Yes," I said ; " but there's my father ; I want to 
 see my father again, or at least write to him." 
 
 " What d'ye want to write to him for ? " asked the 
 mate. " I never write to my father. I dunno whether 
 he's alive or not. You let well alone, my son. Provi- 
 dence has took you from your father. Well, don't you 
 go agen Providence." 
 
 He was not quite certain about the rightness of this 
 command of his, for he afterwards asserted it more 
 strongly than before, and then very kindly offered to 
 carry a letter to my father when the ship returned to 
 England. He took the letter with him, but as far as 
 I can make out it never reached its destination ; though 
 all this, of course, happened after our arrival.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 35 
 
 As for Little Theo, the knock on his head gave him 
 a fever. He was ill for all the voyage, and not prop- 
 erly conscious for at least seven days. In my watches 
 below — that is, in the spells of leisure allowed to me 
 for food and sleep, recreation (keeping myself clean) 
 and study (as they called greasing the mate's boots) 
 — I used to go down to him to sit beside him. It was 
 very shocking to see him down there in the cabin, 
 tossing about, and moaning, and talking in all kinds of 
 tongues; but I got a sort of melancholy pleasure from 
 it, because he was a part of my old life. He linked 
 me on to it still in many ways. While I had him, I 
 had something of it all beside me. I used to pray for 
 him to get better before the ship came to Virginia. I 
 am afraid that it was a selfish prayer. You see, he 
 had been my master. He had seemed omnipotent then. 
 I believed somehow that he could get me out of this 
 scrape, if he were only up and about, strong and hearty. 
 
 The oiScers of the ship nursed him, fairly tenderly 
 for sailors. The mate used to give him brandy from 
 his own allowance. " He's a big feller," he used to say 
 admiringly. " He'd be able to carry a Potosi pig if 
 he had his health. That's a lump of gold, a Potosi pig 
 is. They have them in the Potosi mines, and any one 
 as can lift one is free to keep it for his own." 
 
 Then the captain would come down, look at the sick 
 man, and say perhaps, " Not so feverish to-day " ; or,
 
 36 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " I believe he'll pull through yet " ; or, " It'll be a dead 
 loss of thirty pounds if this one goes through the port " 
 (that is, dies). Then the mate would take his pipe out 
 of his mouth and spit into the sea. " Yes, mister," he 
 would answer. " Thirty pounds, by heck. It'd be too 
 bad to put this one over the side. He's a big feller. 
 He'd be able to carry a Potosi pig. Did you ever 
 hear of a Potosi pig, captain ? It's a lump of gold, 
 etc." 
 
 They didn't put him " over the side." Little Theo 
 slowly recovered. When he began to get better they 
 forbade my visiting him. They kept me out of the 
 cabin, so that we might not talk nor plot together. I 
 only saw him once during the last third of the passage. 
 I was up aloft, overhauling the main buntlines, and he 
 was on the poop, taking air for the first time. He was 
 crippling about on deck, supported by sticks, the ghost 
 of the man whom I had known. The mate and captain 
 were on deck near him, looking at him just as butchers 
 look at the beasts come in for slaughter. I did not 
 speak to him then, nor later, but the mate brought me 
 a message from him that night. I was to cheer up. 
 " Your friend says, cheer up ; there's nothing in being 
 sold to a planter. So cheer up." 
 
 "Please, Mr. Mate," I answered; "may I be sold 
 with him, so that we can be together ? " 
 
 " No," he said. " He isn't fit to be sold. He won't 
 be sold in Virginia at all. We shall keep him aboard 
 till he gets better, and sell him in Jamaica. But you'll 
 be sold directly we arrive. You ain't got anything the
 
 CHAELES HAEDING'S STORY 37 
 
 matter with you, like what he has. So cheer up. You 
 ought to be very thankful you're enjoying such good 
 health." 
 
 That was the last I heard of Little Theo, my old 
 master, for many a long day. 
 
 VI 
 
 When we arrived at James Town in Virginia, I was 
 taken ashore with half a dozen other unfortunates (Bill 
 was one of them, and a mighty sick unfortunate he 
 looked), and exposed for sale in the street. The farm- 
 ers came, and looked in my mouth (at my teeth), and 
 felt my arm-muscles. They made me feel like one of 
 the animals. A horse or cow would have had more 
 sympathy from them. They would have clapped a 
 horse on the neck, and slapped the cow's flanks, calling 
 them " Ginger " or " Sweetlips." I was merely a boy, 
 unable to make much money for them, so I got nothing 
 but an oath or two from the captain, who tried to sell 
 me. He might have been a little gentler with me ; for 
 I had cost him nothing, and had surely earned my food 
 by my hard work on the voyage. However, I must do 
 him justice. When he did sell me, he very honestly 
 gave me a roll of that thin blue cloth, known as dun- 
 garee, in pajTuent for my work during the passage. 
 " There," he said ; " there's your wages, boy." 
 And then away he went, and I never saw him again, 
 so that to this day he is something of a mystery to me.
 
 38 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 I have often hoped to meet with him — the handsome, 
 sleepj-looking, pitiless man. When I see him, if I 
 ever do, I will settle up a pretty long account with what- 
 ever stick comes handy. 
 
 VII 
 
 The man who bought me was a rough-looking cus- 
 tomer named Carteret. He paid fifteen pounds in 
 tobacco and crude silver for me, and marched me off 
 to his sloop, which lay at the jetty. He was pleased 
 when I told him that I could steer a sailing-boat. When 
 we stood off for his farm, he let me take the tiller ; and 
 though he showed that he considered me as his slave, 
 he was kind. He told me the names of the various 
 points of land in sight ; and of the depth of the river, 
 and the habits of its fish. He told me of the deer and 
 the wild pig in the forests. He talked of the Indians 
 who hunted in the forests. " The first thing you'll have 
 to learn," he said, " is to be as like an Indian as you 
 can. These woods aren't like the woods at home, boy. 
 There's many gets lost here. And there's bad men in 
 them. And sometimes an Indian buck gets a blood- 
 thirst on him, and he goes out after scalps, much as 
 I'd go after a rabbit. So, while you're in the woods, 
 you look at what the birds are doing. And if they 
 get scared, you lie low till you see what scared them." 
 
 All the time he was speaking he was looking all 
 about him, noticing everything from a faint smoke far
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 39 
 
 off on the further bank of the river, to a string of wild 
 fowl coming behind us. Something moved me to ask 
 him if his farm were far away. 
 
 " 1^0," he said easily, as though he were mention- 
 ing something quite commonplace. " Three days, or 
 four if the wind falls." 
 
 As a matter of fact it took us five days of sailing to 
 reach the lonely Accomac creek, known to the woods- 
 men as Carteret's Clearing. There was a little log- 
 house at the creek-end. A byre for the oxen stood fur- 
 ther up, behind wooden pales. An old negro, who was 
 hoeing at a stump-root, hobbled up to welcome us. 
 This forlorn shack was to be my home for the seven 
 years of a white slave's term of slavery. 
 
 The life on the farm was hard. I worked, gener- 
 ally, fifteen hours a day, at cutting and splitting trees, 
 digging up old roots, and hauling stones off the cleared 
 ground, to build them up later on into walls. Carteret 
 was engaged in clearing the ground for his fields. He 
 had burnt off some of the forest ; but burning a forest is 
 a dangerous and wasteful process. He was going to 
 clear the rest by axe and hoe. We went hunting every 
 Saturday, and generally got a deer, or a wild cow, or 
 pig, some of which we ate during the week, while the 
 rest we salted or dried for winter use. We fished in 
 the creek for weeks together in the spring, when the 
 shad were running, and that was a wild, exciting. Red 
 Indian kind of a life ; but in doing it for a living one 
 sees only the labour and the dirty, wet discomfort. I 
 did not like it. For you may say what you like about
 
 40 LOST EKDEAVOUR 
 
 the open air. I say that man was made for something 
 nobler than the gutting of fish, and the hanging them 
 up to dry when gutted. And though it was certainly 
 better than the sea, it was not the life to which I felt 
 myself called by my own capacity. I was continually 
 homesick, too, whenever I was by myself. I was wor- 
 rying about my father, and longing for the talk of an 
 English lady. Recollect that we were far away in 
 the wilds, twenty-five miles from another settler. A 
 few friendly Indians, and an occasional tobacco mer- 
 chant from James Town, were the only people we saw, 
 unless Carteret, feeling the forest too much for him, 
 took me with him to the capital, where he would spend 
 a dreary week, drinking and playing cards, while I 
 looked after the sloop. Thus, then, two years passed. 
 During that time I heard no news from England, 
 nor could send any thither. I was like a transplanted 
 tree. 
 
 VIII 
 
 One early autumn, when the leaves were beginning 
 to turn to the colour of embers, old Carteret fell ill of 
 a pain in the leg. He bade me ride out to an elderly 
 seaman named Duggan (who lived forty miles away) 
 to get a salve; for this Duggan was reckoned a pretty 
 good doctor by the country people. Carteret was able 
 to stump about, so that there was no danger in leaving 
 him alone ; and as for my escaping, there was no chance 
 of that. Anybody who caught a runaway slave was
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 41 
 
 very well rewarded. And where could I run to ? Only 
 into the woods to become a savage. Or to some wild 
 gang of desperadoes plundering on the seas. So I 
 caught the horse and saddled him, and took hobbles for 
 him in case I had to sleep out. I also took a blanket 
 rolled up in oiled linen, a pistol, a bag of food, and a 
 tin can full of water for my own refreshment. Flint, 
 steel, tinder, and a knife I always carried. I did not 
 need a compass. I could tell the time by the sun, and 
 the direction too. Carteret gave me my bearings care- 
 fully, for I did not know the road for more than twenty- 
 five miles of the way. 
 
 " And look you don't get lost," he said, " for some of 
 the way is pretty wild, or used to be. And watch out 
 for snakes and Indians." 
 
 When I had gone about ten miles the mail-rider 
 hove in sight. I knew the man pretty well, so I gave 
 him a hail. He was an old settler named Harrigan. 
 People generally called him " Scalpy," because his 
 scalp had been lifted in some raid. He used to ride 
 around with the mails at odd times, whenever there 
 were any to bring. He and I were very good friends. 
 When he saw who it was he turned his half-tamed horse 
 towards me, and loped up alongside, with one leg 
 cocked easily over the pummel and the other trailing 
 down. He sat his horse (I always thought) as though 
 he were really a part of it, sprouted through the saddle, 
 I think that he was partly a horse, he understood them 
 so well ; and then his rather dull long face was horsey, 
 and his mind, always running upon horses, had de-
 
 42 LOST EjSTDEAVOUK 
 
 veloped mania, as you might say. He looked so like a 
 horse that one expected him to whinny. 
 
 " Well, you young rip," he said, " where are you 
 bound for ? " 
 
 I told him that I was going to Duggan's to get salve. 
 I asked for news of the world. 
 
 " Why," he said, " there's a smuggler ship in Small's 
 Creek, running gear, if old man Carteret wants any. 
 They've nice Europe clothes they say, and very good 
 weapons. You might tell him that when you get back. 
 I promised the smuggler I'd pass the word along. 
 Very cheap goods, and very nice. I got these Spanish 
 silver bits of him. Spanish they are. They'd stop an 
 alligator, let alone a pore little horse." 
 
 " They're very fine bits," I said. " They set your 
 horse off, too." 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " they give him a smart up. But I 
 must be riding." He was just turning away when 
 something occurred to him. " See here, Charles," he 
 said, " I heard back the road a piece that there was talk 
 of Indians being out. I don't know whether it's true, 
 but you ride careful. Them red fellows come around 
 before you know." 
 
 I promised him I would ride carefully, and that I 
 would pass the word about the smugglers among the 
 country people. Smugglers came to the coast in those 
 days pretty often to get rid of contraband goods at 
 cheap rates. Most of their goods were stolen from the 
 Spaniards, if the truth were known. The smugglers 
 were mostly privateers who used to cruise along the
 
 CHARLES HAEDING'S STORY 43 
 
 Spanish coasts, capturing the small Spanish coastwise 
 traders. Then they would ply along Virginia, getting 
 rid of the spoil among the settlers for whatever it would 
 fetch in cider, apple-jack, tobacco, or hides. The peo- 
 ple who bought the spoil were really receivers of stolen 
 goods; but then, on the other hand, the goods were 
 necessaries of life, and cheap. " Why," the farmers 
 argued, " should we send the smugglers packing, and 
 make long journeys to James To^vn for everything, and 
 buy our goods in James Town at seven times the price 
 we pay, merely to enrich a London merchant and to 
 give a tax to the king?" They could never see why. 
 
 The Government kept a frigate cruising off the coast, 
 with orders to capture all smugglers. I fancy that the 
 Governor wanted really to stop the piracy, about which 
 the Spaniards complained bitterly, as well they might. 
 The smuggling was a disposal of stolen goods. If the 
 frigate destroyed the market for such things, she de- 
 stroyed the profits of the cruise, and therefore indirectly 
 the crime itself. It was made a penal offence to buy 
 contraband. But there. Things go on among the 
 common folk of which governors never dream. A 
 smuggler would come in with a ship there, and the 
 word would go about the country, and the goods would 
 be passed ashore and sold, and the ship would sail be- 
 fore any sheriff had a hint of her being there. Those 
 old lawless days of forty years ago are over now. It 
 is strange to reflect that I saw them and took part in 
 them. But to go on wnth my story. 
 
 The first half of the road was plain sailing; it was
 
 44 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 when I got into unfamiliar land that I began to worry. 
 I was riding through fairly open country, all gently 
 rolling in little hills with brooks between them, and 
 little thick clumps of timber and patches of bramble 
 and bog. The sun was hot, and Peter kicked up the 
 mosquitoes till my neck, in spite of the hog fat rubbed 
 upon it, was swollen and maddening. Towards four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, as I broke out from cover on 
 to a roll of savannah land, I saw smoke among a patch 
 of timber ahead, and that made me draw away to the 
 shelter of a clump till I could see what kind of smoke 
 it was. I knew that if the Indians or the " bad men " 
 were raiding I was in a tightish place. I was out 
 there in the wilds, on a tired old nag, as fat as butter 
 from summer grass, twenty miles from the nearest 
 known shelter. I hitched Peter to a tree and tied a 
 neckcloth over his mouth, so that he shouldn't squeal 
 if any one approached him. Then I loaded my pis- 
 tol in both barrels, with two bullets in each, and began 
 to crawl forw^ard under cover towards the clump w^hence 
 the smoke rose. I was puzzled by the smoke, for it 
 was daylight and hot weather. It might be a camp- 
 fire carelessly left alight by travellers; but that was 
 unlikely, as most travellers were too much afraid of 
 setting the woods on fire to leave anything burning 
 when they broke camp. It might be a woodsman 
 boucanning, or " drying " his kill of beef or venison 
 over a fire ; but even that was unlikely in a land where 
 savage Indians still raided in war parties. I crept
 
 CHAKLES HARDING'S STORY 45 
 
 away cautiously towards it, with my heart in my mouth 
 whenever a bird gave an alarm cry. 
 
 Soon I came to the border of my clump. To get 
 to the clump where the smoke rose I should have to 
 wriggle through fifty yards of bramble and long grass, 
 a risky business at the best, for a man unused to the 
 work shakes the grass so badly, besides stirring up 
 every snake and mosquito in his path. However, 
 though I hated the thought of the journey, I felt that 
 it had to be done. I watched the birds in the smoky 
 clump. They seemed quiet enough. So, with a gulp 
 in my throat, I pushed forward through the grass. I 
 went most cautiously, looking sharp ahead, in continual 
 fear of putting my hand on a rattle-snake. The birds 
 in the tree-tops twittered and chirped reassuringly; 
 but I was conscious of making a swathe in the grass 
 big enough for a carriage drive. The mosquitoes set- 
 tled on me in swarms, but I dared not lift a hand to 
 them. As I crawled I kept praying that no Indian 
 was watching me, ready to shoot me directly I raised 
 my head. I got through twenty yards, then thirty, 
 then forty, without once peeping up above the grass 
 tops. At my fortieth yard I stopped dead, full of 
 horror, for in a tangle in front of me some one was 
 singing a little quiet song, that was low like laughter, 
 and every now and again louder. It was an Indian 
 voice, but that was not the worst of it. It was a mad- 
 man's voice. Som.ewhere in the grass beyond me a 
 mad Indian was laughing and singing to himself. I
 
 46 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 gave myself up for lost, but I knew that to turn back 
 or to lie still would be worse than to go forward. The 
 sweat of terror was dripping off me on to my hands. 
 I had my pistol wavering about like a conductor's 
 baton. 
 
 I do not think that I could have turned. Great ter- 
 ror sometimes lures one forward, just as a little scare 
 will set you scampering. I was not brave about it. 
 Only I had the feeling that I ought to face it. It 
 was partly the feeling that it would be terrible to be 
 run down by a mad Indian, after a rush through the 
 long grass with the war-whoop ringing out behind me. 
 So I pushed forward one length, then another, then 
 a third, till I was peering through the grass-stalks at 
 something which lay beyond, in a dip of the land. 
 Now, directly I looked through the grass clump, I saw 
 that my mad Indian was nothing but a chuckling 
 spring, which gurgled out of a pool, over a few peb- 
 bles, and away into a marshy tract, intensely green, 
 where the mud turtles would have been happy. But 
 although my Indian was gone, there was something dis- 
 quieting instead of him. There was a dead wild steer 
 lying beyond the pool, about twenty yards from me. 
 Two men, with their backs towards me, were bent over 
 his body, stripping off the hide. There was nothing 
 in that, you will say, to disquiet any one. Perhaps 
 not. But one of these men was dressed in a strange 
 outlandish way, with a turban and sash, while the 
 other wore Spanish clothes, very rich with silver. I 
 knew from the clothes that the men were not planters.
 
 CHAKLES HAEDING'S STOKY 47 
 
 Since they were not planters, I argued that they were 
 men to be avoided. They could either be the " bad 
 men " (the renegade slaves who had taken to the 
 woods to live, like the Indians, by hunting and by 
 raids upon the settlers), in which case I was as good 
 as dead; or they could be the smugglers hunting for 
 beef. The smugglers I knew would not be likely to 
 kill me, but I knew that they might seize me and sell 
 me into slavery. They were good friends with the set- 
 tlers; that was all very well, the settlers bought their 
 goods from them. But a settler's slave was a no-ac- 
 count person, with neither money nor friends; and 
 these rough hulking villains, as I knew only too well, 
 would steal a man's slave in order to sell him else- 
 where, just as readily as they would chew tobacco. 
 
 Presently the Spanish-looking man, tired of stoop- 
 ing, dropped his knife and stood up to stretch him- 
 self. He yawned and turned round, so that I could 
 see the earrings in both of his ears. For a few sec- 
 onds he looked straight at me; but as I was a little 
 above him and well covered, he could not see me. I 
 told myself that he could not see my track in the 
 grass behind me. I took a careful aim at him, and 
 waited, while my heart thumped upon my throat with 
 great pants. 
 
 After a short rest, and the biting off of a fresh quid 
 of tobacco, the man picked up his knife and went on 
 with his work. I wanted to see his companion's face, 
 but as he was bent over the beef I could not. I no- 
 ticed that, whoever these people were, they were very
 
 48 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 well used to taking the hide off a cow. Presently 
 the brush of the thicket beyond them was thrust aside, 
 and out came half a dozen other men. They were all 
 rather richly dressed, like this first man, but they had 
 the gait and look of seamen. Two of them were ne- 
 groes, two were swarthy, olive-coloured, stockily-built 
 men (these I took to be Spaniards). The others, 
 though darkly dressed, looked like Englishmen. An 
 Indian in English dress came after them at some lit- 
 tle distance, carrying a long scalp-lock, such as so many 
 of the woodsmen wore. I pressed myself into the grass 
 while they came forward. I had not much hope of 
 escaping observation; but I realised that the stream 
 kept them from walking into my hiding-place. Still I 
 could not make out what they were. They were not 
 the " bad men " of the woods, for the bad men wore 
 clothes suited for woodland life; they were not In- 
 dians, they were apparently sailors. If they were sail- 
 ors, come for fresh meat, then they could be nothing 
 but smugglers, which is as much as to say pirates. 
 Such people would probably be without horses, and if 
 so, I argued to myself, I could get away on Peter. I 
 prayed that they might soon turn back to the copse, so 
 that I could go back to my horse. 
 
 Instead of that they gathered unconcernedly about 
 the cow, drew out their machetes or long knives, and 
 fell to at the flaying and quartering. The man in the 
 turban produced a ball of spun-yarn, with which they 
 made handles or straps for the joints of meat as they 
 hacked them off. Another man, flinging out the hide
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 49 
 
 towards me, just as a housewife flings down a door- 
 mat, gave it a last scrape before folding it and put- 
 ting it on his head. They were talking to each other 
 all this while, partly in Spanish. As far as I could 
 make out, the man in the turban was a sort of officer 
 among them. 
 
 After a few minutes of talk, during which they lit 
 their pipes, they shouldered the meat, and began to 
 walk slowly away from me towards the trees. There 
 was something about the walk of the turbaned man 
 which seemed familiar, but I could not remember where 
 I had seen anything like it. I remember that it seemed 
 uncanny to me. It was as though I had been through 
 all this long before in a nightmare, and that now it was 
 come true. 
 
 The Indian remained behind longer than the others 
 to take the cow's tongue, which had been forgotten. I 
 kept breathlessly still while he did this, for I had 
 heard terrible tales of the sharpness of an Indian's 
 senses. My heart thumped horribly. I felt so sure 
 that the Indian would see me through the tall stalks 
 of the grass. My legs were numbed with long lying 
 cramped. My arms ached intolerably. I had the In- 
 dian covered. My fingers were pressing on the trigger. 
 My plan was to shoot the Indian and run for it, if 
 he caught sight of me. At every second his friends 
 drew nearer the thicket. In ten steps more they would 
 be hidden from me. The chance of escape became al- 
 most a certainty. Even now, if I had to kill this man 
 and run, I felt that I could win to the further cover
 
 50 LOST EITDEAVOUR 
 
 before they could open fire with any chance of hitting 
 me. If I could win to the cover unhurt, I made sure 
 of getting away on Peter, who by this time would be 
 well rested. At this moment the Indian straightened 
 himself, hitched the scalp under his belt as a sailor 
 hitches ropeyarn, and looked out over the countryside 
 under the sharp of his hand. He was a fine, straight, 
 splendidly built man, with a broad brown face and 
 cheeks suffused with scarlet. I have seldom seen a 
 grander man. He must have been six feet six in 
 height. His intensity of gaze, the sharpness of the 
 hooked nose, and the immobility of his figure as he 
 looked, made me think him a great human eagle. All 
 the faculties of his nature were concentrated on his ex- 
 amination of the land. His face was without other ex- 
 pression than that of merciless scrutiny. I understood 
 by looking at him how the hawk looks and feels when 
 he poises above a field for mice. When he stood up his 
 left side was turned to me, he was looking due west. 
 To his right side lay the copse to which his friends 
 were walking. He did not look in that direction. He 
 slowly turned round towards me, scanning the whole 
 countryside, as he had learned in his childhood, before 
 he had taken up with the whites. Slowly he turned, 
 till he was looking straight over my head, along my 
 track in the grass. I was gazing, as it seemed, right 
 into his eyes, and yet no hint of having seen me showed 
 in his face. He had not seen me. His gaze had a 
 raptness in it, as though he were in some dream of the 
 long ago, when perhaps he had hunted and camped
 
 CHARLES HARDmG'S STORY 51 
 
 among these woods with the braves of his tribe. He 
 turned at last, without a sound, and began to walk 
 swiftly towards the copse, though in a track rather to 
 the right of those followed by his friends. I knew then 
 that he was following a rule of the Red men, who 
 never return by the track by which they come. Still 
 I dared not stir. He would have heard me had I 
 moved. I watched his feet moving softly and swiftly 
 in the grass. Suddenly, even while I watched, the man 
 disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed 
 him. I could not believe my eyes. He had gone. 
 There was no marshy patch near, he had not fallen 
 into a slough. He had vanished in some shortish gTass 
 not tall enough to hide a child. I watched for a full 
 minute, trying to see what had happened to him, but 
 I could see nothing; he had vanished. From some- 
 where in the copse the laugh of a startled woodpecker 
 clattered. Just beneath me some of the cow's corpse 
 fell over on its side with a dull flop. I had had enough 
 of that place. I swung round gingerly, and began to 
 crawl away with a mighty sick feeling in my heart lest 
 the cow's carcass should come crawling after me, with 
 fumbling hops. I did not intend to break a new track 
 in the grass. I was going to get back to Peter just as 
 quickly as I could. 
 
 ITow there is a great deal of difference between fac- 
 ing an enemy and running from him. When you face 
 him, however sick at heart you may be, you have the 
 worst before you, and know when it is going to strike. 
 When you run from him you imagine the worst, and
 
 52 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 that is much more terrible. So it was with me now. 
 I had not gone ten yards before my fear of being taken 
 by these men took hold of me and shook me. I stood 
 up, wheeling round to see if any one really was com- 
 ing after me; and, after one startled glance behind 
 me, I ran down my track to cover like a bull running 
 from a fire. At the same instant a big man, riding 
 on Peter, burst through the cover before me without 
 seeing me, and a voice shouted " Coje usted " from 
 somewhere behind me. Something whistled over my 
 head, and jerked round my throat with a rattling knock 
 upon my nose. I felt myself spun round from be- 
 hind. I could just see the figure of the Indian rising 
 up out of the grass at my back within seven yards of 
 me, and had time to fire at him blindly before I was 
 flung heavily to the ground. As I fell, my second bar- 
 rel went off into the air. 
 
 I realised that I had been lazoed ; that I must draw 
 my knife at once. I was not so flurried that I could 
 not think. I was groping for my knife to cut the rope 
 when the Indian swooped down on me. He flung a 
 rope about me as swiftly as a spider spins round a 
 wasp. He lashed me up, as one lashes a hammock, 
 with marling turns, so that I could not move my arms. 
 I was a helpless bundle before my knife was out of 
 its sheath. Then the man who was riding on Peter 
 rode up to have a look at me. He too was richly 
 dressed, like the others. He was so big that his feet 
 almost touched the ground. He was so fierce-looking 
 that had he gone on all fours the cattle would have
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 53 
 
 taken him for a panther. He had the flattened brow 
 and the pale, evil eye of the panther. If he had been 
 beautiful he would have been very like a panther. 
 
 " Que tal ? " he said, staring at me in amazement. 
 Then raising his voice, he hailed the rest of them. 
 " Ahoya, mis amigos," he shouted. " Ahoya." 
 
 In about a minute I heard the feet of the others 
 coming through the grass. I heard their voices. One 
 voice was saying, in English, that Hunko had roped 
 somebody. Another answered that it must be a bear, 
 since nobody could be within miles of them. I did not 
 see them, at once. I was on the ground, staring up at 
 Hunko, who looked at me with something in his face 
 like — I will not call it pity or sympathy, but interest. 
 I fancy he thought that I was a game young cock to 
 have fired at such a great brave as himself. 
 
 Other faces stared down at me. They formed a 
 ring about me, puzzled at my sudden appearance among 
 them. " Ask Theo," said one of them. " Come and 
 look, Theo," said another. The man in the turban 
 shouldered through the group and looked at me. He 
 was tanned to a yellowy brown like the rest of us. 
 The queer whitish-brown clothes which he wore made 
 him look like a sort of Hindu. But it was Little Theo. 
 I should have known him had he been dressed in woad. 
 He was older and wilder looking, that was the only dif- 
 ference. I, who had grown a great deal in every way 
 since our last meeting, was not so easy to recognise. 
 My first impulse was to cry out, " Why, it's Little 
 Theo." Then I remembered that he was a master, and
 
 54 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 that I must be respectful. It was queer that I should 
 think of that at such a time. 
 
 IX 
 
 " Don't you know me, Mr. Mora ? " I asked. 
 
 "Why, it's Charles Harding," he said. "Yes, of 
 course. Let him up, Hunko. Well, Charles Harding, 
 and what is the present subjunctive of aimer? " 
 
 Hunko let me up, and I rose and shook his hand. 
 I think that that moment made up for pretty nearly 
 all the miseries of the past. Here was my old friend 
 to talk and consult with; here was the old life come 
 back. 
 
 " But what brought you here, sir ? " I said. 
 
 " Why," he answered, " that's a long tale for one 
 time. But come along ; I'll tell you as we go. Pick up 
 your meat, boys, and shove ahead." 
 
 " Bueno ! " " Muy bien ! " " Un amigo ! " " Met 
 in the old country ! " said the others, as they turned. 
 One of them, a rough-looking Englishman, asked me 
 whether I had any objection to letting my horse " toat " 
 the meat. They did not wait for my permission, but 
 slung the joints upon Peter. One of them led the old 
 horse when we set out together, in an easterly direction, 
 towards the Atlantic coast. 
 
 Little Theo did not speak to me for some time. As 
 we walked on together I had leisure to observe him. 
 I did this shyly, for I had not been able to overcome
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STOEY 55 
 
 mj awe of liim. One would have thought that his 
 presence there among the pirates, dressed like a Hindu, 
 would have removed all suggestion of a master from 
 him. It was not so. He was in command of these 
 men; and then he had always a dignity about him 
 which made people stand off until they were invited 
 to approach. What I remarked about him was a cer- 
 tain wildness and strangeness of manner which I had 
 never before noticed in him. I put it down to the 
 sufferings through which he must have passed; but it 
 gave me uneasiness, I could not help thinking that his 
 brain was turning. Something in his eye made me 
 think that. 
 
 " Charles," he said at last, " are you still a slave ? " 
 " Yes, sir," I answered ; " I shall be a slave for four 
 years more." 
 
 " And then you will plant tobacco, I suppose ? " 
 " If I can't get home somehow. But I can't get 
 home without money." 
 
 " Cannot you escape from your master ? " 
 " If I were to run away I should only get among 
 pirates or bad men. And if I were caught, I should be 
 flogged, and then branded in the face." 
 
 " Would you care to come with me ? I am navigator 
 in a smuggling ship. I am in a gang of smugglers. 
 That is to say, they are not so much smugglers as pi- 
 rates. They are really privateers, who come here to sell 
 their booty." 
 
 " Oh, sir," I said, with a sinking heart. 
 
 " !N^ot from my own choice," he said, smiling at my
 
 56 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 trouble. " I am here by necessity, like yourself. And 
 do not judge them too harshly: they saved my life. 
 Come with me. We shall keep each other company. I 
 shall be able to look after you." 
 
 " But what shall I become, sir ? " 
 
 " You needn't become a pirate," he answered, smil- 
 ing. " I'll see to that. But if you are away from 
 this life, going about the world, you will at least have 
 more chance of getting home. I'm just as anxious to 
 reach home as you are." 
 
 " Isn't it a frightful risk, sir, smuggling ? " I asked. 
 I had been a slave for two years, and something of the 
 slave soul was in me. " There's a frigate on the coast. 
 And if I were caught I should be branded." 
 
 " We are going to Jamaica," he answered. " In 
 Jamaica there may be ships going to England, if we 
 want to go to England. I am a navigator, and there is 
 always a demand for navigators. I could get you in 
 with me perhaps." 
 
 My heart leapt at the prospect of getting to Eng- 
 land ; but even so, I was afraid of this going with the 
 pirates, and terribly afraid of running from Carteret. 
 I had known one or two poor men who had run from 
 their masters, and been taken. They had been tied up 
 to a tree and beaten with thongs, and then branded like 
 heifers with red-hot irons, so that for all their lives to 
 come people would shrink from them. Then there 
 came the thought that if I went I should be with a 
 friend who would save me from this; and again the 
 thought of England came> overwhelming me. England
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 57 
 
 had been a want gnawing at my heart for all these 
 months. She had been something glorious, very far 
 away — something longed for, but impossible. It had 
 been a horror to me to think that I might die without 
 revisiting England. 
 
 " Yes, you must certainly come," said Little Theo 
 calmly. " That is evidently the rightest thing." 
 
 " But how about Peter ? " I asked. " He belongs to 
 my master. He would think that I had stolen him." 
 
 X 
 
 Before Theo could answer, the Indian Hunko, who 
 had been walking a little ahead of the group, stopped 
 and held up a hand. We all stopped, and looked about 
 us. We were close to a pretty big copse or thicket, 
 which shut us in from the west. When we stopped I 
 thought that the Indian had caught the scent of wild 
 cattle. The others thought so too. They drew their 
 pistols, and began to edge noiselessly into line. 
 
 " What is it, Hunko ? " said Theo, in a very low voice. 
 "Is it beef?" 
 
 The Indian listened intently, and then with a swift 
 gesture said, " Abajo. Down," in his guttural Span- 
 ish. At that instant Peter, looking up and pawing for- 
 ward a step or two, whinnied loudly at something un- 
 seen, evidently at some little distance. The Indian 
 sank down into the grass and disappeared, as he had 
 disappeared before when he had first caught sight of
 
 58 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 me. I don't know how they do it. They begin to 
 learn when they are tiny. It is partly natural to them, 
 of course, from long generations of practice, but it is 
 wonderful all the same. It shows such absolute power 
 of the will over the motions of the muscles, and such 
 subordination of the person to the intention. We others 
 dropped down too, like men used to frontier life. A 
 negro near me lifted his head and whispered, " Dos 
 caballos " (Two horses). 
 
 Laying my ear to the ground, in the Indian way, I 
 caught the drumming of hoofs upon the savannah. The 
 panther-man, nudging the man next to him, asked for 
 the loan of a ramrod. The minutes passed heavily; T 
 thought that the end would never come. Suddenly 
 from over the copse end came the high, wild, melan- 
 choly crying of a wolf. I had heard the noise often 
 enough, but the clear dying-away anguish of it had 
 never thrilled me so before. Little Theo, lifting his 
 head, answered the call cleverly, but in a way which 
 would not have deceived me had I been out in the 
 "wilds. I knew the cries of the savage creatures as well 
 as they knew them themselves. An instant afterwards 
 the drumming of the horse-hoofs stopped, and a long 
 wailing wolf-call, evidently the work of a human throat, 
 came from the savannah. 
 
 " Es Restitute," said one of the men. 
 
 " ISTo," said another. 
 
 " It is Dick and Giles." 
 
 The pirates stood up again. The Indian was back 
 among us, merely remarking " Amigos," as he knocked
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 59 
 
 the dust from his robes and took a look along the 
 horizon. Then came hails, shouts (both rather anxious, 
 I thought), and the straining noise of harness-leather 
 as the horses galloped up. The horses had been cruelly 
 ridden, and that showed me that the riders, whoever 
 they were, were in some desperate panic, besides being 
 ignorant of the ways of us woodsmen, who know how 
 to ride a horse all day, at a good steady lope, without 
 breaking his heart. The men swung themselves off 
 their horses clumsily. They were pretty stiff and sore 
 from the gallop, having ridden little probably for some 
 years. 
 
 One of them was a heavy lout of a man, with a bru- 
 tish face. The other was of a different type. He had 
 a bright, intelligent face, with frank eyes. The only 
 want in his look was a certain easy-going looseness about 
 his mouth. One felt that here was a good companion, 
 without the means of judging whether others were 
 worthy companions. This one advanced towards us, 
 letting the other hold the horses. He had a face full of 
 trouble, which made me wonder for the moment whether 
 the Indians were up. 
 
 " See here, mister," he said to Little Theo. " Listen, 
 you others ; come round here." 
 
 " What is it, Dick ? Give her sheet," said the 
 others. 
 
 "About Captain Pointer," said Dick. "He's left 
 us. He's taken the pick of the crew and left us." 
 
 "Left the ship?" said Little Theo. "Or left us 
 without the ship ? "
 
 60 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Left the ship," said Dick. 
 
 " Oh," said Little Theo calmly. " Gone away ? 
 And who has gone with him i " 
 
 " Twenty-five, all told," said Dick. " All he could 
 take, in fact." 
 
 "Really," said Little Theo. "But I don't under- 
 stand. Why has he gone ? " 
 
 " Well," said Dick, " I leave that to you, mister," 
 
 " But why ? " Little Theo asked. 
 
 " It was something to do with you, mister," said 
 Dick — " something about Boca Drago — the island 
 where we found you. He said there was a mystery 
 somewhere." 
 
 " Has he gone to Boca Drago, then ? " 
 
 " Restitute said that that was the plan, as far as he 
 could make out. He had malaria bad, Restituto. He 
 was turned in, and heard them talking about it." 
 
 " Heard who talking about it ? " 
 
 " Captain Pointer and the others. You see, Cap, 
 there was some young sparks came into the creek with 
 one of those turtle-schooners, the Lone Fortune. We 
 were in Charlestown with her, if you remember. Cap- 
 tain Pointer was very thick with the young sparks 
 aboard her." 
 
 " Yes, I remember. And so he has gone with them. 
 Why?" 
 
 " She was a swift little ship," said Dick musingly ; 
 " and I gather that the game was to get to the island 
 in a hurry. You see, Cap, begging your pardon, it was 
 all fixed up between them. Captain Pointer suspected
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 61 
 
 there was treasure in that island. When you had the 
 fever aboard us you talked a lot about gold. There 
 was a lot of gold, you kept saying — a golden church or 
 something. You know the truth of that, better than 
 I do." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " So Captain Pointer got you away beef-hunting 
 here, and examined some papers you had — a book and 
 that. Restituto says that it was a picture book, and 
 that it said where the gold was." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "Well, that's all. Cap. He thought he'd go raise 
 the gold." 
 
 " And why didn't you go ? " 
 
 " Why," said Dick promptly, " I've a mournful pas- 
 sion for the beauty of your mug, Cap. So I stayed. 
 Besides, Doggy Sam sent me out with some of the 
 others to truck for cider. I didn't know anything about 
 it till they had gone. They sailed yesterday evening 
 before sunset." 
 
 Here one of the men broke in to say that if there 
 really were gold in the island, we could go in chase, 
 beat them, get there before them, and lift the gold 
 for ourselves. That was the plain sense of it, he 
 said. 
 
 " Yes," said Dick. " But Captain Pointer thought 
 of that. He took our sails with him, and most of our 
 grub, as well as the boat and anchors. It won't be so 
 easy to go after him. Besides, the ship's a wreck any- 
 way."
 
 62 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 " Ah," said Little Theo, in a strange voice. " Well, 
 let us get on board, and see wbat may be done." 
 
 " Begging your pardon, mister," said Dick. " The 
 hands want me to say that they hope you won't leave 
 us. You're the only one of us who can navigate. We 
 should be in a mess if you were to leave us too." He 
 looked hard at Theo's face to see whether there were 
 any signs of compliance. It was an expressionless face 
 at the moment, but a good deal paler than it had been. 
 It was pale, as I thought, from anxiety, and from a de- 
 termination not to be anxious. What all this talk of 
 the island and gold might be I could not imagine. I 
 only said to myself that Little Theo's going on the 
 " grand tour " had led to more adventures than had 
 come to me. I had a sense, too, that they had coarsened 
 and hardened him. He looked and spoke like a very 
 different man from the fine young man who had bought 
 a new wig that day at Deptford. 
 
 " You'll remember, mister," said Dick pleadingly, 
 " that it was us who brought you off that island." 
 
 "I remember," said theo. "Tell me. Did Cap- 
 tain Pointer send word to the Sheriff about us ? " 
 
 " My hat, mister," said Dick. " I never thought of 
 that. I don't know. Cap. Very likely he done." 
 
 " What ? " said one or two of the others. " Peach on 
 us ! Give us away to the Sheriff ? " 
 
 " Nothing more likely," said Theo. " We must get 
 out of here. The first thing to do is to get on board, 
 and see what we can do." He turned to me, and shoved 
 me towards Dick by the scruff of my neck.
 
 CHARLES HAEDING'S STORY 63 
 
 " Here, Don Ricardo," he said. " This is our new 
 recruit. This was a friend of mine in the old country. 
 I'm going to take him home." 
 
 " Right," said Dick, shaking hands with me. " Now 
 we'd better shove ahead, pronto. And as for you, my 
 son, you shall be an admiral." I did not want to be 
 an admiral (of that kind), for I hated the sea and 
 everything in it, and the kind of life produced by it ; but 
 I thought to myself that Little Theo was the captain of 
 these men, and in command of a ship, and that England 
 was distant only a month's sail, four weeks, twenty-eight 
 days, or less if the wind held. Some scruples about Pe- 
 ter, and old Carteret's sore leg, still held me. 
 
 " Please, Mr. Mora," I said, " my master's leg is 
 bad." 
 
 " It will get better," he answered coldly. 
 
 " A lad of tender heart," said one of the Spaniards. 
 
 " Bueno," said the others, when my remarks had 
 been translated to them. " Bueno joven." They 
 looked at me as if I were some rare bird, as if good- 
 ness were stuck about me like feathers. Dick clapped 
 me on the shoulder and took my arm. We struck the 
 trail of the horses, and set off eastward to the ship. 
 Hunko, riding forward, looked out for danger. 
 
 XI 
 
 Towards dark we sat for a short while to rest ; for 
 the pace was telling on us. I was tired; but Dick
 
 64 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 told me that it was only a matter of another mile or 
 so, so I bore up. As we were about to start again, 
 Hunko the Indian, who had been looking out as we 
 rested, held up a hand for silence, and signalled to Dick 
 to cover the horses' mouths. He did so instantly, with- 
 out waiting to ask why. Little Theo, crawling forward, 
 asked in a whisper what the trouble was. 
 
 " War-party," said Hunko, " a war-party on a foray." 
 
 " Where ? " said Little Theo. 
 
 The Indain pointed to a mound dimly to be seen 
 half a mile ahead. 
 
 " Camped for the night, I reckon," said Dick. 
 " There's a fire, and they wouldn't light a fire unless 
 they were going home. I reckon we are cut off from the 
 sea, captain. They're dead in our path." 
 
 " Yes," said Little Theo. " Creo que si. I would 
 know what it is they want, and how many they are, 
 and whether they have seen us. Hunko, you must go 
 and see them." 
 
 " I've heard tell," said Giles slowly, as Hunko crept 
 away into the gloom, " that Injuns coming home from 
 a raid split up into bunches." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick. " But if that gang see that we've 
 got horses, they'll try to wrastle them, no matter how 
 small the bunch is. 'Now, there's a clump of hill there. 
 Let's get up it, so as to have a bit of a position any- 
 way. There's a brook running down at the foot there. 
 One of us'll lay down and get our water bottles filled, 
 and then we'll be ready for them." 
 
 Silently we '"ept away towards the little knoll, lead-
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 65 
 
 ing the horses. It rose up in the twilight like a small 
 inverted bowl of earth, not more than a hundred feet 
 high, and no bigger at the top than a tennis-court. I 
 do not know what the other men thought. Probably 
 they knew too little about Indians to realise their dan- 
 ger. But I, who had seen some of the Indian handi- 
 work, felt the hair of my scalp tingling whenever I 
 glanced back at the little red spark of fire, which died, 
 and glowed out again, as the wind rose and fell. Some 
 of the men, as we walked, said that they didn't think 
 that the Indians could have seen us. But I knew bet- 
 ter. There was not much chance of that. My only 
 hope was that the Indian party might be too small to 
 tackle us. Perhaps, after looking at us, they might 
 decide that we had nothing which they really wanted. 
 Otherwise, we could look to hear from them, not just 
 yet, but in the cold, dreary, dark time a little before 
 the dawn. When we got to the little hill we found 
 that it could be guarded easily enough, being steep to 
 the top on all sides. By daylight it was likely to be 
 dangerous, being open to the plain all round, so that 
 any one on the hill would make a fair target to a 
 marksman below him. For the time it was a pretty 
 good place, we all thought, though the camp would be 
 cheerless enough, since we dared not light a camp-fire. 
 There would be no moon. We were in for a night of 
 anxious misery, with a very strong likelihood of violent 
 death by daylight. 
 
 When we got to the hill-top we picketed and fed 
 the horses, placing them in our midst, inside as much
 
 66 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 of a cordon as eight people can make about a tennis- 
 court. When we had given them their feed (grass 
 hastily cut with our knives), Dick suggested making 
 a sort of ankle-high fence around our camp, with shrub- 
 stakes and lazoes, but we had not rope enough to make 
 the circuit, even with our stirrup-leathers and reins, so 
 this fell through. "We were beginning to worry about 
 Hunko, who had not reappeared among us, though it 
 was now more than half an hour since he had crept 
 away. In the general gloom which settled down upon 
 us when the scheme of the trip-rope came to nothing, 
 this fact of Hunko's absence told upon us heavily. We 
 looked out anxiously towards the Indian camp, telling 
 ourselves that it was not yet possible for him to be 
 back among us, while all the time we knew in our 
 hearts that he had been caught out there in the grass 
 and done to death. The little sad spark of a camp-fire 
 wavered and glowed up, marking the presence of our 
 enemies, but there came no sign of Hunko. Suddenly 
 Tomas, who had shown a good deal of terror during our 
 retreat, broke out excitedly with, — 
 
 " Look, look. Their fire's out." 
 
 A second before I had noticed that red spark. 'Now 
 it was quenched out utterly. I could see in my mind's 
 eye the brown skinny hands dropping death upon it, at 
 some smart alarm or signal. 
 
 " Now, boys, look out," said Dick. " They're prob- 
 ably coming. Out all your pistols, and load with 
 chewed slugs." 
 
 After loading carefully we held a weapon show. We
 
 CHARLES HARDII^G'S STOEY 67 
 
 had nine possible fighters, including myself. For 
 weapons, we had fifteen double-barrelled pistols, with 
 perhaps ten rounds of ammunition for each. We had 
 two light fowling-pieces, one heavy gl^n throwing an 
 ounce ball, and three axes. Each man had a long knife 
 or dagger. Dick had a slung-shot and a pair of brass 
 knuckles, of which he was very proud, though I knew 
 that an Indian at close quarters would give him little 
 chance of using either. Altogether, we could reckon on 
 a pretty effective armoury. Dick, who seemed to have 
 more wit than the others, produced some parchment 
 and began to make pistol cartridges by the light of a 
 candle hidden behind a small wall of scratched-up 
 earth. I helped him at his work, for I was clever at 
 cartridge-making, having made all Carteret's cartridges 
 during the last two years. When we had rolled up 
 some three or four rounds for each man, our candle 
 burnt itself out into a little pool of grease. We ser^-ed 
 out the cartridges to our party. Then Little Theo told 
 us off to our stations round the hill-top ; two men to 
 each quarter of the compass. I, being a supernumerary, 
 was put to the east, with Bill and Tomas, our two 
 worst men. I noticed that an Englishman was put by 
 each of the Spaniards. The Spaniards were not al- 
 lowed together. As we went quietly to our quarters, an 
 owl hooted somewhere down in the plain. Ear away 
 to the south another owl answered faintly. The first 
 owl replied from somewhere a little nearer. It was 
 not quite an ordinary hoot. There w^as something un- 
 usual in the fading of the cadence. Perhaps one who
 
 68 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 had not lived in the woods would not have noticed it. 
 
 " They are coming," I whispered to Dick. 
 
 " Sure thing," he answered. " They are, and here 
 we are without any water, either for ourselves or for 
 the horses. Theo," he cried, raising his voice, " we've 
 got no water. Some one's got to get water ; we may be 
 held up here all day to-morrow, and then there are the 
 horses." 
 
 " Turn the horses loose," said Tomas ; " they aren't 
 ours. I'm not going to bother about horses which aren't 
 mine. Let them go free, Don Ricardo." 
 
 " 'No, sehor," said Dick. " I guess that no, my 
 Spanyola de Guzzlevino; I guess that no. Them 
 plugs'U be the salvation of any of us that gets wounded. 
 I'm going to treat them horses like I'd treat my best 
 friends. One of us is going to get water, not only for 
 us, but for the horses too." 
 
 At this there was some babblement among the men, 
 who one and all avowed that they w^ould not leave the 
 camp, " seeing as one man short might mean the death 
 of the lot of us." One of the Spaniards, the one called 
 Benito, said that he would go down to the brook with 
 the water-bags and bottles, if Dick, our best shot, would 
 come with him to stand guard as he filled them. To 
 this Little Theo objected. 
 
 " Our brave Benito shall go," he said caressingly in 
 Spanish. " But our most gallant Ricardo, he is our 
 hope. What could we do with the ship without Ri- 
 cardo and myself? He is our trust. He shall not 
 leave the camp. He shall stay. The so-valiant and
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 69 
 
 lion-like Don Tomas shall go with our brave Benito." 
 
 However, this proposition damped Benito's ardour 
 altogether. I cannot say that it pleased the lion-like 
 Don Tomas. " 'No, captain," he said. " It is well 
 known that the savages are very subtle. I am for the 
 open fighting. My genius does not suit for this war- 
 ring of wild beasts. I am a gentleman. I will fight 
 like a gentleman. Is it not so ? Then bueno, for it 
 is so." 
 
 " Bueno," said everybody. " Tomas tiene razon. 
 Bueno. Muy bien, Tomas." 
 
 " Bueno up an alley," said Dick. " One of you has 
 got to go, or I'll go myself." 
 
 But to this they all opposed themselves violently, 
 saying that it was impossible, not to be thought of ; the 
 brave Ricardo was not to be foolhardy. They made 
 noise enough to scare every living thing for a quarter 
 of a mile. If the Indians had come upon us then, they 
 could have cut our throats before we could have fired 
 a shot. I, who knew something of the Indians' habits, 
 was aghast at them. There was only one way of stop- 
 ping them, a dangerous way certainly, but less danger- 
 ous than allowing them to continue this noise. I 
 stepped back among the horses to collect the canvas 
 water-bags and the men's canteens. Slinging them 
 over my back, I called out to them to get to their posts, 
 since I would go for the water alone. I asked that I 
 might have two more pistols, in case I should be at- 
 tacked; and T prayed that they would not fire at me, 
 even if I came home by another path than that by which
 
 70 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 I went. I would give them a miaou, by way of signal, 
 when I came within range. They applauded me 
 heartily for my valour. Little Theo, preparing to come 
 with me, was stopped by the others, who would not 
 hear of their navigator risking their lives by risking 
 his own. Dick gave me his pistols, and told me that 
 I was a plucky lad. Benito, who had shovm a good 
 courage all along, offered to come with me, but this I 
 refused. I was a silent walker myself. Benito was 
 anything but that. I would go alone, and take my 
 chance. 
 
 " Bueno," said everybody. " He like to go alone, so 
 that there shall be no noise. Bueno. Que valor. Que 
 intelligencia." 
 
 To a running chorus of " Buenos " I stepped over the 
 brow of the hill, on my way to the brook. 
 
 XII 
 
 For a moment I stood still, peering through a black 
 darkness in which I could barely see the nearest clump 
 of trees, a good quarter of a mile away. I was con- 
 scious of the stars being blotted out in that part, but 
 hardly of the presence of the wood. It was as dark 
 a night as I could remember. The brook was easily 
 seen, for a faint, whitish, fine-weather mist had begun 
 to wreathe along its course. The brook was no diffi- 
 culty, but the getting to the brook was likely to tax my 
 powers. To get to it I had to creep silently for three
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 71 
 
 hundred yards over llnkllo^^^l country, some of it per- 
 haps brambly, some almost certainly quaggy. Like all 
 boys brought up in the woods I had observed the coun- 
 try pretty closely when I first came into it. It had 
 become almost second nature to me to do so. I had 
 particularly noticed the course of the brook, because 
 brooks and the strange wild things which live in them 
 have always fascinated me. I knew that it ran towards 
 the sea in a straight line from the south of our camp 
 to the south of the Indians' camp, which was dead 
 to the westward of me. But further up the stream, a 
 little to the east of our camp, before the brook began 
 that straight westerly course towards the sea, it made 
 a wide sweeping curve north and south, so as to put 
 our camp, as it were, in the crook of an elbow. I 
 could go to the water from any point between south and 
 east. Standing on the hillside, out of sight of my com- 
 panions, with the certainty that somewhere in the black- 
 ness were deadly and cruel enemies creeping towards 
 me through the grass, I tried to remember, from my 
 observations an hour before, whereabouts the brook's 
 banks had been sedgy. I had no very clear remem- 
 brance ; but I expected, from what I knew of brooks, 
 that the firm banks and deep water would be away from 
 the bend. Before I set off I laid my ear to the ground, 
 hoping that I might hear some stealthy footsteps or 
 distant snapping twig. But I heard only the passing 
 drumming note of the brook going over a fall three hun- 
 dred yards away. As I stopped to listen, the call of 
 the owl sounded out from below, by the water.
 
 Y2 LOST EKDEAVOUR 
 
 There was nothing for it but to bear off to the east- 
 ward. I guessed from the owl-calls that the Indians 
 were almost all round us by this time. To get to the 
 brook and back unobserved would be impossible; but 
 it was craft against craft : I meant to try. As I glided 
 away softly I was conscious that the water bottles were 
 making a great noise upon my back. It was unpleas- 
 ant to think that they would probably be noisier still 
 when full. The putting down of each foot was a mat- 
 ter of infinite delicacy. Have you ever thought of the 
 way a deer goes in lands where there are beasts of 
 prey ? It was like that that I crept down to the water, 
 fearfully, peering, sniffing, treading delicately, lest a 
 twig should snap or a puddle splash or a briar rus- 
 tle. As I went on I gained confidence, for I thought 
 that the night was black enough to puzzle even an In- 
 dian. Then, in a careless moment, I trod on a dry 
 branch, and snapped it across with a noise which rang 
 out like a pistol-shot. An instant later, about a hun- 
 dred yards to my right, the owl-call sounded again, 
 with that blood-curdling melancholy unreality which 
 makes the owl's cry so terrible. It startled me from all 
 my woodcraft. Panic took me. I waited for nothing 
 more. I charged down to the brook at full speed, 
 floundered across it at the bend, where it was more than 
 knee deep, and then followed it northward at full 
 speed on the further side till I was out of breath. Then 
 I lay down gasping, while my heart knocked at my 
 throat, till I had pulled myself together. After a few 
 minutes I peered across through the alders at the dis-
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY Y3 
 
 tant camp, which I could just see as a black mass hid- 
 iug the western stars. All was quiet there. All seemed 
 quiet in the grass land at its foot, but it was a quiet 
 more ominous than that stillness frequently disturbed 
 to which a woodsman is accustomed. In the wilds, at 
 night, there is always noise — quick stealthy noises, 
 little squeaks and cries, as though mice were giggling; 
 little swift patterings of dew, knocked off by an un- 
 seen, noiseless walker ; little scuffles, little sudden pounc- 
 ings — noise enough to tell a woodsman of another 
 world than his, filling the night with life. To-night 
 this babble of small sounds was hushed unaccountably. 
 There were strange beasts of prey abroad — strange, 
 dim, silent, grey things slinking into the grass like 
 wolves, gliding forward like snakes, frightening all the 
 wild things from their hurried, startled hour of feed- 
 ing. Of all the bad signs visible to me, that sign of 
 the silence was the most appalling. All the night 
 seemed to brood and to be expectant. It was all hushed, 
 as in the moment before a cyclone strikes. It needed 
 very little — a broken twig or the noise of a cocked 
 lock — to let loose those tense-drawn nerves in the camp 
 and around it. 
 
 Peering forward into the gloom I began to people 
 the night with my fancies. I began to suspect the pres- 
 ence of Indians among the alders. That dim black- 
 ness of a leafy branch was surely a head. What was 
 that moving in the grass there ? Listen. It was all 
 still, very still, a breathless night, tense with expecta- 
 tion. Far away (or was it near, though very low ?) an
 
 Y4 LOST EN'DEAVOUR 
 
 owl hooted. After the calling of the owl a new terror 
 walked the darkness. Heavy footsteps sounded at my 
 back, then ceased, began again, and again ceased. 
 Some one was coming up behind me. He was stand- 
 ing still, loading his arms. I could hear a strange noise 
 as of a clicking gun-lock. I spun round, facing away 
 from the brook, to front this unknown. But I could 
 see nothing; nothing but mist, and the night's gloom. 
 I stared into the dark for a glimpse of him. The 
 heavy footsteps drew nearer with a resolute curiosity. 
 There came a noise of a musket being grounded. The 
 noise seemed to be within a few yards of me; but in 
 the darkness, made even darker by the shifting mist, 
 now gone, now thick, who could tell whence it came? 
 My fingers were ready on the trigger. Dimly, as in 
 one volleying blast the mist drove by, hurried by a 
 gust, I saw something black facing me — a bear, a 
 man, or a willow-stump — something black in the night 
 facing me. In moments of great excitement one real- 
 ises with a swift intense certainty. I saw this thing 
 for perhaps five hasty seconds before the mist closed 
 in again; but, even in those five seconds, I knew that 
 it had seen me. As quickly as I could I shifted my 
 position a few yards to my left, before the mist should 
 clear again. The wind was rising now, the mist would 
 be gone in an instant, it was going even now. Pres- 
 ently it blew away altogether, vaguely, into the blacker 
 vagueness of the night, and there was the thing, crept a 
 little nearer to me. 
 
 " Woof ! " it snorted loudly, " woof ! " There came
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 75 
 
 a slashing noise, and tlie angry stamping of a hoof. 
 The thing was a wild bull, the offspring of the cattle 
 let loose in the Indian raids thirty years before. The 
 woods hid several herds of them. I almost laughed 
 with relief when the beast declared himself. A sec- 
 ond later I decided that it was no laughing matter — 
 for, in the first place, the beast's snort would have de- 
 clared my whereabouts to every Indian within hear- 
 ing; and in the second place, it was the early fall, a 
 time when the animals are in prime condition, and very 
 quarrelsome. " Woof ! " he said again, stamping, and 
 lashing with his tail. His head went down jerkily. I 
 knew that he was cutting the earth with his horns. It 
 would never do to wait there till he charged me, so I 
 backed most cautiously into the brook, which I crossed. 
 I was glad to find the opposite bank a steep one. There 
 was no chance of his crossing after me. 
 
 When I had hauled myself up on the bank I filled 
 the water-bags and canteens as quietly as I could, tak- 
 ing care to fix the stoppers so that they should not be 
 jerked out if I had to run. I had slung them over 
 my shoulders, ready to start back to the camp, when the 
 bull, having cut the turf with his horns till his cour- 
 age was flaming in him, advanced to the brink of the 
 bank and bellowed his challenge at me. In so much 
 silence the uproar of that bellow was comforting; but 
 the thought occurred, is it myself that he is challeng- 
 ing ? may it not be some Indian looking for me ? The 
 bull challenged again more loudly, trampling at the 
 brink as though for a ford. Then, wheeling round,
 
 76 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 he trotted down-stream to shallow water, snorting 
 loudly, galloping for a pace or two, pausing to rattle 
 his horns on an alder branch, a creature of terrible 
 strength. I knew that if he crossed the water I should 
 have trouble with him, so with a bit of a prayer and 
 a resolute gulping down of terror I began to creep for- 
 ward to the camp. I remember saying to myself that 
 my best plan would be to edge away to the right, away 
 from the bull, before I tried to dash in towards my 
 friends ; but my nerves weren't equal to the strain. I 
 went forward, straight for home, to the most horrible 
 instant of alarm of all that horrible night. I went so 
 silently (I was proud of this afterwards) that I put my 
 hand on to a sleeping hare in her form. 
 
 It was probably a severe shock to the hare; but to 
 me, that sudden alarmed upstarting, that touch of the 
 warm fur, that horrible swift charge away as though 
 a living rocket were running in the grass, were most 
 terrifying. Away she tore, in great leaping bounds, 
 straight for the camp, thirty yards away. The scut- 
 tering thumping of her rush checked itself suddenly, 
 as the creature bounded widely to one side. In her 
 terror she had run almost on to something; and, swerv- 
 ing, she had made one of those side-leaps with which 
 a hare confuses her trail. After her leap she turned 
 and raced back past me, some twenty yards to my 
 right. I knew the signs only too well. The something 
 in the grass could not be a beast of prey, for there was 
 no pursuit. There was an Indian right in front of me, 
 between me and the camp, and he knew that I was there,
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 77 
 
 thirty yards behind him : the hare's mad rush must have 
 taught him. 
 
 Very cautiously, hardly daring to put my hand down 
 again lest I should put it on an Indian, I glided away 
 to the right, towards the track made by the hare in 
 her double. I knew that the terrible moment was about 
 to happen ; but, to tell the truth, the relief experienced 
 by me in finding that the jumping thing was not an 
 enemy was so great that I was no longer frightened — 
 only very, very curious and tense, as though every 
 ounce of me, body and spirit, was playing this for- 
 lorn hand dealt to me by the fates. As I crept away 
 I heard the old bull splashing across the shallows, 
 trumpeting his challenge to everything on earth. I 
 wondered whether he would give his attention to the 
 Indians, or follow up-stream till he could find out what 
 had happened to myself. 
 
 I crept on silently. I am quite sure that I was as 
 silent as a human being can be. No one can move 
 without making some noise. I did not make the mis- 
 take of pausing. A noise suddenly arrested is a sus- 
 picious noise. By keeping in motion, even if one 
 makes a little noise, the noise becomes one of the earth 
 noises ; it mingles with the noise of wind and water ; it 
 is difficult to distinguish. Presently I felt that I had 
 gone far enough to the right. I felt myself free to 
 go off straight towards the camp, which I could dimly 
 make out a couple of hundred yards away. Now, in- 
 deed, my heart began to leap with the excitement of it 
 all. I raised myself upon my knees, to rest my crack-
 
 78 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 ing muscles before starting on this last lap. If you 
 wonder at my doing so, you should try for yourself to 
 crawl on hands and knees through a field of tussock 
 grass, with forty pounds of water on your back. After 
 an instant's rest I crawled on again, over grass a little 
 shorter than it had been below by the brook side, 
 where the ground was rich with the flood drifts. I 
 made ten yards, fifteen yards, seventeen yards. Then 
 something in the grass ahead, a dim bulk blocking my 
 way, made me half pause till I could see what it was. 
 You cannot think what a strain the darkness was. 
 Everything was black, vague, ill-defined, full of menace. 
 I could never be certain of anything, and I longed so to 
 be certain. I said to myself, " I have been silent, but 
 there is an Indian within twenty yards of me, as silent 
 as myself. The black thing ahead is dangerous." 
 What was the black thing ? Was it a thicket of briars, 
 or a patch of sumach, or an Indian grave-heap? I 
 could not be sure ; and it was necessary that I should be 
 sure. I lay down flat upon the ground, so as to get 
 its upper edge, if it had one, defined against the stars 
 and the comparative lightness of the lower heaven. 
 Looking at it thus, with my head flat upon the ground, 
 I thought that it must be the bulk of a vast uprooted 
 tree, probably much rotted and overgrown. That it was 
 a tree was evident an instant later, when, in a puff of 
 air, I caught the scent of wild honey from some crevice 
 in its bark. 
 
 Now it was always my plan when alone in the woods 
 to approach such places from the flank, never directly
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 79 
 
 from the front. One never knows what may be in 
 hiding on the further side. One may stir up a bee's 
 nest, or a honey-hunting bear, or a wild-cat, if one 
 approaches an old log too rashly, and none of the three 
 is polite when disturbed. And as I looked at this log, 
 with a knop or swelling in its surface well defined 
 against a star, something very slowly rose up from be- 
 hind it, gradually hiding not only that star but several 
 others. It rose up very slowly, so slowly that I knew 
 that it could be no animal. As it rose it defined it- 
 self. Something stuck out from it at right angles. It 
 was round, with something sticking out from it; it 
 was something with eyes and a brain; it was looking 
 at the ground where I lay. It was an Indian with 
 eagle feathers in his hair. I got a sniff of his war- 
 grease intermixed with the perfume of the honey. For 
 an instant we stared at each other through the dark- 
 ness. We were not five yards from each other. If we 
 had made " long arms " we might almost have touched. 
 What was I to do now? Did he see me or did he 
 not see me; and if he saw me, what was he going to 
 do; and if he did not see me, how was I to get past 
 the log while he was there ? Did he see me ? I con- 
 cluded that he could not help it, since my face, in spite 
 of my tan, was pretty white against the ground. But 
 if he saw me he made no least sign, no least noise. 
 He was like some great fungus thrust up suddenly from 
 the log. He had the best cards : it was for him to call 
 the game. 
 
 At that instant, with dreadful suddenness, the old
 
 80 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 bull challenged again furiously. The start of it was 
 too much. It was as though the Indian had shouted. 
 The sudden jog upon my nerves made me leap up. I 
 had my pistol in my hand. I flung it up swiftly, 
 roughly levelled at the head. I fired one barrel at the 
 head, and one a little lower down. The bullet scat- 
 tered the bark in all directions. Drawing a second pis- 
 tol I fired one barrel of that in the same direction, 
 though the head had now disappeared. I was not cool 
 about it. My nerves were all wild, like branches toss- 
 ing in a storm. Running round the log, I fired my 
 fourth barrel at a blind random, downwards. After 
 that I dropped down, listening intently for some noise ; 
 but the night was still again save for the bull, who, 
 after roaring, was plainly advancing with angry snorts 
 towards me. Had I hit the Indian? I dared not go 
 to see. He was quiet as death, but I knew how clev- 
 erly an Indian would feign death to draw his enemy 
 to him within reach of knife or tomahawk. I slipped 
 more cartridges into the pistols, and wadded them 
 down with some corn-pone saved from my dinner. The 
 quiet of the Indians was terrifying. Why did they 
 not raise their war-whoop and charge in ? Perhaps, I 
 reasoned, they were afraid of the bull. They were right 
 to be afraid of him. An angry wild bull, as swift as 
 a horse, and fiercer than fifty wild-cats, is a very ter- 
 rible creature. Almost as my mind framed the words 
 the bull loomed up against the stars, seeking for his 
 enemy. He saw me, but was not sure of me. I looked 
 very queer hunched up there on the grass. " Woof ! "
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 81 
 
 he snorted, sidling towards the Indian. Then he 
 paused, and seemed to test the air all round. Some 
 taint of the war-grease had reached him. He was puz- 
 zled. Then he came slowly towards me, lowering and 
 tossing his head, while I kept very still, knowing that 
 as long as I kept quiet he would not charge. When 
 he was within four yards of me he stopped, much puz- 
 zled in his mind. He snorted and thrust out his muz- 
 zle, stamping heavily. He took a pace towards me, 
 and again stamped. I could stand it no longer. I 
 sprang up with a yell, fired my pistol in his face, and 
 struck his muzzle with my left hand. He wheeled 
 about, terrified, and plunged away into the night, mak- 
 ing a noise like a charge of cavalry. I yelled furiously 
 to hearten him, and began a blind rush towards the 
 camp, shouting at the top of my voice. "When within 
 twenty yards of the foot of the hillock I fired my pis- 
 tols blindly into the night behind me. The next mo- 
 ment I was lying flat on my face, while the pirates 
 blazed away in my direction with every weapon in the 
 camp. 
 
 " Stop it ! " I shouted ; " stop it ! I'm bringing the 
 water." 
 
 In the noise of the firing they did not hear me. 
 I could hear fresh guns coming into action. The 
 bullets hummed past over my head. The wasteful 
 fools were all there, leaving their rear and flanks 
 unguarded. At last a lull came. I suppose they 
 had fired off all their weapons, and had to pause to 
 reload.
 
 82 LOST EI^DEAVOUK 
 
 " Don't shoot ! " I cried. " I've got the water fpr 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, it's you, is it ? " said Dick's voice. " We 
 thought you were the enemy. Why in the world did 
 you fire those shots just then? You scared us out of 
 our wits." 
 
 " Why," I answered, " the place is crawling with 
 Indians." (Here I scrambled into the camp with my 
 load.) " And I've had a moving time bringing you this 
 drink. I thought I was being pursued." 
 
 An owl cried from below, from the very place where 
 I had lain a moment before. 
 
 " There," I cried, " there ! That shows you." 
 
 Ramon, who had a loaded pistol, fired in the direc- 
 tion of the noise, wasting a good slug. We distinctly 
 heard a grunting laugh from the hidden Indian. I 
 took off my load of bottles, and lay down. I had only 
 just been in time. After a moment's rest I roused my- 
 self, and charged my pistols. 
 
 " Dick," I called wearily, " if you don't guard all 
 round the camp you'll get rushed. They're all round 
 you." A moment later I was dead asleep, utterly ex- 
 hausted. I did not wake till after midnight. 
 
 XIII 
 
 I woke suddenly, as a woodman does, keenly alert. 
 There was no firing, but something was in the air. 
 It was that sense of impending danger which had woken
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 83 
 
 me. I sat up to listen; there were low owl hootings, 
 calling and answering, all about the camp. First a 
 cry would come from the brook, then one would an- 
 swer from the foot of the hillock, or half way up its 
 side. Then all would call together, making a melan- 
 choly music all round me, but all softly, so that I 
 could not gTiess how many enemies there were. The 
 pirates were on the alert, lying a little back from the 
 crest's edge, ready to fire at anything which showed 
 above it. Hunko had not returned ; they had given him 
 up for lost. Little Theo was walking from guard to 
 g-uard, trying to keep his men calm under this ordeal 
 of owl hooting. I felt somehow that the Indians 
 meant to attack from the west, perhaps because that 
 side was nearest to their camp. So I reinforced the 
 western guard, lying rather far to their left to avoid 
 being shot in the back by the eastern guard if a rush 
 suddenly set us all shooting. I had seen enough of 
 these fellows' discipline to know what to expect in case 
 of an alarm. I still had Dick's pistols in my belt, and 
 cartridges for seven or eight rounds. After I lay down 
 the owl-hooting suddenly stopped, nor did it sound again 
 for a full half-hour. 
 
 It was one o'clock, and more, when the next alarm 
 came. We were waiting tensely, finding the strain very 
 hard to bear, when a low owl-call sounded within ten 
 yards of me — just over the crest of the hill, in fact. 
 I saw that the men of my guard stirred anxiously, fin- 
 gering their pistols, but they were not so mad as to ad- 
 vance towards the noise. An instant later there came
 
 84 LOST ENDEAVOUE 
 
 a shattering war-whoop from behind me. Dick's voice 
 called to us all to mind our own sides of the camp ; but 
 our nerves were too weak. We all faced round to the 
 side whence the war-whoop came. Dick cried out again 
 to us to watch our own sides. He stole round the 
 guards, and told us that if we were not plucky enough to 
 stand to our posts, no matter what was happening be- 
 hind us, we should all be dead bj dawn, probably by 
 our own bullets. For a few minutes after that noth- 
 ing happened. Then suddenly, over the rim of the 
 knoll, a mighty Indian sprang up in dim bulk directly 
 in front of me. I saw him before he was on me, and 
 fired instantly, missing him clean, I fancy. He dis- 
 appeared into the night again as noiselessly as he had 
 come. 
 
 " What was that you fired at ? " said Dick calmly, to 
 steady the nerves of the men. 
 
 " An Indian," I answered. " He showed for a sec- 
 ond against the stars. I fired at him. I didn't go any- 
 where near him." 
 
 " All right," he replied ; " don't worry. They're only 
 worrying us — keeping us on the jump. Hold steady 
 till they come, and then we'll plug 'em full of iron." 
 
 After another little time of waiting, one of the Eng- 
 lishmen on the southern, or windward, side called out 
 that he smelt Indian war-grease. Dick told him to step 
 back a little towards the horses. Then he called out to 
 us all to step back nearer to the centre of the hill-top, 
 so that we might keep from shooting each other in the 
 backs in case of a melee. He saw that we were too
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 85 
 
 much exposed as we were, and that our nerves were giv- 
 ing way under this process of annoyance. As we fell 
 back Little Theo fired two shots, but doubted afterwards 
 whether he had fired at real men. Probably he had 
 fired at something imaginary. We gathered comfort- 
 ably together close to the companionable horses, and lay 
 flat in a ring all about the picket pegs. Little Theo 
 handed his plug of tobacco round the circle. The men 
 took bites of it, and began to chew. We felt easier, all 
 together like this. The man Ramon began to sing a 
 little droning Spanish song to a tune which seemed to 
 creep in and out, never quite declaring itself. He said 
 that the song was about a soldier who wandered away 
 among the mountains to kill a giant. It was an un- 
 canny song. It droned along mysteriously, moving us 
 all, till at last it seemed a part of the night, a part of 
 nature itself. One could hardly think of life going on 
 without that sleepy music ; it seemed to have been play- 
 ing ever since I was a child. I remember thinking that 
 all this watching for Indians must be a dream ; this 
 music made it so unreal. 
 
 The owls began to call again, circling all round the 
 hill, from owl to owl, till one felt sure that there were 
 fifty of them. Then the hooting turned to the fright- 
 ful, shattering war-whooping which had given me such 
 a start an hour before. We huddled a little closer at 
 this, so as to feel our neighbours. If you have neither 
 heard that noise nor the crying of wolves, you will never 
 guess how dreadful a noise it was to us on that lonely 
 little hill in the dark. It lasted, without an interval,
 
 86 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 till the night rang with it ; then stopped as suddenly as 
 it had begun, so that a brave, standing upon the very 
 crest of the hill opposite Don Tomas, might shout a 
 defiance at us. Then, after a triumphant yelling, it 
 slowly died down to a muttering noise, like the noise of 
 many people talking together. It was at this moment, 
 when we were feeling that the immediate danger was 
 over, that an Indian brave, possibly a young man eager 
 for glory, rushed in upon us suddenly with a dozen 
 leaping strides. He came over the hill-top like a pan- 
 ther, and in two seconds he was lashing out at us with a 
 tomahawk, right in our midst, while we were firing at 
 him from all the points of the compass. If we had been 
 sitting up, or standing, he would have killed one or two 
 of us. As it was he knocked Don Tomas senseless, and 
 wrenched one of his pistols from him. I doubt very 
 much whether he was hurt by our firing. He drew our 
 fire effectively, gave us all a terrible impression of his 
 strength and daring, and vanished with his trophy. We 
 heard him singing a sort of triumphant song about it, 
 somewhere down the slope of the hill. After this we 
 saw no more of the enemy until a little before the dawn, 
 when the horses became so uneasy that we feared that a 
 rush was coming. The uneasiness of the horses was 
 easily explained. The Indians had crept up to wind- 
 ward with a fresh bearskin, or fresh buffalo robe, so 
 that the wild scent might waft into the camp. Horses 
 cannot abide the scent of bear and buffalo. The In- 
 dians knew that if they made our horses kicking mad, 
 we should be forced to stand away from them in open
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 87 
 
 order; and that their attack would be more certainly 
 successful if they could catch us scattered into little 
 groups divided by wild horses. The horses were soon 
 plunging at their picket ropes with great wrenchings. 
 They were sweating and trampling, trying to break 
 away. A dim light was beginning to gather now in the 
 east. The blackness of the night was gone. We could 
 see the edge of the hill now, and each other's faces, and 
 something of the lie of the land, in dark masses far 
 away. We had just drawn away from the horses, 
 fearing to be kicked, when the warwhoops burst out all 
 round us, and a wedge of Indians stormed in upon our 
 weather side. As our g-uns opened on them a volley 
 was fired at us from the western end of the hill-top. 
 Somebody stumbled into me, and fell among the horses. 
 Then came shouts, cries, and a smart cracking of pistols. 
 Peter, breaking his hobbles, knocked me down and gal- 
 loped away. I saw an Indian bounding towards me. 
 I fired at him, but still he came on ; I fired again, every- 
 body seemed to fire again, still he came on : it all hap- 
 pened in five seconds. I got my second pistol and fired, 
 but still he came on. He seemed like a jumping figure 
 in a zoetrope. There was a racket all round me as of 
 the earth being blown to pieces. Ramon was ramming 
 in a wad, shouting wildly in Spanish. I heard a groan, 
 and Ramon was gone from my side. The Indian was 
 right into me. Something struck me in my face, 
 knocking off my hat. A frightful explosion came from 
 behind me, burning my neck and chin. The Indian in 
 his rush flung me aside, and fired over me at some one
 
 88 LOST EKDEAVOUE 
 
 who was firing at him. Then, when I got to my feet 
 again, rubbing my neck, the Indians were gone from the 
 hill-top; two of the horses were gone with them, the 
 third lay dead among the water-bottles. Ramon was 
 down with a smashed collar-bone. Tomas had a bullet 
 in his chest. Bill had four slugs distributed about his 
 body. Little Theo was cruelly cut about the shoulder. 
 I had my neck burned by a pistol flash, and everybody 
 had had a very lively scare. Apparently we had neither 
 killed nor wounded a single Indian. It was a lesson 
 to us not to brag about the superiority of the white man. 
 I remember how glum we were when we found that all 
 our shooting had been worse than useless. A shot was 
 fired from the grass at the edge of the hill-top. Then 
 another, from another quarter. Then a third and a 
 fourth, till the air hummed with slugs. We fired at 
 the flashes, but we soon found that we were only wasting 
 powder. Giles got a bullet in his leg; Little Theo's 
 neck was cut. We began to realise that in a little while, 
 if this went on, we should be all put out of action before 
 an Indian got a rap on the knuckles. Another shot came 
 from the weather-side. It struck Dick's heavy gun on 
 the barrel, broke the barrel across, and sent the iron 
 with a whack on to my hand, so sharply that I feared 
 for the bones of my fingers. It was the last shot of the 
 battle, as it happened; for directly afterwards there 
 came a wailing yell from the plain, and the thunder of 
 many galloping horses. The horses swept past us over 
 the brook and away. Shots were fired from the west 
 by the Indian camp. Owl cries rang querulously up
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 89 
 
 and down the valley. They were repeated (apparently) 
 by the Indians on the hill around us. Then we heard 
 the owl-calls drawing further and further away from 
 us in the direction towards which the horses had gone. 
 Soon they left us quiet; but far away we could hear 
 them crying on the plain where the horses still galloped, 
 shaking the earth. 
 
 " They've gone," said Dick. " What's driven them 
 off? What was that shooting in their camp? And 
 what were all them plugs doing ? " 
 
 Some thought that the Indians themselves had been 
 attacked; others that they were making a feint to put 
 us off our guard. I suggested that some wild beast or 
 drove of wild horses had stampeded their horses at the 
 camp, and that they had scattered to round them up. 
 Some said one thing, some another. Day was now fast 
 brightening over the plain; in a few minutes the sun 
 would rise. 
 
 " I think I hear a hail," cried one of our wounded. 
 " Listen, you." 
 
 " Captain," said Hunko's voice from a little below us, 
 out of sight. " Tell your men not to fire." 
 
 " It is Hunko," cried two or three of the pirates. 
 " Come forward, Hunko." 
 
 Hunko stepped gravely over the hill-crest, raising one 
 hand to show us a long black Indian scalp-lock, the 
 spoils of his night's roving. 
 
 " They are gone," he said coldly, pointing to the plain. 
 " It was a party of eleven braves, and a few boys fit 
 for war. They have been scared by the coming of set-
 
 90 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 tiers from Pike's Jettj. Thej have lost Jialf their 
 horses bj stampede." 
 
 In the gathering light I could see a few mounted 
 Indians trying to round up their runaways, now scat- 
 tered far away over the plain. Westward, in their 
 camp, about twenty mounted settlers were dividing the 
 spoils of war, mostly of horses and arms. I was glad to 
 see the settlers. I made sure that I should know some 
 of them. I made up my mind that when we joined 
 them I would appeal to them to save me from the pirates. 
 Dick guessed my thoughts before I mentioned them. 
 
 " All very well, boy," he said, " but put it out of 
 your mind. If these fellows hail us we are seamen, 
 cruising for beef. You're one of us. We shan't speak 
 to them more'n we can help. Little Theo isn't hunting 
 for friends in these parts. We're going to rustle now 
 for our ship." 
 
 XIV 
 
 I had to be content with this. They had the whip- 
 hand. Little Theo sent Hunko with a message of 
 thanks to the settlers for their timely help, saying that 
 he would come in person, were he less pressed for time. 
 The sun was just rising clear of the horizon. I could 
 see all round the hill where we had passed such a night 
 of horror. There was the brook. There below me was 
 the fallen hulk of the tree. Dick took me to see if 
 there were any traces of the Indian behind the tree. 
 But there were none, except a little flattened grass.
 
 CHAKLES HARDING'S STORY 91 
 
 My shots had missed even at that short range. When 
 I realised that I had run from the camp with an Indian 
 so near to me, I felt truly thankful to have escaped with 
 my scalp. My track was in the grass plainly enough. 
 Here and there were marks made hy the Indians ; but 
 it was strange to see so few traces in grass in which 
 twenty big men had crawled and hidden for several 
 hours together. Everybody to his own life and to his 
 own way of fighting. I will never again despise a sav- 
 age. His way of life is not the way which I should 
 choose for mine, but it at least gives him virtues and 
 qualities which my way does not give to me. I am a 
 better man than the savage among my own people ; but 
 away from my own people, among his surroundings, he 
 is better than mj'self. I escaped that night, I suppose, 
 because the Indian disdained to kill a boy who had 
 shown a certain amount of ner\^e, and the want of it. 
 
 When Hunko came back he came with three horses 
 which he had borrowed for our wounded, some of whom 
 were in a pretty bad way from loss of blood. We stuck 
 them up on the saddles with alder boughs to keep them 
 upright. Tomas, Bill, and Little Theo had the horses. 
 Ramon sometimes walked, and sometimes climbed up 
 behind Tomas. We were not a very cheerful company 
 on that last short stage which took us to the sea. 
 
 We pushed through a belt of thick timber into a 
 stretch of land covered with sumach bushes. Scram- 
 bling down through this, we passed through a copse of 
 scrub and brush to a rise of land, topped by three red 
 cedars. Just below the rise was a creek of the sea,
 
 92 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 some two hundred yards across and about half a mile 
 long. I thought at the time that I had never seen any- 
 thing so beautiful as that quiet arm of the sea, trembling 
 in its calmness under the morning sun. At the head 
 of the creek was a settler's barn, a jetty of piles, a 
 moored cat-boat, and a flag-pole flying Spanish colours. 
 In the creek, fifty yards from the jetty (which showed 
 how deep the creek was as clearly as the colour of the 
 water), lay a small full-rigged ship under a jack. One 
 or two men were lying about on her deck at breakfast. 
 She had a dirty, old, dishevelled look, as of a ship falling 
 to pieces; but I did not trouble much about her looks. 
 I was to go back to the hateful life of the sea on board 
 her. She was to be my prison ; a college where I should 
 learn vice; a temple where I should be consecrated to 
 the gallows. I had long since ceased to expect to get 
 back to my father in England; that was only a dull, 
 gnawing want which I had no hope of satisfying. My 
 chief longing, when I found myself aboard that ship. 
 The Bachelor s Delight, was to be on Peter again, riding 
 across the wilds for the medicine. I thought tenderly 
 of Carteret's shack. If Carteret's leg were not worse 
 he would follow Peter's trail to find out what had hap- 
 pened to me. The trail would soon be confused and 
 lost. ISTews of the Indians' raid would be passed along, 
 and Carteret would reckon that I had been snapped up 
 by the raiders. Thinking over these probabilities, 
 eager to make the most of them, I was forced to conclude 
 that there was not much chance of rescue for me from 
 that quarter.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 93 
 
 There were not more than thirty-five hands all told 
 on The Bachelor's Delight. They were mostly Span- 
 iards, Frenchmen, mulattoes, and negroes; but there 
 were three Indians and four Englishmen, counting my- 
 self. The ship was French. Almost the first thing 
 noticed by me as we pulled off to sea that morning, was 
 her name in raised characters upon her transom : — 
 
 MARIE GALAITTE, ST. I^AZAIRE. 
 
 Underneath the name was an image of the dawn, and 
 a motto (a line of poetry) which I could not read. 
 Some one had smeared the name with a tar-brush, but 
 it was legible enough. I wondered how many women 
 in St. l^azaire were down at the jetty end, in the blowing 
 weather, looking for this ship's topsails. They would 
 never see her again. She would never again come sway- 
 ingly over Loire bar with her colours flying, and her 
 guns firing, and her crew beating on the bell. Her crew 
 were down among the coral somewhere near Punta 
 Brava, with the shells of the sea-snails studding their 
 ribs, like buds on the boughs in winter. She was a 
 forlorn-looking ship. I think she would have raised 
 forebodings in one without that hint of her past; for 
 her sides were all foul with salt crystals, marking where 
 the seas had washed in. She had not been painted for 
 two or three years at the very least. Her rigging, which, 
 as Dick had said, had been pillaged by the deserters, 
 was all dangling in bights and loose ends. Her guns 
 were gone from her gun ports. Her spare spars, her
 
 94 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 boats, her anchors were gone. She was just the crazy 
 old hull of a ship, unable to stir or to defend herself. 
 She was in sad order everywhere. Her internal 
 paintwork was blistered off or filthy. Her mouldings 
 had all been wrenched away for firewood. Everything 
 about her showed me something of the degradations of 
 the men who sailed in her. Once, as any one could see, 
 she would have been counted beautiful, even among 
 other French ships ; but no man with any pride or sense 
 of style had been in her for years. She had fallen 
 among thieves, whose lives were like the lives of wild 
 beasts, without forethought, without reverence, without 
 nobility. She was in the hands of men who burned 
 her piecemeal rather than endure the labours of wood- 
 cutting. Her present owners used her as a means of 
 robbing those better than themselves; they had no 
 thought but to rob. They lived, as I was soon to see, 
 from hand to mouth ; like pigs when times were good, 
 like sneaking beasts when times (through their own 
 disgusting vices) were ill. They had stamped the like- 
 ness of their souls upon their home, and their home was 
 now to be my prison. When we got aboard they put 
 me into the 'tween decks to attend upon the wounded 
 men. It was a bleak and dirty apartment, with broken 
 windows which looked out upon the creek. There was 
 no furniture of any kind, only a locker with dirty 
 blankets upon it. I had to get some ropemats from 
 the locker for the wounded to lie upon. After that I 
 had to wash and dress the wounds ; for the ship's doctor, 
 a clever Frenchman who had come down in the world,
 
 CHAELES HAKDING'S STOKY 95 
 
 happened to be still drowsy from the effects of his last 
 drunkenness. Dick, who probed for the slugs with me, 
 taught me how to dress the wounds in the Indian fashion, 
 with rinsings of salt water and poultices of dried leaves 
 (like apple leaves, but strongly aromatic), which, he 
 said, were what the wild deer ate when they were sick. 
 
 XY 
 
 When the wounded had been put below I went into 
 the cabin to dress Little Theo's wounds. He was down 
 in the cabin, fanning himself with a big palm fan, and 
 staring dully at an open box, on the lid of which the 
 name of Ed. Beaumont had been burnt with a hot iron. 
 The few things in the box had been scattered untidily 
 about. The lock had evidently been forced by a marline 
 spike. On the top of the litter lay a rather large joint 
 of bamboo, such as seamen sometimes use instead of 
 powder-boxes. 
 
 " You see," he said, jerking his hand towards it, 
 " my papers are gone." 
 
 " What papers were they ? " said Dick. " About the 
 island?" 
 
 " Yes," said Theo, " about the gold. The bearings 
 of a treasure of gold worth an Inca's ransom. But the 
 gold is nothing — nothing at all. There was something 
 in the island worth all the gold fifty times over. And 
 the secret of that was among my papers. I don't know," 
 he said, laughing weakly ; " we might fix up a plan even 
 yet. It is not too late. It might be done."
 
 96 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Go easy, Cap," said Dick gently. " Don't you go 
 telling us anything if it's going to set you in the shakes. 
 Slow is the boy, Cap; go slow." He put out a hand 
 quickly and felt Theo's pulse. " You'd be the better 
 not to talk," he went on, wrinkling his brows. " But 
 what's that ashore, there ? " 
 
 Looking through the stern windows, we saw a man 
 on a bony roan horse galloping down to the shore along- 
 side of us. He had evidently ridden hard. His horse 
 was in a lather. That he had set out in a hurry was 
 also plain. The horse was not saddled. The man rode 
 by a halter, and larruped his nag with the end. 
 
 " Where's the old man ? " he hailed — " the cap'en. 
 Hey there, cap'en ! " 
 
 Theo gave a call through the port, and hurried out to 
 speak with the man. 
 
 " This is news of the Sheriff," he said, " you'll see. 
 Stay below, you ; I'll be back in a minute." 
 
 When he had gone I asked Dick what all this talk 
 of the island meant ; how had Little Theo come to be in 
 an island; and what was all this talk of paper and 
 gold. 
 
 "Why," said Dick, glancing hard at the rider on 
 the horse, " I'd better begin at the beginning, and tell 
 you what we are. As for what the Cap is, I think I 
 have to ask you that. He's a mystery to us. There — 
 there goes the Cap ashore to talk to the fellow. Look, 
 they're going up the creek a piece. I wonder what's in 
 the wind." 
 
 We watched the two men walk slowly up the creek
 
 CHARLES HAEDING'S STORY 97 
 
 together, talking earnestly. The rider was very demon- 
 strative about something. As far as we could tell from 
 the droop of his shoulders, Little Theo was sorely per- 
 plexed by it. 
 
 " There's something very rum about Teodoro," said 
 Dick reflectively. " He's a rum fish ; he's a queer fish, 
 I guess. I guess he's as odd a dog as hops. Odd how 
 we found him." 
 
 " How did you find him ? " 
 
 " Why," said Dick, anxious, like all sailors, to get 
 his story properly begun at the beginning, " you must 
 know that we're smugglers — that is, we take Spanish 
 goods and sell them to the planters here. Say, you 
 ought to have seen Captain Pointer, our old Cap. He 
 was a jewel of a man, that lad. You should see him 
 drunk. He believes in free trade, does old Doggy Sam. 
 I've seen him run goods into Spanish cities, I have. 
 That takes some doing. And then we made a great 
 run of boats up that river the Magdalena. We went 
 seven days up with goods to smuggle to the Spaniards. 
 It's death to be caught at that game. We'd a been 
 flung to the alligators if we'd been caught. All day we 
 used to lie up under the trees while the mosquitoes ate 
 us ; and at night we would paddle on, under the sentries, 
 under the forts, where we could see the matches burning. 
 We smuggled in two thousand pounds' worth of goods, 
 and there was more than five thousand paid for them. 
 Then we drifted down to our ship again with the money 
 in gold bars. She lay hidden among the islands, our 
 ship did, all stuck about with creepers, so that her masts
 
 98 LOST Eit^TDEAVOUR 
 
 were like apple-trees. At Toro — that's the island 
 where we careen — there were great sprees after that 
 time. We drank seven casks of rum in a fortnight. 
 They were splashing buckets of rum all over each other, 
 the hands were " 
 
 " What beasts ! " I said. 
 
 " Yes. It was a pity to waste the good rum," said 
 Dick. " But I tell you our captain could afford it. 
 And he never grudged his hands. You'd ought to see 
 Toro. It's like a little town there when the ships are 
 in. The men have their wives, just like in Jamaica; 
 and there's taverns and cards. He's been careening 
 and trading there these seven years, and he's kept it 
 secret. It's a fine island, all right. A fine little sandy 
 bay, with a brook tumbling down into the sea, and the 
 Trade always blowing aloft. There's very good fruit 
 and turtle there, and the speckled cedar in plenty all 
 over it; fine for plank. There was Indians when we 
 made it first. But we hunted them down, all the tribe. 
 Forty-seven little brown runts with gold in their noses. 
 We sold 'em ten pounds each in Port Royal. There's 
 no Indians there now, except their spectres walk. 
 
 " The Indians will be dead by this time. They get 
 homesick or something. They haven't got sense like 
 us; they always die. N'ow that they're dead, there's 
 no living soul but our gang knows of that island. It 
 stands lonely in the sea. If you go up the hill there 
 you'll see the sea all round you; and to the south a 
 yellowy blink, like a paleness, where the Main shows,
 
 CHAKLES HAKDING'S STOKY 99 
 
 far away. But you'll see no ship there; nothing but 
 the sea, and the flying fish. 
 
 " One thing we done silly. We kill off all the turtle 
 a few months back. That was a silly kind of a trick 
 to do. So one day, when we were sailing from Toro 
 with a lot of goods we were going to run, the Cap said, 
 ' Let's cruise about to them westward islands, to see if 
 there's turtle there.' We cruised about for a day, and 
 came to an island which the Spaniards call the ' Dragon's 
 Mouth,' because it has a kind of a jaw look drawn out 
 on a chart. The first thing we saw when we went into 
 the lagoon there was friend Teodoro, lying on the beach, 
 pretty near dead of fever. He was dressed in the 
 rummy rig you see ; and how he come there, and what 
 he was doing there, for I guess the island's not in- 
 habited, is one too many for me. Naturally we took 
 him off the ship, with all the gear he had by him. A 
 bamboo full of papers, and a knife was about his whole 
 kit, if I remember." 
 
 " But did he never tell you how he came there ? " 
 " Why, no. That's where he went wrong. Any one 
 could have told that there was a mystery about him. 
 And any one could see, after a bit, that old Cap Pointer 
 was going to get at the bottom of it. If he'd up and 
 told some, I don't know ; but as he told nothing, we all 
 made it out a bigger mystery than perhaps it was. We 
 nursed him and brought him to. We discovered then 
 that he could navigate. So the Cap gave him the job 
 of sailing-master. We clubbed together and gave him
 
 100 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 some gear and a chest, and that's all the story. He's 
 been our sailing-master ever since. We tried to get the 
 story out of him. But he's not a man to tell what he 
 don't want to tell. And Old Cap Pointer had a sight 
 too much style to ask where he wasn't wanted." 
 
 " So he broke open the chest and stole the papers in- 
 stead ? " 
 
 " Well, that's his style." 
 
 Soon afterwards Little Theo returned. 
 
 " That was a farm hand," he said, jerking his hand 
 towards the rider. " He says that the Sheriff is gath- 
 ering a posse to arrest us for running contraband. 
 What does ' arrest ' mean, Charles ? " 
 
 My heart began to quake at that. I knew only too 
 well what arrest meant. It meant pressing into the 
 fleet, or flogging, or five years on the chain gang. 
 
 " We must get under way," said Little Theo. " But 
 that was not the only thing. Where is a place called 
 Myngs' Creek ? " 
 
 " I should guess about ten or twelve miles from here," 
 I answered. " But that is only my guess." 
 
 " Well, Eicardo," he said, " there's a frigate in 
 Myngs' Creek; and, even if we escape the posse, we 
 shall have her after us. We must sail." 
 
 "All very well to sail," said Dick. "But they've 
 only left us two or three sails. And where are we to 
 go to when we sail ? " 
 
 " Go to ? " said Theo. " We shall go to my island, 
 to stop those ruffians. I have a plan." He caught hold 
 of Dick's arm and spoke earnestly. " We must sail.
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 101 
 
 We must get there before them, I tell you. Get what 
 sail you can, and warp her out." 
 
 " All right, Cap," said Dick ; " be easy. I can get 
 way upon her, if no more. But these lads of ours give 
 me a tired feeling. It was the funniest thing Sam ever 
 done to leave us these lads to work with. Well. We 
 will sail. But as for you, Cap, you're fretting. And 
 that'll only make the fever worse. You lie still and 
 cheer up." 
 
 An hour later Dick returned, to say that they were 
 laying out a warp to the cedars on the bluff all ready 
 to sail. The knuckles of one of his hands were bleed- 
 ing. I asked him if he had hurt himself. " No," he 
 said. " But one of the crowd didn't want to sail." 
 
 "Didn't he?" said Theo. 
 
 " He does now," said Dick quickly. " But if you 
 could come on deck, Cap, they might step more lively. 
 I'm only a seaman like themselves. You got a reputa- 
 tion for being a man with style." 
 
 " I'll come," said Theo. We all went on deck to- 
 gether. 
 
 When we had got to the deck, Theo shouted to the 
 hands to unmoor ship. They muttered and checked at 
 this, knowing how few stores had been left to us by the 
 deserters; but the sight of the two determined men 
 daunted them. After a little moment of waiting, for 
 one of their number to rebel, they set to work with a 
 sort of grudging slo^vness, maddening to me. 
 
 " That's the style," said Dick cheerily. " Rally for 
 Boca Drago. That's my hearty cocks. Away now and
 
 102 LOST ENDEAVOUE 
 
 break it. And you (turning to me), aloft with you to 
 the fore-topmast cross-trees. When you see a rock 
 ahead, sing out. You know how a submerged rock 
 looks? When that water ahead turns pale, sing out. 
 Otherwise we shall bump on a few jolly mermaids. 
 Away now ; aloft with you."
 
 PAET SECOND 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY
 
 PART SECOND 
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 
 
 [This is the story of Theo's doings from the time he was 
 trepanned until he met Charles Harding in Vir- 
 ginia. It is told as he told it to Dick and Charles 
 Harding. ~\ 
 
 YOTJ must not think that I am mad, or in fever. 
 I am not. Only the story is queer. 
 You know that I was trepanned at the same 
 time as my young friend. Well, I was carried to Port 
 Royal in Jamaica, and sold at a cheap rate (for I was 
 still feeble) to a doctor, who cured me and afterwards 
 sold me at a profit. My master was a small planter in 
 the north. I was his only servant. I lived with that 
 man as a slave for more than a year. I will tell you 
 what happened after his death. 
 
 He was a great man, my master, hut he took the yel- 
 low fever, far away from the doctors. So he died, in a 
 lonely house, far from Spanish Town. He died at 
 dawn, in a room with a banging shutter, for it was a 
 windy morning. And I was left free, with only his 
 clothes dangling from the wall, like a hung man, for 
 
 company, alone in that lonely house. I tell you the 
 
 106
 
 106 LOST ENDEAVOUE 
 
 forest came all round the bouse, green, very green, a 
 wall of green, going high up, a darkness of forest. And 
 if you looked at the forest, at first you thought it was 
 all green, green gleaming in the sun, green almost 
 golden, a green sky, with the macaws like scarlet stars. 
 And if you looked longer it was not green at all. ISTo, 
 no. It was not green. It was black. Black as the 
 black bars upon a tiger. A night of black. A piece 
 of night, into which the dawn never broke. And if 
 you walked in the forest it was all black about you. 
 
 After a time I could stand that house of death no 
 longer. So I took some of my master's clothes, and 
 seven silver dollars of his money. No more. N^ot a 
 penny more. And I crept out of the house into the 
 forest, intending to walk to the sea. It was still in the 
 forest, for it was so thick that the wind could only ruffle 
 the upper branches. It could only make a swaying, a 
 sort of swaying, among boughs so far up that only the 
 great eagles could fly to them. Great eagles, who look 
 down from a bald bough among the clouds. They look 
 down from branch to branch, each branch like a shelf 
 of rock upon a crag. 
 
 So I walked on in the forest, on the way to the sea. 
 
 After two nights I reached the sea, and pitched my 
 camp on the sands of a little bay, where there were shell- 
 fish and little soldier crabs for my provision.
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOKY 107 
 
 II 
 
 The next morning, as I lay by my fire watching the 
 sea, a sloop drove into the bay. She had no mast, so 
 that it is no wonder that I did not see her till she was 
 hard at hand. She was one of the Port Royal sloops ; 
 a strongly-built vessel, one of the logwood traders. So 
 when I caught sight of her I stood up to look at her. 
 Truly she had suffered on the way; for, besides her 
 spars, her boats and bulwarks were gone. The sea had 
 made a clean sweep of her. 'Now she was rolling into 
 the bay with the breeze-current as helpless as a stick. 
 By the soggy way of her rising I could tell that she was 
 water-logged, though her cargo of tanners' mangrove 
 and dyewood kept her from sinking. Her men were 
 aboard of her, trying to keep her head to sea by a 
 couple of rough sweeps which they had made. They 
 had made them out of a pair of boat hooks and some 
 hatch panels. There was not very much of a sea. 
 What one calls a strong lop. It broke pretty fresh on 
 the outlying rocks. What one calls a bright cockle; 
 blowing a full top-gallant breeze. To one standing by 
 the shore it looked easy enough for them to beach her; 
 but the sea is deceptive ; and I have lived long enough 
 to know that the outsider sees only the outside. After 
 I had watched her a minute, I saw that the set of the 
 current, which is always along a bay, not across it at 
 right angles, was taking them on to the rocks. T^ot 
 quickly, for they were moving very slowly, but still
 
 108 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 surely, in spite of their pulling on their sweeps. Had 
 they been real sweeps they would have beached her with- 
 out trouble; but they were jury sweeps, too weak for 
 strong pulling, and there they were slowly joggling to 
 death, with the reef a little nearer every moment. 
 
 At first I thought that I could be no use to them; 
 but when they came within hail, say a quarter of a mile 
 away, they began to shout to me. I do not know what 
 they said ; but they shouted, and I heard them, and the 
 noise of their appeal touched me. A courage rose up 
 in me, so that I would have gone into the sea to help 
 them in despite of a school of devil-fishes. It was a 
 clearing of my way. These men were to be my friends, 
 my guides to freedom. They had been sent to me. 
 
 Now, it was not at all so easy to help them as you 
 may suppose — you, like so many of your brilliant 
 country-people, would have sprung into the surf to save 
 them. Ah ! so well I know that heroic way of plunging 
 peculiar to you. But I did not plunge. No. Eor 
 under the surf in that most beautiful bay were dim grey 
 things, looking always upward, very silently. If you 
 go in a boat near surf like that, and drop a piece of flesh 
 into the water, making no splash, you will see it go 
 shaking down into the clearness, almost to the coral, 
 and then one of the grey things will rise to it, and take 
 it in. All so still, down there in the green, that it will 
 not seem real. The flesh will be gone, and there will 
 be a great dim shape slowly sinking down again. It 
 will be like a part of the sea's floor rising and falling, 
 not like a living thing; but all the time it is watching
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 109 
 
 you, watching every movement of you, and if you should 
 fall in, do you know hovs^ swiftly it could rise ? I have 
 seen a boat of castaways in the Mexican Gulf, not far 
 from the Haulover. There were four of them, all dy- 
 ing of thirst, in a boat without oars. And all about 
 that boat was a jostling company, hundreds of them, 
 fidgeting, shouldering, nudging each other, rubbing up 
 along the boat — laughing, I tell you — scraping up 
 along it with arched backs, for all the world like a cat 
 rubbing past your legs. The sea was thick with them. 
 Beating up to them against the wind we could smell 
 them, as you smell mackerel in school. I tell you it 
 was a bad sight, that company about the boat. They 
 followed us back to the ship ; though we piked them in 
 the snout by the score; and when we hoisted up those 
 thirsty ones, they rose half out of the water at them. 
 Eh ? When I think of that boat near the Haulover, 
 I am little minded to leap into water to try to save any 
 one. 
 
 I took a good view of the bay ; and when I had con- 
 sidered it all, I saw that there was a chance of saving 
 them, but not a very good chance. For you must know 
 that, in the very bight of the bay, a reef of rocks ran 
 out into the sea like a pier or jetty for a matter of some 
 forty or fifty yards. It was not a broad reef, it was 
 only five or six yards across, but it was at least a step- 
 ping-stone. It would bring me nearer to them, if I 
 could keep my footing upon it. That was no very easy 
 thing, let me tell you, for the breeze heaped the water 
 on it. The rocks were as slippery as glass with weed,
 
 110 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 and from two feet to six inches deep in water. Out 
 at the edges there was a swirl and suck which turned 
 me sick, for let me tell you that those swirls are the 
 playgrounds of the grey things. They will watch a 
 swirl all day long, and for days together lying under- 
 neath it, looking upwards; and at last, sooner or later, 
 something is whirled off its feet to them, and they will 
 rise with one swift sweep, take it in, whatsoever it may 
 be, and sink down again, to watch for the next thing. 
 ISTow, looking at the set of the current, I saw that the 
 sloop would probably drift in to within no great dis- 
 tance of this jetty of rocks. She would drift, as it 
 were, across its end, at right angles to it, for she was 
 going lengthwise along the bay, while the rocks were 
 cross-wise, like an arrow pointing out to the sea. I 
 saw, too, that if she got past the end of the jetty, she 
 would get into what you call a jobble of a sea, a kind 
 of cross current, caused by the conflict between the 
 breeze, the set of the current up and down the bay, and 
 the pier of rocks itself. At the end of the jetty, jut- 
 ting diagonally seawards, was a race of white water, 
 in which, as was pretty plain to me, the sloop would 
 have no chance of escaping the rocks further along to 
 my right. I reckoned that in another five minutes, 
 pull as they might, the sloop would be caught in that 
 jobble, and after that she would be afloat perhaps two 
 more minutes if there were no submerged rock to break 
 her back before she piled up ashore. But if you have 
 ever watched a sea in a bay you will know that there 
 are many twisting, outrageous little whirlpools, and tiny
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 111 
 
 "whimsical eddies and cross-currents, not plain to the 
 watcher ashore, but terrible to the men in the boat trying 
 to avoid the apparent danger. For all I knew this bay, 
 which I had never before seen, was full of such eddies. 
 I could not count on having so much as five minutes' 
 time to save them. I might have more, I might have 
 very much less. On the other hand the boat might be 
 brought up safely alongside the pier, by some eddy not 
 apparent, or she might be carried up on to the sand 
 where I stood. Still, I had to decide from what was 
 happening at the moment; I could not allow for what 
 might or might not be. 
 
 Now, first of all, I said to myself, " It is likely that 
 she has been swept by a sea in a hurricane. Her an- 
 chor, her bitts, her windlass, and all her deck gear have 
 been washed away. But down below she will have rope 
 enough and spare cables, if I can but get one of them 
 ashore." The instant that the word " cables " crossed 
 my mind something spoke in my brain quite clearly. 
 I heard it say the word " bejuco." And then I knew 
 what to do well enough. 
 
 For here and there, in the forests of these parts, 
 there is a thin cane, strong as manila, and as flexible 
 as coir. It is a very good cane, and the name of it is 
 called bejuco, which means cane. So with one leap I 
 was in the forest, which grew right down to the sand, 
 almost to the sea, in a jumble of green stuff just like 
 painted metal, as a tropical forest does. All a wilder- 
 ness of gi-een things, a chaos of vegetables. !N'o, it is not 
 a chaos, it is a world of the most exquisite order. Every
 
 112 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 leaf is turned so as to catch life from its surroundings ; 
 the greatest and sweetest and fittest kind of life, either 
 of sun or air or water. Not a blossom, not a twig, not 
 a fruit there but has striven, I will not say with its 
 whole intellect, but with its whole nature, to make of 
 itself the utmost possible, and to give to itself in its 
 brief life a deeper crimson, a more tense, elastic tough- 
 ness, a finer sweetness and odour. Ah! the life that 
 goes on there, the abundant torrent of life, the struggle 
 for beauty and delicacy. Tell me of your cities. I 
 tell you of the garden and the orchard, where life is not 
 a struggle for wealth, but for nobleness of form and 
 colour. Ah ! that forest. It was cool within there, out 
 of the sun, so cool that it was like walking in a well; 
 a dim, cool, beautiful well, full of pale green water from 
 the sea. The flowers called to me : " I am crimson," 
 " I am like a pearl," " I am like sapphires." The fruits 
 called to me that they tasted like great magical moons. 
 But I had no eyes for them. I looked only for the 
 bejuco. There was bejuco there, miles of it. I tore 
 it down in heaps and coils till it lay around me like 
 snakes. I have never seen it in such plenty since. It 
 was everywhere. It was round my feet and above me, 
 wherever I looked. I knotted the lengths together — 
 snip — snap — as fast as a man-of-warsman reefing. I 
 dragged it out and flung it clear on the beach, you can- 
 not guess how quickly. I had a hundred yards of it 
 down and knotted within two of my precious minutes ; 
 but that was not enough : I needed two hundred yards. 
 I tell you, you could not see my hands, so swift they
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 113 
 
 were at that knotting of the bejuco. Soon I had those 
 hundred yards all knotted; and the sloop was near. 
 Perilously near. But I laughed, I tell you, to see her 
 so near, for that only made my triumph the greater. I 
 made my cane double. I fastened it with secure turns 
 to a strong tree growing there, and out to the end of the 
 jetty I went with it, hoping to fling it aboard them. 
 They saw what I meant; the danger had made their 
 wits bright. They had a cable roused up ready to 
 bend on to my cane, so that I might drag it " ashore." 
 But there were fifty yards of water full of sharks be- 
 tween me and the sloop. What would you have done? 
 
 " I dunno," said Dick. " Waited to see if they were 
 going to drift nearer, so that I could pitch the line 
 aboard." 
 
 " I don't know what I should have done," I answered 
 truthfully. It seemed a difficult situation. 
 
 Yes, said Theo, answering Dick. That was what I 
 had hoped when I made the cane. But when it was 
 made, when I stood staggering on the jetty-end up to 
 my knees in water at each sea, I found that the boat 
 would not come within flinging distance; far from it. 
 One of those little treacherous eddies and bye-currents 
 had taken her out again; not very much, but still too 
 much for me. And every second made a little differ- 
 ence to her, a yard or two, perhaps less than that, for 
 the tide was against the current. 
 
 Now, I had no time to consider what to do. I had 
 to act at once. And as I stood there, seeing the sloop 
 slip away from me, the voice in my brain gave me an-
 
 114 LOST EN'DEAYOUR 
 
 other message. I heard quite distinctly the words, 
 " slap the water " ; and then came the word " burbujas," 
 which is Spanish for bubbles. They sounded quite 
 plainly, just as though they were spoken to me by some 
 one standing near. I am absolutely positive that a 
 watching Providence put them into my mind. Looking 
 down at the sea I saw floating towards me on the tide 
 a little flat piece of wood, like the lid of a preserve box ; 
 and when I saw that I remembered an Indian diver 
 whom I had known years before at those pearl-fisheries 
 near the mouth of Axe River, on the coast of the Main. 
 He had told me that when he was about to go down for 
 pearls he slapped the water with his hand, or putting 
 his mouth to the surface, blew violent bubblings. Those 
 two noises, he said, were enough for any shark, however 
 hungry. So I seized the piece of wood, and struck the 
 water with it fiercely. A dozen times I struck, and then 
 plunging in, with the line trailing out behind me, I 
 struck again, and began swimming towards the sloop. 
 Soon I was alongside the sloop calling to the men to take 
 my line with a boat-hook, which they did, though very 
 clumsily, as men will with death in a bad surf only two 
 minutes ahead of them. They caught my line, yanked 
 it up on board, and bent a hawser to it. 
 
 " Jump overboard, one of you," I cried, " and help 
 me get it ashore to a tree " ; but one of them shouted, 
 " Be quick," and another cried out, " I cannot swim," 
 and a third said, " Too many sharks." 
 
 And just at that moment a shark came almost along- 
 side me. He came rubbing past, I suppose puzzled by
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 115 
 
 the line, and not quite sure whether I were bait on a 
 hook, or just good wholesome dinner. So when I saw 
 him, I punched him hard with my piece of box-lid, and 
 slapped the face of the sea, so that he scurried away. 
 All the time we were drifting fast ashore ; so that, for 
 an instant, I doubted if I could get the hawser fast in 
 time to save them all. 
 
 " Jump in," I shouted again. " Jump in and help 
 me carry the hawser ashore." But it is no good talking 
 to scared men. Besides, they had seen the shark ; they 
 would not have jumped into that sea for the worth of a 
 hatful of rubies. One of them, looking over his shoul- 
 der at the surf, called to me to be quick : which angered 
 me. So I called to him to light away the hawser to me 
 as I swam. I will say this much for them, that when 
 I had struck out for the shore they did their best to let 
 the rope follow me gently, lighting it out to me carefully, 
 more by its own weight than anything else ; while I, 
 half swimming, half hauling myself back by the bejuco, 
 wondered each instant whether I should hear the sloop 
 take the rocks before I could get the hawser secured. I 
 do not pretend that I went back ashore with all the dig- 
 nity of a king. 
 
 When I got to the jetty I scrambled and stumbled 
 along it, in the breaking water, till I reached the sand. 
 Then I turned, and began to haul in, hand over hand, 
 faster than I have ever hauled a rope since. It is hard 
 to drag a hawser ashore through water. You will say 
 that the tide helped me, or that I am lying. I say 
 most solemnly that at times man's body is seized by
 
 116 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 spiritual powers stronger than himself; and then he 
 laughs at dangers, flings them aside, tramples on them, 
 stamps them under, destroys them. I have seen an 
 Indian in the Nicaraguas who stood up unclothed, armed 
 only with a faith as strong as chain-mail, while his tribe 
 flung spears at him. The spears bounded off his body. 
 I flung one. It bounded back like a ball in a fives- 
 court. I hacked at him with a sword, jarring my arm 
 to the shoulder at each blow, and not a single scratch 
 showed upon him. His muscles stood out rigid, like 
 rolls of iron below the skin ; but there was no drawing 
 blood from him. So I, that day on the beach, was 
 filled with strange power. I could have drawn that 
 sloop ashore with the strength which was surging in 
 me. When I began to haul, I mean when I had the 
 end of the hawser in my hand, and was dragging it up 
 the beach to a tree, I heard a cry behind me, but I paid 
 no attention to it. If they did not believe in. me, I 
 believed in myself. When I got to the tree I hauled 
 and hauled, till I had the hawser round it, and secured. 
 I made a round turn and two half hitches, and lashed 
 the noose end with bejuco, so that the knot should never 
 come adrift. Then I let myself look at the sloop to see 
 what had happened to her, to see if after all I had been 
 in time. 
 
 It was doubtful for an instant. It was so near a 
 thing that at first one could not be sure. Out on the 
 side of the bay was a reef of black rocks, or rather an 
 outcrop of them, a part of the shore. At that moment, 
 in such a bursting cockle of a sea, the rollers were cream-
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 117 
 
 ing in, great blue hills of them glowing green aloft, all 
 smashing into snow, with a tumult like heavy guns. 
 The sloop, when I looked, was in a hollow between 
 rollers ; lifting, as I thought, to be tossed on to the 
 rocks at the next burst. The spray was like smoke all 
 over her, just as though she were on fire. I could see 
 her men straining the hawser taut for their lives round 
 the stump of their mast. It seemed as though they 
 were hauling on the tackle of a gun, amide the smoke 
 blown back upon them from the discharge. I gave a 
 gulp, expecting to see her whirled do\\'n upon the rocks 
 and smashed to chips; but no. The hawser tautened 
 and creaked. I heard the snapping sound as it taut- 
 ened. I saw the drops wrung from it pattering down, 
 all along its length. The roller burst itself, and leaped 
 aloft in whiteness; another rolled up and smashed 
 down, but the sloop was riding it out upon them ; she 
 was fast. For the moment I had saved her. "Watching 
 their time her men began, little by little, to warp her 
 away from those breakers, gathering in a little at a 
 time, all hauling hard whenever the sea slackened the 
 cable a little. In a quarter of an hour they were all 
 safe ashore with me. We even tried to save the sloop ; 
 but this, with the tide making and only one hawser, we 
 could not do. She went ashore, directly after her men 
 had landed on the little natural jetty. A big sea flung 
 her on to her side, another tumbled her over, two more 
 drove her up on to the beach, where she broke to pieces. 
 She drifted along the bay in fragments. Watching for 
 these as they bobbed in with the surf, we caught them
 
 118 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 and dragged them up above high-water mark. In this 
 way we were soon rich with booty. "We had some small 
 casks of rum, a cask of ship's bread, a box of jars of 
 Spanish marmalade, a box of raisins of the sun, the 
 captain's drowned parrot, a gun or two with the barrels 
 dinted, a bottle of vinegar, and a couple of new jewel- 
 blocks, all of which we were glad to have. I should 
 have told you that all the five hands of the sloop had 
 come ashore armed. You, who know the way of life of 
 the logwood cutters, know how they never move five 
 yards from their huts without a weapon, a long knife or 
 machete, a pistol or two, or perhaps their long gun. All 
 my five subjects were armed thus; and they carried 
 with them powder enough to fire a town. I call them 
 my subjects, for they never questioned but that I was to 
 be a chief over them. I had saved them from the 
 sharks; now, of course, I should save them from the 
 perils of the forest. They looked up to me; they de- 
 ferred to me ; they saw that I was their leader. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Eirst of all, I bade them gather up as much of the 
 sloop's keel as possible; for it was sheeted with thin 
 lead, very precious to hunters, who are often short of 
 bullet. Then we heaped up my fire with drift wood 
 and roasted some crabs upon skewers. While we ate we 
 debated what would be our next plan. 
 
 There were many things which we might do. We
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOKY 119 
 
 might hunt about in the woods for beef or log\vood, and 
 in time push west to some port further along the coast, 
 and then, chartering a sloop, trade what we had gath- 
 ered for ready money in Port Royal. Or we might 
 march to the nearest port, and either cut out a sloop 
 or meet with some companions, so as to go a-roving to 
 the Spanish coast. Or we might march inland, through 
 the forest to Spanish To^vn, where we could have got 
 work on some estate, either in a sugar-mill or in a to- 
 bacco-clearing. But this last plan, though I did not 
 say why, did not please me. I was known to many 
 people in Spanish Town; and had I been seen there, 
 I could have been seized as a slave who had not yet 
 served his full term of seven years. More than that, 
 there were some there who would have been curious 
 about my master's death. Slaves receive little justice 
 there. In the end, had I gone to Spanish Town, I 
 might have been tried for killing my master, and con- 
 demned for want of evidence, as was the rule there. 
 So at last, by management, I persuaded my five servants 
 to this, to stay where we were for a while. 
 
 I said to the logwood cutters that I would take one 
 of their number and go into the wood for a little while, 
 to look for a good camping ground near water. I hoped 
 also to get some game for supper. The woods were full 
 of game. So into the woods we went, Don Carlos (the 
 mate of the sloop) and I, each with a gun. 
 
 " Have you ever been westward from here ? " Don 
 Carlos asked. 
 
 " Never in my life," I said. " But we wjjl go now.
 
 120 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 Something tells me that we shall have good sport if we 
 go westward. So, forward." Remember that up to 
 this time none of these logwood cutters had asked me 
 how I came there, what was I doing, or what I intended 
 to do. I suppose they held the privateer's creed, that 
 along the Jamaica coast it is always best to mind one's 
 own business. Every other person there has done some- 
 thing to make him keep his mouth shut. We swung 
 round to our right and kept on carefully, a little apart 
 from each other. The wood was less thick after a while. 
 The trees grew more sparsely, towering up to a mon- 
 strous height, with very dense foliage high aloft: so 
 dense that in the dimness and coolness underneath them 
 no scrub could grow. It was like a beech wood, in 
 places, if you can imagine beech trees five times the 
 usual size. We did not talk. We were walking apart, 
 with our guns at the ready, looking well ahead for 
 whatever might happen. 
 
 Presently, in a clearer part of the wood, it seemed 
 to me that I smelt wild cattle, so I held up my hand to 
 Don Carlos and signalled to him to advance cautiously 
 from behind cover. A moment later the smell drove 
 down to me again in a warm gust ; it is an unmistakable 
 smell. I guessed from it that they were lying down in 
 a bunch of thicker timber just ahead, and that the herd 
 was pretty big and not at all used to being hunted. We 
 broke through the thicker wood of which I have told 
 you, and found ourselves on the edge of a piece of 
 savannah land half a mile across. In the savannah, 
 which was just like a rolling big meadow, fenced in by
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 121 
 
 forest, was a herd of a dozen wild cattle, big and whitish, 
 most of them lying down about fifty yards away. On 
 the other side of the savannah, away to windward, the 
 old bull stood guard. He was about a quarter of a 
 mile away. A little brook ran through the savannah at 
 right angles to our track. It disappeared into the 
 tangle of forest which shut the field in like a hedge. I 
 could not see what became of it afterwards, but my 
 sense of direction told me that we were near the sea. 
 It seemed to me that I heard the wash of the surf some- 
 where to my right hand, and I had a sense of the sea 
 being just beyond the thicket. From the way the turf 
 was cut by hoof -marks into a road I concluded that the 
 brook was a favourite drinking-place of the herd. 
 
 Don Carlos was within ten paces of me. We were 
 both well hidden in the last of the cover. I signalled 
 to him to shoot a young cow which was lying down, a 
 fairly easy mark for him. I meant to take a more 
 difficult shot at a cow further off to the left. Before 
 firing we placed cartridges, ready bitten, in dry leaves 
 at our side, in case we should get second shots. Don 
 Carlos fired, killing his cow. I waited till the herd 
 sprang up. Then I picked out a finer cow than the 
 one I had chosen, and let drive. My cow fell. The 
 herd on getting to its feet galloped to a little distance, 
 then, wheeling, fronted us fiercely, while the old bull 
 advanced upon us, pawing on the turf. So far they 
 did not know what to make of us. I verily believe that 
 they had never before heard a gunshot nor seen a man. 
 In a low voice I called out to Don Carlos to try and get
 
 122 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 round their left flank, while I, as soon as I had loaded, 
 would go out and amuse the bull. By the time the bull 
 had arrived within seventy yards of us, Don Carlos, 
 well understanding what I wanted, had begun to creep 
 through the wood in order to flank the herd. He was 
 a good woodsman, and moved very swiftly and silently. 
 The advancing bull had his eyes fixed steadily in my 
 direction, for he had seen the flash of my gun. As he 
 could not nose me from where he was, up to windward, 
 he advanced leisurely instead of charging. I waited 
 there for him, so as to give Don Carlos time to get 
 within shot again. When the bull was about thirty 
 yards from me he stopped, snorted, stared ahead, and 
 eyed the thicket where I was hidden. He kept flinging 
 up his nose to get a whiff of me, and taking little side 
 paces to see if he could see me. At last, feeling sure 
 that Don Carlos must be in position, I broke from my 
 cover and walked out into the open. The bull, I no- 
 ticed, was a flne well-grown beast, rather old and tough 
 perhaps, but good enough for a seamen's dinner. 
 
 " Buenos dias," I said to him. " Come and be killed, 
 O bull. I have here a beautiful bullet for you." 
 
 As I finished my sentence he put his head down, and 
 charged so swiftly that I had barely time to step aside. 
 He was not like a bull of the pasture, used to the short 
 gallops possible in a hedged field. He was like a fine 
 steel battering-ram on springs ; and when he missed his 
 charge he spun round in his own length, and charged 
 again, lashing out with his horns. He was too quick 
 for me. I could hardly avoid his rushes. After the
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 123 
 
 first rush or two he grew cunning. He turned in his 
 rush almost as swiftly as I could step aside. I wanted 
 to kill him, for he was getting dangerous ; but did not 
 like to do so till I could hear Don Carlos's gun. The 
 cows, as I could see, were pacing a little nearer towards 
 me to see their leader in his glory. I laid down my 
 g-un and got out my pistol, ready to shoot the bull at 
 close quarters. Just as I got it out I heard Don Carlos 
 give fire. The bull rushed in on me. I stepped swiftly 
 aside, caught my foot on a bit of rotten wood, and came 
 down heavily, just as the bull turned. He came at me 
 so quick that I hardly had time to save myself. My 
 pistol was almost on his fell when I pulled the trigger. 
 I had barely time to roll out of the way as he came 
 down with a thump which shook me. I knew that he 
 was hard hit, so I left him, and seizing my gun I fired 
 at the nearest cow. She was the last of the herd, now 
 galloping away from us, up wind. It was a long, 
 quick shot, which somehow carried true beyond all hope, 
 for the cow went over, dead. On turning to load, I saw 
 the wounded bull half rise to his feet, coughing hard, 
 before falling over. He, too, was dead. I had killed 
 three in three shots. Don Carlos stepped out of the 
 cover and waved his hat to me. His last shot had some- 
 how gone astray, but that was no great loss, for there we 
 were, with four full-grown cattle for our pains, after 
 only a couple of hours of hunting.
 
 124 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 IV 
 
 The first thing to do was to get to work upon them. 
 We rapidly cleared a big space upon the ground for 
 our boucan, taking all the grass off for about seven 
 yards all about, lest we should set fire to the savannah. 
 Then Don Carlos laid the dry grass thus gathered as 
 for firing, while I cut stout forks, four feet high, and 
 long straight poles to lie across them, and set them up 
 in the ground, like little toy gallows, all about the cleared 
 space. Then very hurriedly we got together some 
 broken deadwood from the thicket, and set to work 
 upon the animals. We stripped off the hide of the old 
 bull, and quickly quartered him. I had borrowed an 
 axe from one of the men before we started out ; so this 
 did not take very long. Men used to the work can flay 
 and cut up a steer in a few minutes. As soon as we 
 had cut the quarters off, we hung them up upon the 
 frames over the fireplace, and lighted our fire, so that 
 the smoke, which we made thick by adding the rest of 
 the meat to our fuel, might season the meat or, as it is 
 called, " boucan " it for us. When we had set all our 
 meat drying thus, Don Carlos took charge of the fire, 
 while I pegged out the hides, and scraped them with 
 wooden scrapers. After scraping them well I rubbed 
 them over with hot wood ashes from the fire, till they 
 were well enough for the present. After that I had a 
 strange feeling that more was about to happen. I felt 
 drawn, as though by the brook, to go down to the sea.
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 125 
 
 I kept repeating to myself, " Down to the sea ; go down 
 to the seashore. It is only four hundred yards away," 
 till it was like a tiresome song, whicli one cannot get 
 from one's head. So I said to Don Carlos that I would 
 go off down to the seashore, and back along it to the bay 
 where the sloop had been lost, to tell the other hands 
 that it would be well to camp where our fires were 
 lighted. I built up a load of firewood before I started, 
 so that Don Carlos might not be overworked, and then 
 set off, wondering what new miracle was about to hap- 
 pen. I knew that something strange was about to hap- 
 pen. If the devil things, which the blacks are said to 
 worship in the forest, had come out to greet me, I should 
 not have been surprised. I felt that all the air was 
 full of wonderful presences, which were moving the 
 thoughts on my brain as a player moves chessmen on 
 a board. I felt that it needed only a snap of the fingers 
 to make me see those presences. 
 
 I followed along the little brook, till the scrub closed 
 in upon it so thickly that I had to move more to one 
 side. The scrub, though thick, was not tall; but there 
 were many uprooted trees tossed in all directions. A 
 tornado had once swept that way. After a while the 
 brook broadened out into a pool — a pleasant little pool, 
 with tall grass but no trees upon its borders, and a little 
 artificial fall at its further end. I saw at once that 
 about a year before a camp had been there. The camp- 
 ers had built up the pool, as far as I could see, for con- 
 venience in filling their water-casks. I guessed from 
 that that they were sailors who had watered their ship
 
 126 LOST EiNDEAVOUR 
 
 there; but, whoever they were, it was plain that they 
 had stayed for some time. Looking about me I soon 
 came across their huts, with the bed sticks, or barbecues, 
 on which the skins of their cots had been stretched, still 
 standing in the ground. There were charred twigs on 
 the hearthstones, and light ash scattered here and there, 
 not yet blown away. There were eight barbecues alto- 
 gether, from which I gathered that the ship had been a 
 small trading sloop with eight hands in her. Looking 
 about among the scrub (already a foot high inside the 
 hut), I found a broken old strap (part of a sheath 
 knife belt), and a bull's shoulder blade partly polished, 
 and carved, not badly, with a picture of a ship under 
 topsails, going free, flying a French ensign. I gath- 
 ered from that that the campers were Frenchmen. The 
 carver's knife had slipped, so as to scratch the ship 
 right across, and he had abandoned the bone as spoiled. 
 I could not find any boucan ashes near the hut, which 
 made it clear that the men were either not hunters or 
 extremely bad ones. The bull's shoulder blade, being 
 dry and old, had probably been picked up on the beach. 
 I was just making up a little theory to myself about 
 these hunters, telling myself that they had come there 
 in the drought, when watering must have been a slow 
 process, owing to the shallowness of the arroyo, when I 
 saw something among the scrub, a little further down 
 towards where the surf was beating. I looked again to 
 make sure ; but there was no doubt of it. A sloop lay 
 high and dry, a hundred yards from the sea; her bows 
 in the hedge of greenery which marked the limit of the
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 127 
 
 forest, her stern in the shingle of the beach. She had 
 been brought in by a tidal wave, and let down there, 
 seemingly unhurt, on an even keel. The wave which 
 brought her in had probably uprooted the trees, and 
 then sucked back, leaving her stranded. The huts by 
 the little pool had been made by her crew. I tell you, 
 the sloop was a beauty of the world ; strong as a roving 
 bull, and of a model like a swan. She was in good 
 trim, too, even after a year on the beach ; for her crew 
 before leaving her had covered her with tarred canvas 
 ever}^where, ports, hatches, deck and planking; a hard 
 black waterproof case for her. But what I could not 
 find was the reason for her abandonment. Why had 
 her eight men left her alone there, carefully sealed, 
 when they might so easily have got her off and put to 
 sea ? Her anchors were still at the bows, with good 
 chain cable, none of the hawser stuff, to warp her out by. 
 But, no. There she was, snug and secure, after a year 
 ashore, while her men were gone. That they had 
 planned to come back was evident. Otherwise they 
 would never have covered her. I could not imagine 
 why they should have left her. Plainly their business 
 (whatever it was) had taken them inshore. If they 
 had been going to another part of the sea-coast they 
 would have got the sloop off and gone by sea. A mo- 
 ment more showed me that their business had been de- 
 cided upon at the last moment, after careful prepara- 
 tions to get the sloop off to sea. They had been hard at 
 work cutting rollers from the trees broken down by the 
 wave. They had cut about twenty or thirty with one
 
 128 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 small-headed axe. I could tell that they had had only 
 one axe by the marks on the trees. The blade (one 
 could see it plainly) had a notch knocked in its edge; 
 it did not cut clean. All the rollers had been cut by a 
 notched axe; and the cuts were so small that only a 
 small axe could have cut them. I saw now why the 
 men had taken the trouble to build huts. The wood- 
 cutting must have been a long job. Very likely they 
 were at work for a week upon those rollers. The wood 
 was almost as hard as ironwood, it was a strong, dense, 
 darkish-fibred wood. I have seen the like elsewhere; 
 the Indians call it manchi. 
 
 Now before I went any further I sat down to puzzle 
 out the problem. A party of men had been shipwrecked. 
 They had gone to work to get their ship to sea. Sud- 
 denly they had left their ship after protecting her care- 
 fully against all possible hurt by wind and weather. 
 They had gone off inland intending to come back, and 
 they had not come back. "What could have tempted 
 them inland ? For a moment I thought that they might 
 have been taken off by a ship; but that I decided was 
 improbable, impossible. What shipman would have 
 left such a ship as the sloop ashore? It was not pos- 
 sible. I went up to the sloop and swung myself on to 
 her deck, intending to open up her cabin-hatch, which 
 was firmly battened down with wedged battens. In
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 129 
 
 one of the wedges a roll of oilskin had been jammed. 
 I pulled it out and opened it, and found inside it a leaf 
 from a " Seaman's Friend," with a little writing in 
 black lead on the unprinted side of it. This was what 
 it said, — 
 
 " Sloop Wanderer. Cap Josiah Teat. Goin off 
 this day, seven hands all well. The gold-fields. The 
 glorus gold-fields. If you put in here, Cap Knight, 
 respeck our nise loop Indian bob noes glorus gold-fields 
 to command J.T." 
 
 There was no date, and no superscription. It was, 
 however, plain that the sloop's crew had marched away 
 into the wilds to look for some gold-fields. Indian Bob 
 was probably a slave who had taken to the woods like 
 myself, and happened upon them while they were cut- 
 ting the rollers. The Jamaican woods were full of 
 Indian Bobs in my time. They were mostly forest In- 
 dians from the Mosquito country. They used to get 
 away pretty easily, for no white man can watch an In- 
 dian. Then they would wander about in the forests, 
 living like wild beasts, till perhaps they fell in with 
 each other and set up house there, or reached the coast 
 and went a-roving with some gang. They are useful to 
 catch fish, some of them. Any Indian Bob, if you 
 listened to him, would tell you of glorious gold-fields, 
 and perhaps only mean really that you could get plenty 
 of meat there. This particular Indian Bob had be- 
 witched this gang of Captain Teat's, however ; and there
 
 130 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 they were, gone. Either they had found the gold-fields, 
 and become too rich to botlier about the sloop, or they 
 had died on the way. That was plain enough. As 
 for gold-fields, well, I believe that the hills are full of 
 gold, if one could only find it. The Indians had the 
 secret in old time. It is there still if you stupid Eng- 
 lishmen care to look for it. I hoped that Captain Teat 
 and his expected friend Captain Knight would by this 
 time be rich enough to go cruising in frigates. Eor 
 myself, who was not so rich as that, this sloop seemed 
 exactly suitable. I took out my knife and cut away 
 a part of the tarpaulin covering, so that I could blaze 
 my name on her upper planks as a sign that I took pos- 
 session. 
 
 The crew came back along the coast with me, but 
 not in time to take off the sloop's cover that night. We 
 had too much to do before dark, helping Don Carlos at 
 the boucanning meat, gathering firewood, rescraping 
 and ash-curing the hides, building up huts for the night, 
 and getting supper ready. After our work we lay about 
 the fire, smoking, talking of the sloop, wondering what 
 she might contain. One of the men there had sailed 
 with Captain Teat long before in a trading-vessel. " A 
 big, ugly, red-chopped lad; a pretty hard case all 
 over " was what he called him. Latterly, so he had 
 heard, he had been roving on the main with many 
 others ; but as to his luck at the gold-fields no one had 
 heard. We had a quiet camp there. Our presence 
 frightened away the wild things, and the smoke of the 
 fires kept away the mosquitoes. In the morning we
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 131 
 
 breakfasted off meat, ship's bread, and wild plantains. 
 Then, leaving a band by the fire to see that the meat 
 took the smoke, we went to the sloop and ripped her 
 tarpaulins from her hatchways. A heave of a crowbar 
 opened her cabin to us. We went down and forced 
 open the skylight. 
 
 VI 
 
 When we could see we found ourselves in a neat 
 sloop's cabin, some twelve feet square. There were 
 two bunks on each side, small chase ports on each side 
 of the rudder head, and a table, or rather a flap of wood 
 working on a hinge which could be used as a table, 
 against the forward wall. The bunks had green baize 
 curtains to them. They were all neatly made up and 
 folded down, with the mosquito pipes, privateer fash- 
 ion, stuck in a rack within reach of the sleeper, all 
 ready loaded with sitra leaf, to make a smoke if the 
 mosquitoes were troublesome. In one of the bunks 
 there was a bookshelf arranged against the bulkhead at 
 the port. It contained a tinder-box, a pair of small 
 brass-headed Spanish pistols, a bullet-mould, a small 
 wooden box containing silver buttons and a bit of crude 
 turquoise, a copy of the works of Quevedo, very filthy 
 and half-gutted, and half a dozen obsidian arrow-heads 
 of the kind the Indians use. What struck me most 
 about the cabin was its neatness and cleanness. The 
 guns were not in their <;jirriages (we found them after- 
 wards, wrapped in bast and carefully tallowed, in the
 
 132 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 hold, in a box by themselves, small one and a half 
 pounder guns made of brass, and of the long kind, so 
 that they carried nearly a mile, very truly), but the 
 ropes of the gun carriages had been coiled as though 
 for a king's inspection. In the lockers under the bunks 
 were clothes neatly put avray with lumps of sandal- 
 wood. There was a box of tobacco-leaf, gone very dry 
 and brittle, and a few curios of the kind seamen buy; 
 strings of Indian beads, feather mats and fans, priests' 
 dresses made of macaw-tails, all the usual gear. In 
 one of the lockers were some bo'sun's stores, spikes, 
 fids, and nails (for trade as well as for use), and many 
 balls of spunyarn. Under the cabin floor was a maga- 
 zine, or rather a strongly fenced off part of the after- 
 hold. The walls of it were all thickly lined with felt, 
 for there were powder barrels stored in this place, as 
 well as a plentiful store of provisions. The biscuit 
 tank, which was of iron, was full of Spanish rusk, 
 packed in wood with thin lead coverings. It was all 
 as fresh as though it had just come piping hot from the 
 ovens at Havana. The other tanks and barrels con- 
 tained boucanned beef, in need of a new boucanning. 
 I had them sent on deck at once and rolled away to 
 the fires to be burnt. At one side of the magazine was 
 a sail-locker, very awkwardly placed, containing two 
 suits of sails, much patched and worn. 
 
 " That is the after guard," I said. " ITow forward 
 to the main hatch to see what she carries in her hold." 
 
 When we lifted up the hatch we came upon the guns 
 all carefully laid away in their jackets. There were
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 133 
 
 two chase-guns, as I have said, and four long threes 
 for the upper deck, as heavy an armoury as such a 
 boat could endure. Besides the guns there were bales 
 of Spanish goods (mostly vicuna wool and piacaba), 
 water-breakers in good number, arid enough ship's stores 
 to fit out a frigate, let alone a sloop. I suppose Cap- 
 tain Teat had fallen in with one of the small store 
 ships which sail with the annual treasure fleets, bound 
 towards Spain from Vera Cruz. After looking into 
 the hatch I ordered some of the hands to get the water- 
 breakers emptied over the side, while I went forward 
 to have a look into the f o'c'sle. This was rather a 
 difficult business, for the heels of the spare spars were 
 lashed do^vn on the fo'c'sle scuttle. While these were 
 being shifted I looked into the fore^peak, where I 
 found a small supply of firewood, and the ship's run- 
 ning and standing rigging all coiled and ticketed, ready 
 to be sent aloft again. Whatever else Captain Teat 
 may be, he is certainly an artist of a sailor. He had 
 cared for that little sloop as tenderly as though she 
 were his child. I have never seen a ship in such order. 
 Never. 
 
 .When I got down into the fo'c'sle I found four cot 
 bunks ready for use, as neatly made up as those in 
 the cabin had been. The room was small, and not very 
 well arranged, as there was a standing table in the 
 middle which took up much space. The walls had 
 been painted a bright white for coolness; and some one 
 had painted a ship flying past under topsails all round 
 the house, an English ship chasing a French ship (or
 
 134 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 was it the other way about?) so swiftly that you could 
 see the foam flying up under the bows, and the scarlet 
 of the banners crinkling. I suppose it had been done 
 by the Frenchman who carved the bull's bone. There 
 were five sea-chests either round the table or under it, 
 four of them unlocked, the fifth lashed up and sealed. 
 
 The four which were open contained sailors' clothes 
 of the usual kinds — thin duck and dungaree, slip- 
 pers worked with beads, spare knives, spare hats, soap, 
 plug tobacco, pipes, oddments from the islands, canes 
 made from sharks' spines, queer shells, money, gold 
 dust, silver ornaments and silver crude. The sealed 
 chest was more interesting. It contained two suits of 
 fine white Spanish drill with large silver buttons. 
 Underneath the suits were green silk shirts, and a lot 
 of laced things, all stolen from the Spaniards no 
 doubt. Beneath these were a ballad-book, a prayer- 
 book, a book of sermons, two or three pairs of raw-hide 
 slippers, and a layer of thick bamboo-joints as big 
 round as a man's leg. All these pieces of bamboo were 
 about two feet long, and stopped most carefully at the 
 ends with plugs of wax covered over with tarpaulin. 
 The canvas was tightly served down upon the wax, so 
 that each piece of cane made a bottle or box. 
 
 " Say," said Don Carlos, who had come down to see 
 what was in the fo'c'sle, " why was the chest locked, and 
 what is in the bamboo, anyway ? " 
 
 I said that the owner of the chest had probably died 
 on the voyage, and that the captain had sealed up his 
 belongings so as to hand them over to his relations.
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 135 
 
 As for the bamboos, they were a privateer's waterproof 
 cases. I have seen privateers on the march shmg about 
 with just such cases, one containing powder, another 
 shot, another his maps of anchorages, his journal, 
 brushes, colours, and pencils, a fourth his provision, a 
 fifth his money. They are easily made and replaced. 
 You cut the bamboo down with one blow of a machete, 
 chop off as much as you need, stop the end with bees- 
 wax, slip in your goods, stop the other end, and march 
 on. If you fall into a river or the sea they cannot sink, 
 nor can the water penetrate them. 
 
 When we had examined the fo'c'sle we opened a lit- 
 tle iron box of a deck-house which was chained to the 
 deck near the mast. It was a tiny cook-room, just big 
 enough for the cook, the fireplace, and the oven. In- 
 side it, when we entered, were the harness cask and 
 scuttle butt, which I ordered to be placed on deck in 
 their proper places. After this I went down alone into 
 the cabin, and broke the wax seal upon the first of the 
 dead man's bamboos. 
 
 VII 
 
 I tell you that that morning in the cabin was like 
 the other world breaking in upon me. There I was 
 in the cabin of a handsome ship, captain of a crew, 
 after being a little lonely hunted thing flying from my 
 master's heirs — a slave, a nothing, a convict. Out- 
 side,*I could hear the songs of the seamen as they built 
 up a fire near the huts, so that they might finish their
 
 136 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 boucan nearer to the sloop. The sunlight slanted down 
 the skylight all around me. The breeze brought in a 
 faint smell of pitoma blossom, with some whiff of the 
 sea too, so that I learned to taste the very spirit of 
 the island at each breath. It was perhaps only fancy, 
 but as I sat there I thought that that voice in my brain 
 spoke to me, saying, '' See what I have done for you. 
 See how I have cleared the way for you. Open the 
 bamboos ; open them." And I had a fanciful impres- 
 sion that the cabin was full of seamen looking at me 
 — Captain Teat and his gang, red-faced Captain Teat, 
 and Indian Bob in his leopard skin, and the white- 
 faced keen Frenchman who had painted the ships. 
 There was another person there too — a tall man, with 
 long black hair falling over his shoulders, and his face 
 all tanned like an Indian's. I saw him in my mind 
 quite clearly. I saw him leaning over to watch me, 
 putting back the lace from his green silk shirt with 
 one hand, while the other rested on the table. He was 
 smiling at me; he was the man whose chest I had 
 opened ; he was the dead man whose writings were wait- 
 ing on the table. 
 
 The first bamboo, when opened, contained a little box 
 of Indian pigments, very bright and lively, and a bun- 
 dle of those spindle-whorls, which are really Inca 
 writing, I had seen things of the same kind before; 
 but it struck me that these particular spindle-whorls 
 were made rather differently from those which I had 
 seen in the past. They were differently coloured, and 
 the bulb, or knob in the middle, seemed to me to be
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 137 
 
 enamelled instead of painted. The paints in the box 
 had been used fairly frequently. The little bamboo 
 finger- joints in which they were packed were about half 
 empty. At the bottom of the case were some European 
 pencils and brashes, as well as a couple of those Indian 
 brushes. Do you know what an Indian brush is ? It 
 is a piece of a hardish fibrous wood, burnt straight and 
 pointed, and then gnawed at the end by an Indian 
 woman, till the fibres are all distinct and soft, like the 
 hairs in a European brush. There were two of these 
 in the case. When I saw them, I knew that the dead 
 man had lived a goodish while in an Indian town; for 
 the brushes are women's property, and hard to come 
 at. You can get a bow or a few arrow-heads from 
 a buck for a couple of big beads ; but the brushes and 
 women's gear you cannot buy: they are half sacred, 
 or something. You can only get them if you become 
 one of the tribe, like one of my friends long ago. The 
 whorls were interesting, the pigments and brushes were 
 suggestive. The dead man had been among the In- 
 dians more than was usual, and had obtained their con- 
 fidence, and some unusual curios. On the whole, I 
 was disappointed with the contents of the first bam- 
 boo; but they taught me one thing, that the owner had 
 done unusual things, and must therefore have been an 
 unusual man. You stupid Englishmen could never 
 have reckoned so cleverly. You would not have thought 
 of that. You do not know that an unusual man is apt 
 to act unusuall}' — eh ? You think that an unusual 
 man must be mad, because he does not behave like an
 
 138 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 idiot like the rest of you ? Well, I put everything back 
 into its case, and opened the second bamboo. 
 
 N^ow, in the second bamboo there was nothing but 
 an oiled skin roll containing a lot of maps and charts, 
 very beautifully drawn on good paper. I did not look 
 through them very carefully; for I had only to glance 
 at them, so as to catch their titles, to see that they were 
 mostly of the coasts of the Main, from about Chiriqui, 
 northwards past Cape Thanks-to-God, to Cape Catoche, 
 Tide Lake, the Haulover and Vera Cruz — parts of 
 the world which I had not then visited. I rolled them 
 up and put them to one side, with the reflection that 
 the dead man was an artist of no mean merit, as well 
 as a clever seaman, to have made such beautiful maps. 
 His name was upon one of the maps, idly written down 
 as one sometimes writes one's name so as to fix a 
 memory. " Lorenzo O'Neill, in the ship Wanderer, 
 Captain Christian, Comr., June 1st in ye p.m. 1674, 
 off Roatan, Barbareta estm'd N.E. 4 miles, and a fine 
 brisk breeze, 6 m, under whole topsails." I suppose 
 he had written down all that so that in years to come 
 he might remember the very details of the evening in 
 which he wrote them, the sight of the distant island, 
 the noise of the wind and the ship straining. Well, he 
 was dead now, and would remember nothing more at all, 
 not even his strange outlandish name. I turned to case 
 number three. 
 
 In the third case there were two oiled skin rolls, 
 each containing a soft, large, pliable book of very good 
 thin paper. One book was closely written on both sides
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 139 
 
 of the pages, in very black ink, with scarlet capitals, in 
 Lorenzo O'lS^eiU's hand. It made a sort of journal 
 of his life from 1683 to 1691; but most of it was a 
 dry record of courses and day's runs, with the direction 
 of the wind and the quantity of water still aboard added 
 in hieroglyphs. There were large gaps in the narra- 
 tive, as in all seamen's logs, whenever the ship lay in 
 harbour or careening. After these gaps there was gen- 
 erally a long, very interesting piece of narrative, de- 
 scribing the setting out of a new voyage or foray, with 
 the reasons for it and the equipment. The entries 
 would then become shorter and shorter, till at last they 
 would be the bald notes and sailing-master's jottings 
 of which I have told you. " Course N47 W.Lat. 
 D.R.27.10.KDist.R.216 m. Wind gusty to fresh 
 gale. KE. to E.N.E. W, in gallons, 177. Bread 
 ran out. Setting up lower main rigging. Thompson's 
 hands very bad. ISToe bolsom. Carry'd away ye fore 
 boline in ye a.m." 
 
 That is a very good specimen of the entries w^hich 
 sailing-master Lorenzo O'lSTeill wrote, after he had set- 
 tled down to the business of cruising. The larger en- 
 tries were more amusing. One of them ran like 
 this : — 
 
 " So when Captain Hudsel began to be reasonable 
 merry (as to give him his due he never exceeded in his 
 liquor), I went ashore to avoid the noise of their sing- 
 ing and the Smoak of their Tobacco, which did ever 
 offend me, thof it is common to that extent it is a Vice.
 
 140 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 There were no Lights in the Indian Town, not soe 
 much as a Fire. It was one of their God's Feast-days, 
 which they keep up at a great Rate among themselves. 
 They were all in their Paw-waw House, making such 
 an Uproar as you would think a Basket of Cats was 
 murdered. This they do, as Don Andreas confessed, 
 to make their God speake. I could not learne the 
 Ceremony as they doe practise. It in part consists 
 of going to the Paw-waw House mother-naked, and 
 houling and scraitching there like Wild Beasts and 
 other strange Animals, till they are all of a muck- 
 sweat and fit to burst. What other Eites they may 
 practise there I confess I am ignorant of; nor did I 
 ever meet with one who had seen Em. But that they 
 had a god or devil I know from my own experience, 
 for it chanced I crep very close to the Paw-waw House 
 at the very Nick or Moment when they fell Silent 
 after a Howl, as they doe always out of a Reverence, 
 to let his Devilship have his Say, belike. In that Mo- 
 ment of Time I heard a small quaking Voice, answer- 
 ing to their questions which I do suppose their priests, 
 or Wise Men, had put before hand. It was much such 
 a Voice as you might expect an old Monkey to speake 
 with, rather high and as't were wavery, but not hu- 
 man, nor was it Indian, who speake always very round 
 in the throat, like the low Irish, as they are called, in 
 the Towns about Limerick, where I was as a Boy in 
 one of the Beef-Ships, supplying the King's Fleet in K. 
 Charles his Time. It was very plain and terrifying, 
 and to be round with you, the Moonlight turned all
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 141 
 
 one Ghoast to me so as I fled aboard again. I learned 
 ye next day that Don Andreas took it very 111 of me 
 that I had been so wanting in good manners as to 
 Eavesdrop upon his God-ship, which they call in their 
 paltry Tongue, Tah-um-ba, as much as to say Big 
 King or Strong King, so that I had even to give 
 him a new hatchet, and some beads for his Wife, to 
 bring him to be pacified. For to tell the truth they 
 are a mean ignorant Sett, quickly brought about from 
 one Opinion to T'other, so as we may say among our- 
 selves, one may be a King's Minister and a King's din- 
 ner, all in one day, among 'em. Yet they have this 
 Commune or Familiar, which works strange Matters 
 as I have seen, so as it might be worth a Man's while 
 to enquire into it, what Art they have in the Occult 
 Way, I mean for the enlargement of Human Knowl- 
 edge, which must ever be the aim of a Rational Man. 
 And to speake Truth I am inclined to the Opinion that 
 they may be of the generation of the Ishmaelites, who 
 wandered abroad in the Patriark's Time, and may have 
 kept among 'em some Scraps of Original Art, as it is 
 seen the Gipsies have, which may be of the same thiev- 
 ish blood if all were known, as D*" Le Page setts out, who 
 is a Member of the K of F's Household. Yett this I 
 leave to the Learned in such matters. They are above 
 the Stretch of a plain Tarpawling. To proceed." 
 
 I studied this log-book long enough to find out what 
 sort of a man Lorenzo O'iSTeill had been, and what he 
 had done in the world. What his early life had been,
 
 142 LOST EN"DEAVOUIl 
 
 who can tell ? He began suddenly, in 1674, as the 
 sailing-master of the ship Wanderer, evidently an 
 English ship, under Captain Christian, a Erenchman, 
 famous ten years later all over the Indies for his tak- 
 ing of the town of Veraguas, without finding there a 
 silver sixpence to reward his pains. From his alliance 
 with Captain Christian I guessed that O'Neill had taken 
 to the privateering life through some mishap, such as 
 shipwreck or capture by the Spaniards. Otherwise, he 
 would have been with an English captain. This was 
 a guess, but a guess from evidence, even slight evidence, 
 is not called a guess, but imagination. After 1683 he 
 had cruised about along the western parts of the Main, 
 taking prizes and amassing money from them — about 
 five hundred pounds in seven years, as little marginal 
 sums in red ink declared. His interests were scientific, 
 not personal. He went privateering more from a love 
 of discovery than for money. Towards the end of his 
 cruising, especially (as it seemed to me from a hasty 
 reading) after his adventure with the devil's voice in 
 the Paw-waw house, he took evident interest in the In- 
 dians. I put the log-book down and took up the other 
 book. 
 
 ISTow, this second book puzzled me indeed; for 
 though it was written it was all in sjnubols and hier- 
 oglyphics, of all colours and of outlandish shapes, like 
 Egyptian writing. It was dated, in the beginning 
 page, 1690. At the other end of it (for I turned it 
 over to see if there were any clue at the end) was a 
 dictionary of Indian words, with their English and
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 143 
 
 Spanish meanings — about six hundred words in all ; 
 and a further list of Indian bird, beast, tree, fruit, 
 flower, and plant names, with the uses to which the In- 
 dians had put them. After this were short stories or 
 pieces of writing in the Indian tongue, which by this 
 time, I suppose, O'lSTeill had learned pretty perfectly. 
 Each piece of writing was headed by a symbol, or more 
 than one symbol, of the kinds used at the beginning of 
 the book. What in the world the book signified I 
 could not think. It was as great a puzzle to me as the 
 Chinese alphabet. But at last, after saying to myself, 
 " What would you have done had you been interested 
 in the Indians ? " the puzzle began to gTow more clear. 
 O'Neill had made a list of the Indian words, and then 
 a sort of dictionaiy of the Indian learning, the knowl- 
 edge of plants and creatures, etc., such as the Indians 
 from their way of life must be very expert at. After 
 that I presumed he had wanted to know something of 
 the Indian philosophy, their explanation of the world, 
 their gods and devils, their sacred seasons, their laws 
 both social and moral, their religion and observances, 
 their gospels and mythologies, and their legends and 
 half-remembered traditions, handed down in a blurred 
 way from the days before the Incas. Surely, I thought, 
 this is what he would have wanted to do after taking 
 the trouble (and it must have been great trouble) to 
 make a dictionary. Perhaps, I said to myself as I 
 read, all this writing in the Indian tongTie is a report- 
 ing of what they have told him, written down from 
 notes taken at the time, and written in the original
 
 144 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 lest some one should steal the manuscript, since there 
 are as many thieves in a pirate ship as in a church 
 ashore at sermon time. " But," I argued to myself, 
 " all this picture-writing is strange to me. I know not 
 what this may mean. The Indians have no way of 
 writing, except the crude sign-writing which they smear 
 in the dust, or on the sand, to show which track they 
 have taken at a want-way. Can it be that O'Neill in 
 his wanderings among the Indians has come across 
 some key to the writings of the Mexicans, and is this 
 picture-writing of the same kind, or has he invented 
 a secret hieroglyphic alphabet for himself ? " I de- 
 cided that I would find out if it were possible for me 
 to do so. Understand, I was not interested — I was 
 piqued, I was curious. I was not going to be baulked 
 by something which might be strange. For, since my 
 deliverance from my enemies and all those marvels in 
 the wood, I felt that those lands and islands, where 
 the moon is glorious and the air is heavy with spice as 
 though incense was always being crushed, were full of 
 all manner of presences. And " perhaps," I thought, 
 " the Indians have a knowledge of these presences, and 
 can talk with them, and call them into view." This 
 was my fancy. I turned to the next bamboo. 
 
 In this there was a long bulky roll of Indian cotton 
 of a dull white colour, and so thick that it filled the 
 case. It was, as I supposed at first, a piece of Indian 
 embroidery; for one end of it was all embroidered 
 crudely with colours. Looking at it more closely, I 
 saw that it was not broidery but painting, dashed on 
 
 I
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 145 
 
 hurriedly, and done bj a European, not by an Indian at 
 all. There were attempts at shading which no Indian 
 would have done. 
 
 " It must be a copy," I said to myself, " of what 
 an Inca painted long ago on the wall of some temple. 
 Lorenzo O'Neill has seen this temple. And the writ- 
 ing there is of an absorbing interest. He has tried to 
 make a copy of it all on Indian cotton cloth, the only 
 material to be had there. But it gives me the impres- 
 sion that he has not had time to finish it. What has 
 prevented him ? What stopped the record, I wonder ? " 
 Something told me in my heart that Death had stopped 
 the record. I turned to the last bamboo. 
 
 In the last bamboo was a roll of parchment which, 
 when flattened out, was a full four feet by four feet. 
 It was a beautiful map of the island which (I gather) 
 is known to pilots as Boca del Drago. It was painted 
 in fair colours, with little pictures of ships in the sea, 
 and dolphins blowing about it, tossing white water up. 
 The anchorages were marked with bearings and sound- 
 ings, so that any man might take a ship in by that 
 map. The bays where the turtle fed were marked. 
 The patches of firing-wood were marked. There was 
 no spring nor brook there which had not some mark 
 or note in scarlet ink upon it, as " This spring is un- 
 wholesome in the Rains." " The water of this brook 
 is of a bitter quality. It cured Mr. Home of ye yellow 
 fever, as he supposed." " Here the water falls in over 
 a Clift, which is hard to come at by boats watering." 
 A note in the margin, under the map's beautifully writ-
 
 146 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 ten title, said that the best anchorage was up a small 
 northern creek, which widened out to a lagoon or haven 
 with a fair runlet of a brook and a good dry sandy land- 
 ing. But that all who came to the island were to be- 
 ware of the Indians, " who are salvage if you do not 
 bring them to be quiett by good Treatment. They are 
 secrett, bloudy salvages, but the truth is, not dangerous 
 if you are bold among 'em, calling out Mamaubah 
 Meegah, nor will they make any sudden Attack; but 
 Stragglers alone must look to it, if they venter to the 
 Woods. It is, as they esteem, a Sacred Islet, to their 
 kind of Godds. The savages there are guards to the 
 Mysteries. They will not brook any Sacrilege." 
 
 At the foot of the map was another note, in a sprawl- 
 ing scro'llwork. " The Temple is hard to find. From 
 it, the Roncadores bear N 10 E, and the spur of ye 
 Key ]Sr 10 W. It lies in the Apex. You cannot fetch 
 it direct. A good Rime to remember, — 
 
 " Past the Stone Virgin. Past the Scree. And uppe 
 To th' old King's Tombe, and the Devill's drinking-cup. 
 From which the running streame will surely guide 
 To what the painted Sepulcker doth hide. 
 
 by Lorenzo O'Neill. Sg. Master. 1691." 
 
 I was ignorant of the Indian tongues at that time, 
 but having these books in my hand gave me an inter- 
 est in them. I began to tell myself all manner of 
 romantic tales about the Indians. I tried to decipher 
 the drawings on the roll. I remember saying to my- 
 self that I would learn the Indian tongues if ever a 
 chance offered. As to the map of the island, I asked
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 147 
 
 the hands if they knew the place. They said that they 
 had heard that it was one of the Bay Islands, and out 
 of the track of ships. I said to myself that perhaps 
 I would some day go there, and find out what the 
 painted Sepulcker hid. Well, I went there. I found 
 out. 
 
 VIII 
 
 When we had repaired that little sloop we hove her 
 down to the sea on rollers, and floated her. We filled 
 her with beef and fresh water, and put to sea in her, 
 after naming her the Providence. We shaped a course 
 first for Antigua, where we sold the logwood in her to 
 a dyer. Here we engaged a Mosquito fish-spearer 
 named Peter, who taught me (since I am quick at 
 tongues) the Mosquito language. Then we wandered 
 off among the Samballoes, to live the life of the pri- 
 vateers there; and so, little by little, took to cruising 
 for the Spanish trade, and joining the Indians' war- 
 parties, getting a little gold-dust and a little chocolate, 
 with a good deal of fever and hard knocks. While we 
 were among the Indians of those parts I learned a lit- 
 tle of the Andrea tongue, very little, but enough to 
 get along by. All the time, wherever I was, I was 
 busily studying that record of Lorenzo O'lSTeill's. I 
 soon found that parts of it were written in the Mos- 
 quito speech, but these parts were little more than lists 
 of leaves and fruits, with their virtues and the beliefs 
 attached to them. The rest of it was incomprehensible
 
 148 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 to me, for I knew not even the first principle of the old 
 Indian way of writing in which O'Neill with incredible 
 skill and patience had hidden his discoveries. 
 
 After a month or two, however, chance brought me 
 ashore in Campeachy, at one of the logwood-cutters' 
 camps in the Lagoon of Tides, and here I got upon the 
 puzzle. 
 
 It is the custom in these camps to do no cutting on 
 Saturdays. Instead of working you wash the scarlet 
 off your arms, and take your gun and wander off into 
 the woods to fetch your beef for the camp's provisions. 
 So I, who was feeling that my destiny had brought me 
 thus far upon my way only to leave me puzzling at 
 something which I felt to be very wonderful, went into 
 the woods alone one Saturday, taking a straight course 
 to the savannah lands, where (as I knew) a herd of 
 cattle often haunted for the sweetness of the gTass which 
 grew there. I approached well to leeward of the feed- 
 ing-ground and came upon the herd unexpectedly as it 
 trooped to fresh pasture. It was a fine, well-grown 
 herd, made up, as I suppose all these herds are, of 
 Sisal cattle gone wild. Looking at them, I noticed in 
 the rearguard of them a young bull whose hide was 
 almost a pure white. This is rare among the wild 
 cattle, which are pale or pale^tawny. This young bull 
 must have joined the herd newly from some enclosure. 
 There were Spanish estancias within two hundred miles 
 of us. He must have come from one of those. When 
 I saw him I thought to myself that I had long de- 
 sired to have a white bull's hide for my cot-bed. I
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 149 
 
 vowed that I would either have this bull's hide or leave 
 him mine there on the held. So, after waiting till the 
 herd had almost passed me, I stepped out into the open 
 opposite this young bull, and waved my hat to him. 
 He was marching proudly a little to one side of the 
 cows, so as to raise no jealousy in the leader of the 
 herd. I stepped towards him, whistling softly to at- 
 tract his attention. He wheeled and turned to me, 
 while the herd, drawing well away, fronted to watch, 
 tossing their heads. The white bull, after a steady 
 stare, advanced towards me with his muzzle stretched 
 out. I fired and hit him, but not very severely. He 
 charged at once, as the herd galloped off, and that so 
 suddenly that he nearly caught me. I fired again as I 
 stepped aside, and hit him so hard that he kept his 
 course into the wood. I reloaded my gun and went 
 after him, following him easily by the swathe he had 
 torn in the scrub. It was as though a ship's cutter had 
 sailed through the jungle with a fair wind. There was 
 a little bright blood here and there upon the grass ; but 
 so little that I knew that his wounds were bleeding in- 
 ternally. 
 
 I went after him pretty quickly along this track 
 which he had cut for me. I had no reason to fear 
 anything. The Indians of that part of Campeachy 
 were not friendly to us, having been bribed by the 
 Spaniards to check our settling there. Still there were, 
 as I thought, no Indians anywhere within ten miles of 
 me. Not that I could be sure of it. The forest there- 
 abouts was very dense, and I knew only what the log-
 
 150 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 wood cutters liad learned by hearing and rumour during 
 their stay in the lagoon. I was surprised, though, when 
 I saw what I saw that morning. 
 
 For, after a couple of miles of tracking, I came upon 
 a clearing in the forest. I suppose it was about a hun- 
 dred yards across altogether. In it was an Indian vil- 
 lage of a kind "which was new to me. I had seen plenty 
 of Indian villages during my stay in the Indies. They 
 are of the poorest kind of building. You can see the 
 buck Indians make them for themselves at the end of 
 a day's march. A dozen chops with a hatchet will 
 given them enough bamboos for the frame. All the 
 rest of the building is a laying on of those broad palm- 
 leaves for thatch. I have seen a few tribes make them 
 with greater care than others ; but even with the best of 
 them the huts are shacks and hovels. A gipsy's hut on a 
 common is a palace to them. JSTow the huts in this par- 
 ticular village were not like that at all. They were 
 built of adobe brick, and tiled with what looked like 
 terra cotta. They were ranged in a neat little street, 
 down which ran a brook. The gardens and plantations 
 were small, but neatly kept. They had not much in 
 them except plantains, but I noticed that some of them 
 had tobacco growing. 
 
 I came upon this place quite suddenly. I had not 
 suspected it, nor was I prepared for it. But coming on 
 it, I took it in at a glance, as a man in the forest learns 
 to do. The bull was down on his knees in the middle 
 of a tobacco patch, coughing himself dead. I realised 
 that I was in a strange situation, among a people new
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 151 
 
 to me. What sort of a reception they might give me 
 I could not guess; but, since my prey had destroyed 
 a part of their crops, they were not likely to be loving 
 to me. 
 
 They appeared soon enough, as you may suppose. 
 There were about twenty of them, all of them a little 
 paler than the Indians proper, but of Indian type. 
 They came up and stared at me, muttering to each other. 
 I raised my head in the way the padres do when they 
 give a blessing. I did this because they looked clean 
 enough to be Christian Indians. But they knew neither 
 the sign nor what I said to them in Spanish. They 
 just gave back a little when I raised my hand. Per- 
 haps they thought that I was going to fling a stone at 
 them. Then they stared at me and muttered to each 
 other. I stared back, but all the time I was squinting 
 out of the comers of my eyes lest one of these quiet- 
 looking men should be creeping round to get behind 
 me. I had the feeling that there was a man behind 
 me all the time ; but, as it is never well to show nervous- 
 ness before these people, I did not turn my head. In- 
 stead of that I cocked my gun under my arm and 
 pointed to the bull, which had just died. I smiled and 
 signalled to them that it was at their service, speak- 
 ing in Mosquito. They seemed to recognise some words 
 of what I said, for they repeated them to me as though 
 asking questions. I did not know what they said, for 
 they were not Mosquitos, nor of that stock apparently. 
 
 I tried those mutterers with a few words of Chetu- 
 mal (the only words knov\m to me in the dialect), but
 
 152 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 thej did not understand. Then I took out a Spanish 
 piece of eight and offered it to one of them. He smelt 
 it, looked at the stamp, handed it to the others, who 
 either smelt it or bit it, and then handed it back to 
 me, not knowing what to make of it. I began to get 
 uneasy about those Indians after that. They did not 
 look pleasant. They did not welcome me with the 
 warm courtesy to which I had been accustomed among 
 the Indians on the isthmus and at Blewfields. They 
 stood still, looking at me rather pointedly, and mutter- 
 ing to themselves, without shifting their eyes. At last 
 one of them, sitting down on the ground with a curious 
 shrinking of his body, which made me think that he 
 would sink under the earth, began to play knucklebones 
 by himself with great skill. It seemed a mad sort of 
 thing to do, and I did not like it, because I knew 
 enough of the Indians to know that when they begin to 
 do something which we think mad, they do something 
 peculiarly Indian; and what is peculiarly Indian is 
 often very horrible to us whites. I watched him play- 
 ing. Indeed, I could not help myself, his pale hands 
 were so apt and nimble, and the white and red of the 
 bones — yes, some of the bones were red ; the Indians 
 dye bone and ivory with a kind of logwood which grows 
 in fresh-water swamps — seemed to me to make a sort 
 of pattern, which kept suggesting all sorts of things, 
 strange things, things like the symbols in the book. 
 Then something was suggested to me, something came 
 into my mind. There came to me something like a 
 word spoken inside my brain, something which you,
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 153 
 
 perhaps, would call an intuition or some other absurd 
 name, such as the English delight to make for things 
 which they do not understand. The word said to me 
 that the man was playing knucklebones to keep my at- 
 tention fixed so that I should not look behind me. At 
 the same instant I felt a cold gush of fear going over 
 me, as one feels sometimes when, on looking back in 
 the dark in a quiet alley, one sees or suspects some one 
 whose footsteps one has not heard approaching. I 
 turned round slowly on my heel, taking care to show 
 no trace of anxiety. And there behind me was some 
 one, a strange some one, right in my tracks only six 
 feet away. How he had come so near without my sens- 
 ing him I cannot think ; but the Indians are a strange 
 people. We do many things with many sides of our 
 natures. They do a few things with their whole 
 strength. Perhaps that is why they can do things 
 which we can never do. 
 
 IX 
 
 The person who fronted me when I turned was 
 dressed in one of those long black Indian print gowns, 
 something like a soutane, something like an English 
 labourer's smock, but all worked over with overlapping 
 fringes of feathers, so that the wearer looks like a 
 great blackbird. This one looked all the liker a bird, 
 because his arms were folded on his breast, and so 
 deeply buried in feathers that the hands could not be
 
 154 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 seen at all. I would have been glad to know what he 
 held in those hidden hands; but with my gun ready 
 in my hand I felt pretty much at ease on that score. 
 After the first startled moment, during which I came 
 near to shooting him, we stood staring at each other 
 without speaking. I took a keen stock of him, and 
 though I often saw him afterwards my first impression 
 of him never changed. I never got over it, though 
 very likely it was wrong. I felt as I looked at him 
 that he was not quite a human thing, but something 
 different and more dangerous. He was a good deal 
 paler than any Indian, but he was of Indian type, all 
 except the mouth, which smiled at me continually, 
 showing the teeth. It was the smile which awed me. 
 I felt it to be something which masked the inner man. 
 It was a pleasant smile enough, but as it gave me that 
 impression of the mask it was sinister to me. The 
 Indians on that coast never smile; perhaps it was the 
 strangeness which made it so horrid. I cannot say. 
 There it is. There was this about the creature's bear- 
 ing. It made me feel that very much depended upon 
 how I comported myself before him. 
 
 I had another intuition at that moment. Some- 
 thing outside myself (it was not my own. will at all) 
 thrust my hand into my pocket, and made me draw 
 out a paper on which I had printed a copy of a sym- 
 bol, the outline of a bird of prey, with which O'Neill 
 often began his chapters of picture writing. I flattened 
 it out and held it out to him, so that he might see it. 
 He looked at it and bowed to it, evidently recognis-
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 155 
 
 ing it, and then shuffled with his hands very quickly 
 among his feathers. I suppose that he was hiding his 
 knife, now that he knew me to be a friend. He ad- 
 vanced a step, bowing and smiling. He pointed to one 
 of the houses near by, and made as though to conduct 
 me thither. 
 
 " Good," I said to myself. " I am not to be killed 
 at any rate." 
 
 I nodded, and signed to him to lead on and that I 
 would follow. The Indian led me into one of the 
 houses, and offered me a mess of bananas and corn- 
 pone, beaten up with the juice of limes. He talked to 
 me garrulously in a dialect which I did not know. I 
 noticed that he did not press food upon me in the true 
 Indian way, which presupposes that a g-uest has not 
 eaten for a week. I gathered from that (what I had 
 in fact already gathered from their houses and from 
 the quiet manner in which they had taken the arrival 
 of a whole dead bull in their village) that these In- 
 dians did not live from hand to mouth as so many for- 
 est Indians do, but that they were partly civilised, with 
 crops and perhaps live stock of their own. 
 
 After I had eaten, this strange Indian showed me, 
 half grudgingly half expectantly, two or three other 
 symbols carven in wood, or cut in pottery or painted 
 upon a sort of brovni cloth of a rather coarse but close 
 texture, like a common holland. I recognised several 
 of the symbols in O'lSTeill's books, but what they signi- 
 fied was double Dutch to me. I think from what hap- 
 pened afterwards that he confused me in some way with
 
 156 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 O'lSTeill, or took me to be the same kind of man. I 
 nodded as though I understood them, and drew others 
 with my finger upon the dried and dusty mud of the 
 floor. He seemed impressed by my knowledge. He 
 stood up with some ceremonial gesture like the saying 
 of grace, and beckoned me to follow him out into the 
 wood. 
 
 At a little distance upstream from the village there 
 was a low stone wall, evidently very old. In Spain and 
 France I have seen Roman walls not unlike it. But 
 this, unlike a Roman wall, was grotesquely carved, by 
 some one with a rude and barbarous power, along its 
 upper course of well-hewn, well-fitted stones. I do not 
 know any carving which is quite like it, though some to 
 whom I have described it have told me that it must 
 be like Egyptian work. The carving was all symbolic 
 and hieroglyphic. My guide pointed out several of the 
 symbols known to me, and led me through a gap into 
 what must once have been the courtyard of a great 
 temple. It was a great smooth field of a place, over 
 which the Indians had been busy ever since the last 
 priest was there. It was all laid out now in tobacco 
 and plantains in neat little weedless gardens. In the 
 middle of the field (which I suppose was three hundred 
 yards across) was the temple, picked so clear of creep- 
 ers by the superstitious Indians that at first glance it 
 did not look like a ruin. It was a ruin, but a very 
 splendid one. It was carved all over its outer face with 
 what seemed to be a writhing, continuous history. In 
 places, where the rains had not been at work, some of
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 157 
 
 the original colour was still upon the carving to give 
 the barbaric vigour of the design (as it seemed) a life 
 and inner meaning. 
 
 The man took me to the door of this great temple. 
 It was so richly carved that it was as if the stone had 
 bloomed suddenly like a strange plant. And do you 
 know what was the first thing that I noticed there on a 
 clear space upon the door's lintel ? I saw a name idly 
 scratched with a knife point, — 
 
 L. O'Neill. Ship Wanderer. 
 
 My unknown friend had been there also. I bowed 
 my head, as though I had just met him face to face. 
 It seemed to me that he must be there, in the place 
 where his wits had been so busy. I went into the 
 temple, half expecting to hear him hail me. 
 
 The temple roof was gone, but the floor had been 
 kept clear of weeds, and a neat thatch had been worked 
 over the altar. An old Indian was praying before the 
 altar, in a sort of trance of prayer ; but at first I did not 
 notice him. I saw only the exceeding wonder of the 
 walls, which blazed in many colours. There was colour 
 everywhere, either worked upon cloth or painted on 
 the stone. The whole inner part of the building had 
 been glorified, till it was like a jewel of many precious 
 stones, with the hieroglyphics and many-coloured sacred 
 histories. When I entered, the old Indian rose from his 
 place by the altar and advanced slowly towards me, as 
 though he had been expecting me. 
 
 " Bueno," he said, speaking Spanish, as though he
 
 158 LOST EN'DEAVOUR 
 
 had not spoken it for years. " Bueno. Que tal. Soy 
 Nicolai." 
 
 He looked into my face for a long time, and then 
 made me sit before the altar, while the other man, 
 heaping gums upon the altar brazier, made incense. 
 When he spoke again, it was to say that he had waited 
 a long-time for my coming, a long, long time, so long 
 that he had feared that he might die before I came. He 
 told me strange things there in the gloom made by the 
 incense. Strange things. Do you know what he told 
 me? 
 
 He told me that the temple in which I stood had 
 once been the chief temple of the capital of that land. 
 The city surrounding it had long since been covered by 
 the forest, but he added that there were many vast re- 
 mains to be seen by a little vigorous cutting. Those 
 remains, and the village seen by me, were all that was 
 left of so mighty a capital. As for the temple, he said, 
 it was a temple to the ancient gods. Their worship 
 had once been everywhere in the land, " as of course I 
 knew" (I knew nothing of the kind), but that it had 
 begun to die out even before the Spaniards came; and 
 since then it had dwindled away almost to nothing. 
 
 This, of course, was all archseology. What was 
 strange came afterwards. He said, that a year or two 
 before, a word had gone forth among the Indians 
 throughout Mexico. A sort of prophet named Xucal,
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 169 
 
 an Indian of course, had prophesied that the old gods 
 were coming back, and that the Spaniards would be 
 driven out, and that the ancient kings should rule again 
 where their fathers had ruled. The prophecy said that 
 this would not happen all at once. But that first a 
 white man would come as a messenger from the kings, 
 to find out whether the hearts of the Indians still re- 
 membered the old rule. This white man would go about 
 to all the places where the old faith had once been 
 powerful. He would find out what relics of the race 
 still lived, and whether they longed for their old rulers, 
 who now were resting in some heaven (as far as I could 
 make out) till he should make his report to them. 
 After the disappearance of this white man (so the 
 prophecy ran ) a youth would appear at the great temple, 
 and give the high priest a sign. This youth, I gath- 
 ered, would be the great king, come back to rule his 
 people, but (this struck me as being a very cunning 
 stroke of the priest's), following the royal laws, it would 
 be necessary for him to perfect himself in the sacred 
 mysteries under the priest's tuition before he could 
 rule. 
 
 Now perhaps Nicolai really believed me to be this 
 youth ; perhaps he thought that he might make use of 
 my coming there, so soon after O'Neill's coming, to 
 pretend it, for his own ends. At any rate, when he 
 told me this, he suddenly acted as though I were a super- 
 natural being. So did the other Indian, and so (later 
 on) did all the other Indians in the village. 
 
 My first impulse was to tell them not to be so fool-
 
 160 LOST ENDEAVOTJK 
 
 ish ; but a little thought came into my head. I asked 
 myself why I should not be this king. It was such an 
 opportunity as no man in the world has ever had. 
 Suppose (I said), suppose I take advantage of this 
 prophecy, and play into old Nicolai's hands, and learn 
 these mysteries, and turn the superstitions to use? 
 Suppose I become this king in very truth, and call up 
 the Indians, and make a nation where now there are 
 tribes and Spanish tax collectors? With the Indians 
 united, the veriest dunce at war could drive the Span- 
 iards out of the country. Why should I not unite 
 them and do so? This thought flushed me and capti- 
 vated me. I do not think that anybody could take (un- 
 moved) the prospect of being (at the one time) a sort 
 of god, a king over millions of men, and the conqueror of 
 Spain. I was moved strongly ; and, like all other men 
 under strong emotion, I did not take heed. I did not 
 think of the possible drawbacks to this scheme. I 
 saw only myself an emperor, and the Spanish empire 
 tumbled into Vera Cruz harbour. So, perhaps wrongly, 
 I assumed a royal port, and allowed old Nicolai to pro- 
 claim me as the expected sacred youth. 
 
 I regretted it afterwards, for the learning of the 
 mysteries is very terrible, for it begins with fasting 
 and maceration of a very severe kind. After the body 
 has been subdued, the novice learns other things ; secret 
 things, of which I will say this, that they are really 
 wonderful, and that the Church in Europe knew of 
 them, and condemned them long ago as magic. The 
 mysteries were not all of the magical kind. As I be-
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 161 
 
 came more perfect, and learned to read the hieroglyphs 
 on the temple walls and in O'Neill's books, I found that 
 there was a higher ritual, of the spirit of which O'Neill, 
 by the way, was entirely ignorant. 
 
 " Please," you say, interrupting. " Is there really 
 any truth in magic ? " 
 
 " Magic ? " I answer. " Truth ? A measure of it 
 — yes. It is as true as pagan religion, and no truer. 
 I sometimes think that it is a trick of the imagination ; 
 and at other times that it is more than that, but not 
 much more. It is mostly a matter of secret rites and 
 incantations, demanding, like other religious practice, 
 a sincere faith. In all such arts much depends on lit- 
 tle details and significances of colour and form and at- 
 titude. Some of the results are — you would not be- 
 lieve. You could not without knowing. But I tell 
 you that if I had here certain precious colours, and 
 some rare gums, and a sacred metal, I would bring be- 
 fore you visibly in this ship's cabin — There — I can- 
 not tell you what, but something wonderful in mystical 
 shape and beauty. Often there, at dusk in the temple, 
 when the fireflies began to spangle, old Nicolai and I 
 would light the gums and arrange the colours and dis- 
 play the metal, murmuring and singing strange words, 
 terrible in themselves, till the night became to me or 
 seemed to become a court, a palace, a hall, filled with 
 immortals muttering wisdom. 
 
 But it was not enough that I should learn these se- 
 crets, wonderful as they were, for they were known to 
 others besides ourselves. Scattered about Mexico there
 
 162 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 are still some of the lesser priests who know these 
 things; but they, in themselves, are but the grammar 
 and dictionary to the higher knowledge. The higher 
 knowledge I gathered was preserved at a college of 
 priests on an island in the sea. 
 
 JSTicolai told me that O'Neill, who had studied so 
 deeply in all Indian lore, had heard of this island from 
 the tribes near Ascension Bay, and had been eager to 
 visit it, to get transcripts from the symbols in the 
 temple, but could by no means learn of its whereabouts. 
 The Indians refused to betray it. It was holy ground 
 to them. As JSTicolai believed O'Neill to be the heav- 
 enly messenger, he gave him the bearings of this island. 
 I need only say now that it is one of the islands in the 
 Gulf of Honduras ; one of the Bay Islands, as the sail- 
 ors had told me. O'Neill, on some pretext, I fancy on 
 the ground that the island might contain logwood, 
 caused his captain to go to the island. When there he 
 found and entered the temple, talked with the priests 
 there, copied many of the symbols, without in the least 
 understanding their mystical uses, and left rough rec- 
 ords of them on the cotton roll which had come so 
 strangely into my hands. O'Neill took up Indian 
 studies as another sailor might take to carving, or play- 
 ing on the flute. His business was to learn. He had 
 nothing to do with understanding. He delighted only 
 in facts. It was very curious. His knowledge of facts 
 helped most strangely to give me a knowledge of the 
 spirit underlying them. 
 
 I told Nicolai that I knew where the island lay, and
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOEY 163 
 
 that I would go there to study, I think that I meant 
 what I said, but by this time I was getting very weary 
 of the project. I was tired of these endless, rather 
 savage, ceremonials, unbecoming in a civilised man ; 
 and then I had the feeling that Nicolai and his friend 
 were going to use me for some scheme of their own. 
 I think that I would have given it all up, and gone back 
 to logwood cutting, if I had not begun to take an in- 
 tellectual interest in the occult. I put it like that, but 
 really it was more than that. 
 
 XI 
 
 One night I realised suddenly, as though a sunbeam 
 had shattered within my brain, that all visible nature, 
 colour, odour, and form is but the shadow of immortal 
 nature ; and that that immortal nature is but the shadow 
 of a higher spirit, and that perhaps at the college on the 
 island I should learn how to use immortal nature magic- 
 ally, to learn of the spirit which it hid, as now I used 
 colour, odour, and form magically to learn of it. There 
 were wheels within wheels, magic within magic, wonder 
 within wonder. And when I realised it, it was in my 
 brain like fire. 
 
 After that began one of the strangest of all the strange 
 things which happened to me. I was taken to the island 
 like a true Son of the Sun. I was borne on men's 
 shoulders in a litter, rowed by boatmen in a barge, and 
 fanned by slaves, and fed by Nicolai the priest. "We
 
 164 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 went in a great canoe up a mighty river, and as we 
 voyaged they sang hymns to me. While they sang I 
 lay at my ease among pillows, looking out at the water, 
 and at foolish Indians who beat their heads on the 
 ground as we passed. That journey (as perhaps Nico- 
 lai had intended) gave me a sense of what I might bring 
 to pass among these people. I was accepted everywhere 
 as the great king come back. I had heralds, who went 
 ahead to prepare camps for me. I was treated like a 
 god — I who had been a Jamaica slave. And always 
 at my elbow was old, obsequious Nicolai, smiling and 
 bowing and telling me what to do. One thing fright- 
 ened me. All those Indians, out there in the wilds, 
 two or three hundred miles from any Spaniard, had 
 heard of me, and expected me, and made no doubt that 
 I was the genuine king. Their faith and their or- 
 ganisation frightened me. How came it a forest tribe 
 miles away in that ghostly temple of jungle should have 
 heard what no Spaniard (as I am quite sure) had ever 
 suspected ? 
 
 It was a wonderful journey, such as no white man 
 has ever done. It came to an end, three weeks later 
 and five hundred miles away, on the low land of Sula, 
 fronting the island. I was carried to a great canoe, 
 manned by youths. They shoved off from the land, 
 and burst out singing a melancholy whooping hymn, 
 which they kept up for all the thirty miles from the 
 mainland to the island. It was all about the Sun (that 
 was myself) setting, in order to rise again more glori- 
 ously. They let me wade ashore in. that very northern
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 165 
 
 lagoon of O'lSTeill's map. Having watched me land 
 they hastily put back again ; while old Nicolai, not holy 
 enough to touch the earth of that island, gave me his 
 blessing from the stern-sheets. 
 
 I had been made to realise that the island was all of 
 it sacred, like the very dwelling-place of the gods, and 
 that the act of wading to it signified that even I had 
 to approach it humbly. On landing, I thought it 
 strange that no one was there. I made up my mind 
 that this must be a part of the initiation niystery; so, 
 after looking about, I raised my hand to the boat's crew, 
 and watched the boat pass from the lagoon and out of 
 sight. I felt some qualms when I saw the last of them. 
 I began to realise that I had a hard task before me, 
 and that now I had no Nicolai to prompt me. I was 
 dressed in a queer sort of priest's dress. 'No doubt it 
 was of the kind worn by the old kings, and very proper 
 for a king upon his throne. But to me in a tropical 
 island it was very uncomfortable. 
 
 I stood still for a full twenty minutes on the beach, 
 wondering when the " savage guards " mentioned by 
 O'JSTeill would come to escort me to the priests. No- 
 body came. The island seemed empty of human be- 
 ings ; and yet, for all that I knew, all the scrub might 
 be filled with watchers, anxious to see whether I acted 
 like a true Son of Heaven. Indians like a man to be 
 leisurely in all ceremonial matters. It would not do 
 (I said to myself) to act rashly and unbecomingly. I 
 waited on a little longer, and then stepped across the 
 sandy beach.
 
 166 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 O'lSTeill had marked " houses " near the beach, but 
 none were there now. The scrub rose up dense and 
 tangled like a wall across my path. I was not alarmed 
 upon that account. If you have ever lived in the 
 tropics, you will know how swiftly the stuff will grow 
 over ground once cleared. There are plants and shrubs 
 which will grow a foot in a night. Three days will 
 cover the site of a hut. A month will make the site 
 like virgin forest. I said to myself that all the houses 
 had been destroyed, so that I might find the temple 
 by my own efforts. Before setting out upon that quest 
 I made a discovery. I found a ruined boat-house 
 among the jungle. I saw the end of a hewn bamboo, 
 and guessed that it was part of a building. The 
 plants had ruined both the building and the canoe 
 within. They had spread along the crevices, lifting the 
 roof from the rafters and the planks from the ribs, till 
 all was split and rotten. How long ago it had been 
 ruined I could not tell ; possibly for only a few weeks. 
 As I was turning away from this house I met with a 
 shock. A skeleton sat just within the door, propped 
 against the door-post. It was the skeleton of an In- 
 dian, with a curiously flattened skull. His hand still 
 held a lance with a flint head. He was the guardian 
 of the boat-house, dead at his post. 
 
 I wondered how he died. There was no apparent 
 cause of death. By his posture one would have said 
 that death came easily to him. How he died was one 
 of time's secrets, never to be discovered. I remember 
 being touched at the thought that both the barge and
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 167 
 
 the house had fallen into ruin with him; so that, as 
 the Indians believe, he might have them by him in the 
 spirit land. I was not frightened at finding this skele- 
 ton, but it gave me an awe. It gave me, in a way, 
 courage to comport myself there like a man, and to take 
 up (what I had thought of laying down) a great des- 
 tiny prepared for me. I waited a little longer on the 
 beach, hoping that a guide would appear. Then, find- 
 ing that it rested with myself to reach the temple, I 
 braced myself for an effort. 
 
 And then began what proved to be very difficult in- 
 deed: the search for the sacred college where so much 
 wisdom lay hidden. It was somewhere in that island, 
 but how was I to know where ? The island is an irregu- 
 lar cone, sloping up, not very gently, to the hill-top which 
 O'lSTeill called Sombrero Hill, because it is like one of 
 those Don's peaked hats. I suppose that the whole 
 island is four miles long, and about half as broad. In 
 that compass is contained nearly every variety of land- 
 scape, from impassable cliff to impassable swamp. 
 There are no roads nor native tracks into the interior 
 from the coast. It is just a tangle of forest, often ex- 
 tremely dense, and so full of poison ivy and man- 
 chineels that a man must be careful how he cuts his 
 way there lest the juices poison his face and hands. I 
 remember standing on the beach of the lagoon, and 
 staring ahead into the thicket, wondering where the 
 sacred college could be. It was " hard to find," so 
 O'Neill had written, nor could I " fetch it direct." But 
 I knew from what he had said in his rhyme that it lay
 
 168 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 high up on the hill. What he meant by the Koncadores 
 and the Key 1 could not imagine; for Roncadores, 
 which means " Snorers," is a name given pretty often 
 by the Spanish seamen to reefs over which the surf 
 breaks loudly. None of the myriad outlying reefs 
 thereabouts was marked Roncadores on the chart, nor 
 was there any sign to tell me which of the many sandy 
 keys scattered about in the sea all round the island 
 was the key the spur of which gave the bearing. You 
 may think that it would be an easy thing to find a house 
 in an island so small. But put yourself in the rough- 
 est landscape known to you, and imagine yourself seek- 
 ing, at a pretty blind random, for something of which 
 you did not in the least know the outward appearance. 
 You will realise then what kind of a search I had to 
 make. When I came to look into the matter, I tell you 
 that the difficulty, which at some times did not exist 
 for me, sometimes daunted me. Still, there it was. 
 Standing there in the island at whatever point I cared 
 to land, I was within three or four miles of one of the 
 strangest places in the world. 
 
 I started then to look for the temple after working 
 out a theory in my mind. I knew that as the bearings 
 given were just less than one point to the east and west 
 of north, the temple must lie on the north of the hill, 
 fronting that northern side of the island. All that I 
 had to do was to get well up on to the hill on the north 
 side, and work out the bearings of the reefs and keys 
 till I found a reef and a key the bearings of which 
 fitted the instructions on the chart. I should then have
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 169 
 
 to draw an imaginary line from each point to the hill, 
 and search at the apex, or junction, of the lines, either 
 up or down hill, till I found what I sought. I was 
 filled with the notion that the temple would be a noble 
 thing ; in fine hewn stone like the temple in Campeachy. 
 I did not expect to have much trouble in finding it if I 
 could only get to the ground. 
 
 I had noticed when we sailed in to the anchorage that 
 the hill had bald patches here and there, high up. I 
 suspected that the temple lay in one of these, in a lev- 
 elled clearing, shut in by a grove of sacred trees. I had 
 a copy of O'iN^eill's map, a pocket compass, and a good 
 machete with me, in spite of my kingship, and with 
 these I felt confident. I braced myself, and struck out 
 manfully into the darkness of the forest. My plan was 
 to push along the northern sea-coast till I felt myself 
 to be abreast of the central part of the mountain. Then 
 I meant to strike inland and to climb some tree, so that 
 I could get a view of the hill, and if possible (if I 
 were very lucky) of the temple as well. I did not ex- 
 pect to get to the temple till the afternoon. I was not 
 sure of getting there that day, but that I should find it 
 within twenty-four hours I was convinced. I did not 
 know then that one who seeks for great things must 
 prove his fitness for them by his endurance of difficult 
 things. 
 
 I entered the wood as carefully as an Indian, step- 
 ping lightly, and covering my tracks, as one learns to 
 do when one lives in the wilds. When I was well in- 
 side the wood I had to cut my way with my machete,
 
 170 LOST El^DEAVOUR 
 
 in a sort of gloom which chilled me. There was not 
 much visible reassuring life in the woods. No life of 
 man, at any rate. The birds were not song-birds, the 
 noises were not friendly noises. I would hear quaver- 
 ing, cracking noises from branches, rotted through, 
 slowly giving way, and strange booming noises from the 
 sea. Very strangely the noises came to me. There 
 must be something dense in the air of forests, so that 
 sound gets checked or softened in its passage. Another 
 thing was strange, the silence of the live things. That 
 part of the island seemed almost deserted. Now and 
 then a rustle told me where a snake vanished. Some- 
 times a snake would drop from a branch like a rope 
 flung down from its pin. Then, in some chance open- 
 ing of the trees, I would see a blue patch of sky, and a 
 silent bird would waver across it into the blackness of 
 the gloom beyond. And as I went I had again that 
 feeling of being laughed at. I thought that the trees 
 were spirits laughing at me, amused by my puniness 
 even as I sliced them aside. Another thing which I 
 felt was this : that I was in the midst of an abominable 
 spawn of life ; that vegetable life was all round me in 
 horrible pulpy wealth ; and that it was a question which 
 should win — I with my wits and machete, or it with 
 its juice and rottenness. I felt that every oozing sponge 
 of branch trampled under was an enemy beaten, a 
 menacing and stupid thing destroyed, a vile kind of 
 life conquered. 
 
 After a time, however, as my arms grew tired with 
 the continual cutting, I felt that this wild life was
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 171 
 
 sapping my energy from me. I came to the track of a 
 tornado, which had torn up the trees in an almost 
 straight path across the island. They lay tumbled and 
 tossed and piled upon each other five or six deep. They 
 had rotted and died there; and the creepers had 
 strangled them down, and the brush had sprouted 
 through them, till they were a hedge of destruction, slip- 
 pery with deathly things, funguses, poison-weed, and 
 the scarlet squash, blistered like the wound it gives. 
 Huge grey bladdery wasps' nests hung from the boughs 
 of this ruin. Bony, bare spikes, and withered stocks 
 rose aloft like skeleton fingers, as perches for vultures, 
 who brooded over it, like the mind of the place, some- 
 times flapping with their wiugs. It was such a place 
 as you come to in a nightmare, where the bulls are after 
 you and your breath is failing. 
 
 I watched it for a moment, to make sure that the 
 crossing creepers were not all snakes. It was a horrible 
 place. It sloped away down to the sea, like a road of 
 ruin, heaped with the wreck of trees. Below me about 
 half a mile away was the sea, of a deep dark blue from 
 the island's shallow, but often rolling bright over reefs 
 and keys. Above me the road of the w4iirlwind topped 
 a rise, and vanished, in sharp, jagged outlines of boughs 
 against the sky. Behind me was laughing forest, be- 
 fore me was crouched, attentive, watching forest. I 
 believe that the forest was watching me, to see how I 
 should cross that road. 
 
 When I had got across I stood still for a moment to 
 mop my face. Twice in that passage I laid hold of
 
 172 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 boughs which writhed suddenly, coiling around my arm, 
 and striking upwards swiftly. Both times I had shaken 
 the snake free in time ; and both times it had fallen on 
 to a writhing mass, which I could see down below me 
 in the grass, where that low kind of life festered and 
 wallowed. What the world needs is a roaring bonfire 
 to destroy those things ; a forest-fire fanned by a trade- 
 wind. 
 
 XII 
 
 But I had had enough of climbing. I walked down 
 hill after that to the flatter land nearer the sea. There 
 I expected to progress more easily; even if there were 
 no beach on which I could walk, I was pretty sure (so 
 I thought) to find the sciTib less dense as I drew nearer 
 to the land's limits. When I got a little way down 
 towards the sea I came out quite suddenly on to a bare 
 level patch of sea-sand, covering the top of a little knoll 
 about twenty yards across. It was sand of the small 
 shingle kind, tamped down very tightly into a texture 
 like cement, so that no weed of all that lush growth had 
 done more than trail across its corners. What it was 
 or had been I could not conjecture ; but, from the com- 
 parative smallness of the trees near about, I guessed that 
 the whole lower slope on that part of the island had been 
 cleared, and kept clear until within, say, a year or 
 two of my coming. I found afterwards that the sand 
 had been brought there from a beach more than a mile 
 away; but who did that heart-breaking work, and why
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 173 
 
 it was done, who shall say ? I dug at it with my 
 machete, wondering if it covered anything, and then 
 took a good look at the hill, the north side of which, 
 from my perch on the knoll, lay open to me in all its 
 waving folds of forest. One glance towards the sea 
 showed me that there was no beach for me to walk 
 along. Nothing but low clilfs, and piled rocks, and 
 tumbled, confused boggy bits made by landslides. I 
 fancy the slides were caused by the hill brooks fouling 
 with vegetation, and wandering out to sea over a vast 
 area in successions of stagnant pools, instead of directly 
 in a channel. Parts of the undrained upper earth had 
 been loosened by the water, till at last the whole col- 
 lapsed, and fell towards the sea in a confused and filthy 
 jumble, in which more stagnant pools soon formed, till 
 the pools, getting head, burst on a little further. I 
 tried to get on across this morass, but it was impossible. 
 Each step took me up to my knees in foul water full of 
 leeches, or in earth in its last degeneracy. There was 
 a smell over all that place as of death. You do not 
 know it yet, you boy, but that smell is everywhere where 
 nature is left alone to her own luxury and waste. After 
 staggering down and through it, leaping across pools of 
 unknown depths of slime on to landings of yellow mud, 
 and slipping and sticking, and going about to skirt 
 cracks, where the earth, slowly settling, waited for a 
 shock to make it fall, I got at last to the edge of the 
 land. Here I could see the sea breaking down below 
 me, not far below, upon rocks washed bare of earth, and 
 little muddy strips of beach five yards across, and then
 
 174 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 heaped mud from a landslide, and rocks going out to 
 sea in a reef like a great groin, and then brooks tum- 
 bling. Further on, about a mile and a half from where 
 I stood, the sea inshore was deep, for the cliffs rose 
 sheer, a hundred feet high, with a great surf washing 
 up against them. Above that cliff the hill rose finely 
 and proudly, with a wrap, like smoke, curling and 
 changing aloft upon him. The wind blew furrows along 
 his side, bowing down the trees. A patch of red earth 
 showed near his top, and then to the right of it a spark- 
 ling something, which for a moment I took to be the 
 temple. A long look told me that it was not the temple, 
 but either mica in a big patch, or water with the sun 
 upon it. It made my heart leap, though, for the mo- 
 ment even to think that it might be the temple. 
 
 On I went, along the lower slopes near the sea, across 
 that heart-breaking mud. The sun was now at high 
 noon, the heat intense, the mosquitoes cruel, but still I 
 pushed on, mindful of the prize. A roll of rocks hid 
 a part of my road from my sight. I kept saying to 
 myself that beyond those rocks the going would be 
 easier. I do not know why this thought occurred to 
 me ; but when one is weary, on a bad road, very little will 
 make one expect a speedy improvement. Ignorance is a 
 great flatterer. It gives as true all that you wish to be 
 true at the moment. 
 
 When I got to the top of that roll of rocks I found that 
 I was on the upper edge of a land-burst. Beyond the 
 rocks, and fifty feet below them, was an expanse of 
 yellow viscid water, a river of it ten yards broad, drop-
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOKY 175 
 
 ping down to sea very much as half -melted glue would 
 drop. A few grasses, rank and rusty, like horsehair, 
 grew on the banks of this river. In the mud of the 
 banks the skeleton of a caiman was stuck. He had been 
 caught in the giue-pot, poor brute, and starved to death. 
 A little weedy driftwood caught among his ribs showed 
 me that he had been there for some time. There was 
 something medicinal or chemical in the water of that 
 foul brook. It killed the vegetation near it. Where 
 a flood had been the grass lay all dead and rotted, cov- 
 ered with a salt of yellowish crystals. There was no 
 crossing such a brook as that. That way was barred to 
 me. 
 
 I was loath to own myself beaten by ISTature, but I 
 was beaten then. There was nothing for it but to turn 
 back to the track left by the tornado. Prom there, I 
 said to myself, I would try to reach the hill by making 
 a bee-line through the forest, as I had originally 
 planned. But before I started inland from the track, 
 after plodding thither through the mud, I sat down upon 
 the little sanded knoll to rest and to think over my ad- 
 ventures, first repeating to myself a Spanish charm 
 against fatigue. When I had rested I turned back up 
 the line of the storm's path till I reached the great 
 blistering squashes over which I had scrambled hours 
 before. That gave me my course pretty accurately. 
 I swung my machete again, striking into the jungle 
 straight ahead of me. The blackness of the wood closed 
 round me at once. The distant blowing of the surf 
 seemed to be shut off from my ears. I was back again
 
 176 LOST e:n"deavoue 
 
 with primitive victorious nature, not defeated as the 
 marshy land had been by its own contrariety, nor used 
 as the sea was used by man's inventions, but triumphant 
 and terrible, a riot of horrid life, too strong for any- 
 thing except gliding fat snakes which hissed and struck, 
 and the unclean moths which haunted the darkness. I 
 had the feeling that it was all intensely amused at my 
 persistence. Those dark trees, infinitely tall, among 
 the tops of which, far up, I could see at rare moments 
 the gleam of the sun on the metal of the leaves, were 
 all full of a fiendish glee at my endeavour. This feel- 
 ing, which would have frightened most people, took from 
 me the sense of solitude — of solitude terrible and de- 
 structive — which the woods foster in so many. I felt 
 that I was not alone there, and that I with my machete 
 was as much a conqueror as Alexander. I was con- 
 quering base kinds of life, slicing them away from the 
 earth as a mower cuts grass, a dozen pulpy lengths of 
 vegetable at each blow. 
 
 So I went on till, I suppose, five in the afternoon, 
 when I stopped to rest. After resting I experienced 
 what very weary people frequently experience, a greater 
 sharpness of the senses on setting out again. When I 
 set out into the wilds after my rest I was conscious of 
 the noise of the surf, which I seemed to have neglected 
 for an hour or two, and of another stranger noise which 
 I could not account for. It was a kind of a whistling 
 noise, yet not quite a whistle either, for it droned and 
 drummed, and then went booming and crying aloud,
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOKY 177 
 
 sleepily, eerily, and with an insistence which made it 
 seem like the humming of the earth as it revolved. It 
 was a noise which seemed all mixed up with the noise 
 of the world, and a part of it, so that at last I found my- 
 self wondering why I had not noticed it before. Then 
 it began to awe me, for there was a note in it which 
 went to the heart. It was as though it had been going 
 on for long ages, and had learned, oh, thousands of 
 secrets which had happened there — strange secrets, 
 secrets of what was going on under the veil of Nature, 
 mystery and terror and delight — and now was croon- 
 ing about them. 
 
 What it was I did not know, but I remember say- 
 ing to myself that it was an Indian drum being played 
 by a priest in an incantation. I have seen them like 
 that, in front of a temple, or even shut away in their 
 houses, beating on their bamboo drums with a gentle 
 rhythm which went on, and died, and quickened, till it 
 was not like drumming at all, but like the flowing of a 
 sort of blood of music over a brain in which an indi- 
 vidual is a thought or a half-thought, like personal an- 
 nihilation, like a participation in all ecstasy. It needs 
 the Indian life to make it all that — fire-flies, and the 
 moon coming, and the incense smouldering on the cop- 
 per ; but if I had an Indian drum here, and could beat 
 long enough, as the Indians beat, I would take you out 
 of your personal lives into the life into which all life 
 ebbs at death. You would be like little red leaves 
 whirled along by a comet. You would see the world
 
 178 LOST EN'DEAVOUK 
 
 below you, spread out like a map, and the stars dancing 
 past like golden globes, and an air would race across 
 your brain like a sweet fire. 
 
 I said to myself that where a magical drumming 
 was there must be Indians skilled in their religion, 
 which is little more than the practice of creating illu- 
 sion magically. It occurred to me that I must be near 
 the temple, and that this drumming must be a signal 
 to me. Perhaps the high priests were there calling me 
 to them. Perhaps, too, something more terrible was 
 happening there. I remembered all the horrible In- 
 dian tales I had ever heard, of spirits taking possession 
 of the dead, and walking in the disused bodies to do 
 what they had to do. Perhaps the old priest's body 
 was filled by something greater than life, which beat 
 upon the Indian drum there, as the spider smears sweet- 
 ness on the web to draw to itself a prey. In the forest 
 there, with the unreality of half-seen things all about 
 me, all things seemed possible. In the presence of so 
 much strange nature one could not but believe in 
 strange things which used the visible life as a foil or 
 screen for their secret ends. 
 
 XIII 
 
 It is a maxim with me that a doubtful thing is the 
 only really evil thing. If one knows an evil, one can 
 guard against it, or lose one's fear by combating it. If 
 one knows a good, one can practise it, or lose one's fear
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 179 
 
 by defending it. But between those states one is timor- 
 ous and wasted and self-questioning. I was not going 
 to wait there in the gloom till mv nerves took hold of 
 me and destroyed me. I was going to have it out with 
 my suspicions. I was going to know what it was which 
 made that noise before the darkness came down and 
 held me a prisoner with the terror it aroused. After a 
 minute or two I decided that the noise was not really 
 omnipresent, as it seemed, but coming from one quarter 
 of the wood, a little to my left hand. I marched for- 
 ward to that quarter, slicing down the trees with ve- 
 hement blows which gave me courage. The noise grew 
 louder as I drew nearer to what made it ; but as it gath- 
 ered force it changed to a shriller note, which was so 
 like a bird's note that even I was daunted. For all the 
 Indians I have ever met have a story of a bird-headed 
 woman, who haunts the deep woods, and pipes with a 
 clear throat to her prey till it comes within her clutch. 
 The Indians say that she is very beautiful and great, 
 but they fear her more than any of their gods. When 
 there is no moon she roams at night about the villages, 
 singing to the men till a passion seizes them to go out to 
 fling themselves to her. An Indian of Roatan told me 
 that she had once brushed past in the forest when he 
 was late from hunting. Her eyes were flaming, like 
 the yellow eye of an eagle, he said, and her bill was 
 bloody from her feast, and she went past him swiftly, 
 glancing aside, as a bird will, with alert, quick twistings 
 of her neck. She did not see him, only flitted by, croon- 
 ing a little, with a blithe, inhuman chuckling, as though
 
 180 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 she were talking to herself. I confess that the piping 
 within that murmurous music daunted me, when I 
 thought of that twisting neck prying among the stalks 
 of the lianes. 
 
 It was a less terrible thing which fronted me when I 
 pushed through into the presence of the song-bird. I 
 found myself at the entrance to a sort of natural basin, 
 out of which a brook bubbled cheerily down. Inside 
 the basin, which had been hollowed artificially (from 
 what looked to me to be a rough limestone) as smoothly 
 as the sea hollows a pothole, the water fell in a bright, 
 curving, varying jet from a stone spout into a vast war- 
 whistle. You may never have seen a war-whistle. 
 They are huge hollow jar things made of earthenware, 
 in all manner of uncanny shapes, with many mouths 
 and stops. You pour water into them — the better if 
 you pour it irregularly — and the water, forcing out 
 the air through the stops, booms, gurgles, and pipes, 
 making such a war-call as you would not believe, had 
 you never heard one. This whistle before me was big- 
 ger and more cunningly made than any I had seen. It 
 was so constructed that whenever it filled to the brim 
 it emptied suddenly, with a quick sluicing, that it would 
 again fill, and pipe as it filled. The note made by it 
 varied very much, for there was some arrangement of a 
 simple kind inside the stone spout, so that the volume 
 of the water in the jet varied, thus varying the force 
 with which the air was expelled. I do not know how 
 long it had been there. Probably for a long age of 
 time. There were trailers of a green weedy stuff in
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 181 
 
 the cemented channel in which the waste ran, and the 
 spout was worn by the water to a blunted image of 
 what it had been. I did not know at the time why such 
 a whistle should be put in such a place. Afterwards 
 I found that there were several of them in different 
 parts of the island, some of them so old that the spouts 
 had broken away. The channels of them were choked 
 and cracked by the pushing bindweeds and the canes. 
 One of them (the oldest of them, by the crudity of its 
 grotesques) was the biggest piece of earthenware I have 
 ever seen. 
 
 These things were familiar to me later. Seeing this 
 one for the first time gave me many reflections. I 
 thought that it had been put there as a guard to the 
 approaches of the temple, or perhaps as a guard to the 
 water, which was pure, cool spring water, always a 
 precious thing in such a place ; or, it may be, as a propi- 
 tiation and thank-offering, to keep the water always 
 flowing there, even in the dry times. My rest by that 
 spring, where the wit of man had been exercised so 
 cunningly, was the pleasantest part of the day to me. 
 I wondered what the slim brown artist looked like, and 
 thought of, and how he spent his evenings, when he 
 had washed away the dust of his masonry and gone 
 home from work. I wondered what he died of, per- 
 haps long afterwards, after visiting the mainland again 
 and wandering in those hidden cities which exist, they 
 say, in the forests somewhere, unknown to white men. 
 
 After my rest I walked on beyond the channel, only 
 pausing to hone my machete when the continual chop-
 
 182 LOST e:^[deavour 
 
 ping bhmted it. In another half-hour I came to what 
 I afterwards called the wall, which barred my progress. 
 I do not know what a scientific man would call it ; but 
 it was as though all the lower part of the island, that 
 part on which I stood and over which I had travelled, 
 had been snapped off sharply from the upper part in 
 a clean fracture, and thrust down forty feet below it. 
 My part of the island ended suddenly at an abrupt 
 cliff, forty or fifty feet high, above which the island 
 went on as before. There had been some mighty con- 
 vulsion there in the old days. The island had been 
 torn across by a sudden collapse of half its bulk. Now, 
 as a consequence, there was no getting from one end 
 of the island to the other if one had no ladder. 
 
 At first I thought that I would be able to scale the 
 cliff, steep though it was. This was not possible. I 
 got up some little distance, and then, as the rock was 
 very rotten, fell heavily, in a shower of grey shales, 
 full of dust and old cocoons. I tried again in other 
 places, but always with the same result. That cliff 
 could not be scaled without a ladder. I went apart to 
 the left, or south side, to see if the cliff gave or had 
 fallen somewhere, but I found that it stretched on in a 
 steep wall as far as the eye could follow it on its march 
 to the coast. I did not follow it to the right, for my 
 sense of direction told me that I should soon come to 
 the poisonous bog, or river, where the caiman had been 
 caught in the mud. I pressed on further to the south, 
 going down hill now, having crossed the island's central 
 ridge. In a clearing of the wood I looked down and
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 183 
 
 saw the flat land near the sea, crowned with noble tim- 
 ber, and the sea, grey with heat haze, trembling, and a 
 gannet plunging. Something of the colour of sunset 
 was deepening the brilliance. One great tropical cedar, 
 which was like a king there, glowed out like blood. Up 
 there on the ridge the air was fresh. It had a salt, 
 clean tang about it, unlike the dead air shut in the 
 forest. I took great gulps of it to give me strength to 
 go on. Out there in the sun, for I had the sun still, 
 though soon the cliff would shut him from me, I had 
 none of the fancies which haunted me in the wood. 
 Only, as I went on and the sun drooped behind the 
 island's shoulder, the cliff became sinister. It was so 
 resolute and defiant, standing up there. It eyed me 
 darkly. I kept saying to myself that it had the power 
 to fall forward to crush me. 
 
 The sun was going down now. The woods flamed 
 out into stronger colours. Scarlet spangles came upon 
 the clouds and glowed to crimson and deadened to gold. 
 The birds cried, the air grew, as one might call it, tenser, 
 as it does in the evening always, so that the calling of 
 the war-whistle mellowed the birds' crying, making it 
 a part of itself, a part of the beauty of twilight. A 
 sudden bend in the cliff wall brought me face to face 
 with the rock, which till then had lain on my right 
 hand. A glow of light, as red as firelight, lay fading 
 upon the wall, to show me a sudden change of surface 
 to some harder stone, he^vn here to a narrow, triangular 
 doorway, lit by the glow to a little distance within.
 
 184 LOST ENDEAVOTJK 
 
 XIV 
 
 I was not startled by the presence of the door. It 
 seemed to me that my guardian spirit, after bringing 
 me thus far, wished to give me shelter for the night. 
 Perhaps, looking in the glass of the future, she had 
 seen my coming across the generations, and had caused 
 some long dead Indian priest to hew this cell for me, 
 so that I might rest (saved from the dews and the fever) 
 where of old he had rested. He had been dead a long, 
 long time that Indian, so long that the mat at the door, 
 which no snake will ever pass, had fallen to dust. The 
 dust lay pure and dry upon the sill, with fragments of 
 hair still unrotted in it. Within, a few dead leaves lay, 
 ungnawed by the slugs. The whole of the cell glistened 
 with mica spangles. The floor was sanded. In one 
 corner, where the light made it plain, the sand was 
 rather deeply printed by a tiny footmark (I supposed 
 that it was made by a woman's foot). It was the print 
 of the right foot of some one leaving the cell. 
 
 Long ages had dinuned the sharpness of its outline. 
 Particles of sand had fallen, so that the lines of the 
 foot could not be read ; but it was still eloquent of its 
 maker, that print in the sand. She had been of some 
 higher race than the Indians. She had been accus- 
 tomed to wear sandals, as I could see from the peculiar 
 separation between the great toe and that next to it, 
 caused by the passage of the sandal-thong. In height 
 she had stood about five feet, perhaps not quite so much. 
 I could not help feeling that she had been delicate and
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 185 
 
 beautiful, with the high, austere, wise beauty of those 
 who pass their time in meditating upon spiritual mat- 
 ters; but, whatever she had been, she was dead now, 
 and long blown away in dust by the trade-winds, beauty 
 and wisdom together. 
 
 There was a shrub of torch-wood near the cave. I 
 tore down a great dead branch of it, and lit it with my 
 flint and steel. With this in my hand I passed over 
 the threshold into the cave, telling myself that I was 
 going into the presence of that dead woman, and that 
 I must be reverent there, because she had been beautiful 
 and good. 
 
 Striking the end of my torch into the sand I looked 
 about me. The cell, like so many Indian cells, was 
 shaped in something of the pyramid fashion, about 
 seven feet high by ten broad upon the floor. Nearer to 
 the top it was much narrower, of course, owing to the 
 housing in of the walls. Care had been given to the 
 walls. They had been polished, and then covered with 
 a kind of hard, well-dried plaster, upon which the priest- 
 ess had painted s}Tnbols in blue and yellow, to say that 
 she was a priestess of the truth. She had been born, 
 she said, in the year of the great earthquake at some 
 place sacred to water (thus I read it), and many secrets 
 had been made known to her by the charity of many 
 spirits. Her water-jar, painted with grotesques, lay to 
 one side, with one of those well-worn flat stones which 
 the Indians make hot in the fire, so that their maize 
 cakes when rolled out upon them may crisp into crack- 
 nels at onoe. This they use instead of baking. A
 
 186 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 second covered jar contained the roughly crushed maize- 
 flour, or pounded corn, which they make on their 
 querns. A third, tightly closed, contained maize cobs, 
 from which the corn had all fallen. There was an 
 inner chamber to the cell. To reach it I had to stoop 
 to all fours, for the door was very low and narrow, 
 like a little passage. Inside there was a rather larger 
 room, dark and austere, with a higher roof. An altar 
 of stone lay across one end of it, and something lay 
 upon the altar, covered with some very old worn Indian 
 linen. I did not touch the linen, for I knew that the 
 altar had served this priestess for bed, and that she lay 
 dead upon it now, the sacrifice of her life complete. 
 My foot struck upon something hard, which clattered. 
 It was a little heap of earthenware plaques, painted 
 with sjTnbols. Taking them up to examine them, I 
 saw that they were bound together by fine gold clips 
 into a sort of breastplate or corselet. She had worn 
 them over her robes of ritual, I believe, in solemn incan- 
 tation. I know that some visionary Indian priests see 
 symbols in their dream. By symbols, I mean arrange- 
 ments of line and colour capable, mystically, of suggest- 
 ing emotions and images to the mind of any attentive 
 person beholding them. Each symbol seen by the 
 visionary is therefore a thing of power, by which he 
 can influence his fellows. These are revealed only after 
 strict discipline in meditation. As a poet, by striving 
 towards excellence, becomes a fit receptacle for excel- 
 lence, so one of these priests, ever meditating upon oc- 
 cult wisdom, is rewarded by the gift of it. I have
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOEY 187 
 
 known Indians who added fresh symbols to their mys- 
 tical robes after each vision, till they were hung with 
 the evidence of their wisdom from their neck to their 
 heels. 
 
 I picked up the little corselet sadly, knowing that it 
 was the record of a life's meditation. These few round 
 plaques of earth, not well baked, and rather cracked 
 now, so that the paint had scaled upon them, was the 
 book of the priestess. If I had understood the message 
 of the hieroglyphs upon them I should have understood 
 her too, and known what manner of \voman she had 
 been. I went out from that chamber of death into the 
 outer chamber, where I lit a great fire upon the hearth- 
 stone. Before the light faded I found the spring 
 whence she drew her water so long ago. Drawing some 
 I put her pot to boil, laying plantains in the embers 
 to roast, and shredding them into the pot, to make that 
 pleasant drink called mishlaw, which is as refreshing as 
 coca. Darkness came upon the world before my meal 
 was cooked; but I did not fear the dark. I piled on 
 more wood to make a blaze, and ate my food in the 
 glow of it, staring out into the blackness of the forest, 
 where the branches moved continually, making a mur- 
 mur as though they were strange birds passing over the 
 stars. Long I stayed there, staring into the night, till 
 at last sleep took me and I drowsed away into dreams 
 and more dreams, in that dim old cell of the priestess, 
 where immortals had once moved and called to the some- 
 thing hidden in human flesh.
 
 188 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 XV 
 
 I am not given to dreaming as a general rule, but my 
 walk and my excitement made me dream strangely that 
 night. My dream was not like common dreaming, in 
 which the dream dominates the personality; but won- 
 derful and kingly, my own self, awake and strong, 
 directing my own actions. When I say that I dreamed 
 I express myself badly. I should say that I woke up 
 into a new and vivid life, more splendid than this, a 
 life of intenser colour and finer ecstasy, in a world con- 
 ducted by another intelligence and governed by other 
 laws. It was, as I suppose, the real world, of which 
 this world is nothing but the passing shadow. I woke 
 up, then, in the cave where I had fallen asleep, but I 
 woke up into its reality. The walls of hewn stone were 
 changed to opal in which fire burned. The fire on the 
 hearth was like visible music. I cannot describe the 
 beauty of the flame in any other way. The trees out- 
 side stood like an array of knights in mail. Their 
 fruits were like lamps, their leaves like jewels. The 
 plaques which lay beside me coloured and took life. 
 Upon a shelf on the wall, which I had noticed, a mon- 
 strous serpent began to stir from what looked to be a 
 curled string. His scales grew erect, his head raised 
 itself, moving from side to side, with a glittering of 
 obsidian eyes. On the other side of the cell, from 
 another shelf, another snake arose. The two together 
 hissed and swayed, growing larger and larger, till their 
 blue-black bulk seemed to surround me and surround
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 189 
 
 me, while the rattling of their sistra began like the 
 beating of drums. I knew that the beating of the 
 drums, or the sounding of a rattle, is a priestly duty in 
 all great temples before the god appears. It is one of 
 the means of calling upon him at the commencement 
 of an evocation. I was lapped about by these great 
 snakes, and lulled by the calling of that rattling, till the 
 earth had all fallen away from me, and I was aloft 
 somewhere, removed from my body, looking down on 
 it all as a star looks down, in the daytime, unseen by 
 man. 
 
 Louder the rattling came, till it was like a laughter 
 of the earth itself, like a shaking of the ribs of the 
 world. In and out of the noise of the rattling, the 
 hissing of the snakes, mingled with the piping of the 
 war-whistle, made a kind of pattern of lighter music. 
 It was like some dancer, some bright, delicate woman 
 of sound, stepping on a sombre floor. Then, in the 
 middle of the music, the inner wall parted with a crash, 
 and I was within, touching the altar, which glowed red 
 like a great pulsing ember. It was like a heat, contract- 
 ing and expanding. It was an ecstasy to touch it ; for 
 it was no longer a slab of rock for sacrifice. It was the 
 very heart of the goddess which received the sacrifice. 
 The figure hidden by the cloth was no more the body 
 of the priestess. The cloth which had covered it fell 
 aside so slowly that I could see the broidered birds 
 upon it, and note how the tips of their wings were 
 orange. For an instant I saw the thin body, covered 
 with the death-wrap. Then the withered thing surged
 
 190 LOST ENDEAVOUE 
 
 up into life. It was as though a hot sap passed through 
 the veins, filling the dried-up channels. I saw the wrap 
 upon the arm tighten as the life swelled the veins. The 
 cloth burst and shredded up into dust, and changed to 
 a soft white stuff, spangled with the green-gold wing- 
 shields of the sacred beetles. The arms showed firm 
 and living. The figTire rose slowly, full of life and 
 power ; glowing with life that was like an internal fire, 
 visible and tangible to me. She leaned forward and 
 took my head between her hands. It was as though 
 arrows were darted into my brain. She drew me up 
 for one instant; and then, with an intolerable pang, 
 the cave and altar were flung to fragments about me in 
 one scattering burst, and I was standing, shaking and 
 gasping, on a barren patch upon the hillside, amid a 
 noise of the piping of war- whistles, and the droning of 
 drums. Soon these died away and it was all still, so 
 still that I could look about me. I was on the hill, 
 looking over the island. It was all spread out below 
 me like a map, but rather dark as yet and unformed, 
 so that I could only tell where I was by the gleaming 
 of the lagoon where we anchored, and the sight of the 
 hill peak below and above me. I had no sooner said 
 to myself, " It is dark now, and still morning, but pres- 
 ently the sun will come," when the light quickened upon 
 the sea, and advanced in a charging golden army over 
 the waves, touching them all to splendour, making them 
 fiery and fire-flecked. The light grew upon the island, 
 ruffling up over the dunes, over the forest, over the hill, 
 till all was rapturous with light. Looking down at
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 191 
 
 that moment, I could see the surf flashing on the reefs, 
 and two great bursts of seas toppling to right and left. 
 Over went the sea in a smash of foam, the white spread 
 out and passed, and the sea gathered again, and again 
 burst, till those white masses were stamped on my brain 
 as clearly as though they had been seared there with a 
 brand. Looking round I saw behind me a cone of rock 
 grotesquely carved into the likeness of an angry man. 
 It seemed to put out its tongue at me while it revolved, 
 and then suddenly I was standing in a dim place, like 
 a mist, out of which gTand, elemental shapes advanced 
 and faded, gleaming with all colour, sweet with all 
 odour, rhythmical with all music, clanging, and crying 
 out, beaked and horned and scaled. For an instant I 
 stood among them, rocking with the drunkenness of an 
 incense which was hot to breathe, like flame; then the 
 elementals faded, and I was back before the altar, feel- 
 ing my life sucked from me, and the glory passing and 
 passing and passing, till, with a little quick twitch, as 
 though a hand had pulled a curtain, it was all gone, 
 and I was lying in the cell again by an almost dead fire, 
 watching the cool dawn beginning to give a greyness 
 to the trees. 
 
 I knew that I had looked upon the temple. I knew 
 its whereabouts. I had seen the marks of the map in 
 those two bursts of water. That red cone was its door. 
 It was from that that the bearings had been taken. If 
 I had seen the place a thousand times I could not have 
 knowTi it more clearly. There was the spur. There 
 were the Roncadores. It was all mapped out in my
 
 192 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 brain in letters of light. I sprang from mj place by 
 the hearth, crying out that I would find the temple that 
 day before the sun set. I was still flushed by my 
 dream. My brain was all whirling and singing in me. 
 Something more strong than life was surging like wine 
 in me. It was something of a shock to me, on going 
 within to the altar-cell, to find the place all dead and 
 still, faded to a dusty greyness again, with a shrivelled 
 figiire beneath the cloth, lying on a cold stone slab. On 
 the walls, too, in the outer cell, the snakes turned to 
 two mosaic snakes, roughly drawn in high relief, and 
 stuck about with turquoise and obsidian. The dust 
 lay unstirred everywhere, and there was the printed 
 footmark in the sand. 
 
 I passed out from the cell, and down along the cliff 
 wall towards the sea. The air came freshly to me. 
 There was a brightness on the forest which had been so 
 black and hateful to me only the day before. Soon I 
 came to a place where the cliff was all fallen over in a 
 jumble. I gave a gTcat shout when I saw that. Soon 
 I had climbed to the upper half of the island, laughing 
 to think that behind me I left all my past, all my doubts, 
 all my labours, all my anxieties. I was going on, now, 
 to knowledge and certainty.^ 
 
 I kept well up hill, steering by my compass, getting 
 
 1 I found out later that two of O'Xeill's guiding marks were be- 
 hind me. The " Scree " of his doggerel was merely the place where 
 the cliff had fallen. The " Stone Virgin " was near the southern 
 coast, on the fringe of the forest there, well witliin that lower half 
 of the island which I despised now. Above the cliff none but 
 priests were allowed to go. This, as I say, I found out later.
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 193 
 
 stray glimpses of the hill-crest to correct my course. 
 The wood was thick ; but as I drew further up hill the 
 brushwood became thinner, so that I could walk with- 
 out using my machete. The trees were very old and 
 grand. On one of them I saw a " blaze," or square 
 cutting in the bark, upon w^hich had been graved very 
 clumsily something like a swastika mark. Almost at 
 the same instant I caught sight of a lump of carved 
 stone, all grown at the top with grasses, lying to my 
 right, at a little distance from my track. 
 
 I said to myself that this must be O'Neill's third 
 mark, the old king's tomb. It was not a tomb as it 
 happened : it was an altar, of the kind which, among the 
 Sisal Indians, they call Kuey. It is a mass of carved 
 stone, with little niches in it, in which the gods (and 
 the sacrifices) used to be put. This one here and one 
 near Sisal are the only ones I have ever seen. 
 
 There now remained only two marks to find, the 
 drinking-cup and the brook. Keeping straight up the 
 hill I came to a tangle of broken earth in which the 
 trees, though growing, sprang from the ground in all 
 sorts of queer twists and contortions. Fifty years be- 
 fore the whole of that side of the hill had slipped from 
 its seat and sprawled away, with its shaggy fell of 
 jungle, till firmer earth had checked it. The landslide 
 had settled there, and the old lush tropical life had 
 gone on again, with the trees at odd angles, just as they 
 had fallen when the slip began. Many old seeds, 
 brought to life after long burial, were sprouting and 
 vigorous there above the grasses which had hidden
 
 194 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 them, perhaps for centuries. I think that this often 
 happens in the tropics. A strong, strangling plant 
 takes hold and covers up many weaker plants from 
 sight, and rots above them, shutting them up in a com- 
 post of earth too thick and hard for them to burst. 
 Then, it may be centuries later, something knocks away 
 their compost, and out comes the old crushed life, bud- 
 ding and vigorous, with its strange blossom and 
 stranger fruit (unlike anything left in the world per- 
 haps), to puzzle the scientific expert. 
 
 In this broken part of the hill I had great difficulty. 
 The going was very bad indeed, and something in the 
 plants under foot seemed to please the mosquitoes, 
 which rose in swarms at each step. I think that those 
 mosquitoes could have bored through steel plates with 
 those bills of theirs. Nevertheless, I kept on as well 
 as I could till I came to a flat part of the hill, where 
 there was a rough stone block carved in high relief, 
 with legs, which supported a rude stone trough or cup. 
 I suppose it measured about four feet across at the top 
 by three feet deep. It was pierced at the bottom with 
 an outlet hole. I do not know for what rite it had 
 been made. It was an uncanny looking thing, like a 
 big mushroom, the fruit of which had been turned 
 topsy turvy. I guessed that this was the drinking-cup 
 of which O'Neill had spoken. A brook, the brook of 
 the rhyme, ran past this curious thing, and away gaily 
 northwards. Five minutes later, as I was following 
 down, the course of the brook, I stopped to listen to the 
 murmur of the war-whistles, which boomed from all
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 195 
 
 round me loudly, as though there were an orchestra of 
 them playing a concert for me. I caught sight of some- 
 thing in the grass, a block of iron-bearing earth of a 
 dull rusty colour. A few steps further on the wood 
 ceased al3ruptly, and there was an outcrop of iron, 
 blasted pretty badly by repeated lightnings. It ran 
 on level for a few yards, and then dipped sharply down 
 into a valley that was like a natural theatre. One 
 glance into the crater from the rocks on its upper brim 
 showed me that it was the place of my dream, the place 
 to which I had been so strangely directed through so 
 long a time. 
 
 I slid do\vn the side of the crater (it was as like that 
 as anything else), over broken reddish stones and rub- 
 bish, into the flat part where I had stood in my vision. 
 Still, I could not understand the loneliness of the place. 
 There was neither man there nor recent trace of man. 
 There in the centre stood the cone of iron-rock, carved 
 grotesquely into the likeness of a man's head. It had 
 stood there perhaps for centuries and centuries. I 
 seized the protruding tongue and thrust it back into 
 the mouth. Something grated and clicked below me, 
 a slab of rock shook and swTing aside, leaving in front 
 of me an oblong opening in the earth, with stairs lead- 
 ing downwards in a gentle decline. They were stone 
 stairs, carved at the sides with symbols. All down that 
 carven staircase, ranged in order, were war-whistles, 
 fed by some perpetual spring. The jet leaped into 
 one jar and filled it, making it cry aloud. Then the 
 filled jar ceasing to cry, emptied itself by the weight
 
 196 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 of water within it into the second jar, so that there was 
 always a droning, booming, whistling noise there, and 
 will be, I suppose, always, till the simple mechanism is 
 checked or broken. I do not know how these things 
 are done. They are arranged quite simply, so an In- 
 dian told me, by a regulation of the weight of water re- 
 quired to force round a stone revolving in a pipe. 
 
 XVI 
 
 When that temple was laid bare before me I did 
 not think of the secrets of the water-pots. I thought 
 only of what lay beyond, down in the dimness there, 
 in the open space of the floor. The floor sloped down 
 between an array of carven figures, kings and queens 
 of the dead, who stood on each side solemn as Egyptian 
 figures, grander than living figures, with brows crushed 
 back and lips protruding and their tongues transfixed 
 by briers. There was a glimmer upon all these carv- 
 ings. They were hung with golden plaques made of 
 the very soft pure gold, which can be bent by the fin- 
 gers. There was more gold there on those carvings 
 than any man has seen at one time since Cortes saw 
 the Mexican treasure, or Pizarro the ransom of Ata- 
 hualpa. There was gold enough there to build a navy. 
 It glinted all down the temple, a marvel of gold-work- 
 er's art, the worth of a kingdom. 
 
 I waited, there in the temple, for some one to ap- 
 pear ; but no one came. The water gurgled and droned
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 197 
 
 in the rhythm subtly arranged. I kept telling myself 
 that there were voices speaking among the noise of the 
 water; but there were no voices, only water falling 
 and trickling and collapsing, and a piping note waver- 
 ing and tolling. No one was there. I was alone in the 
 temple. 
 
 I stood upon the lowest step of the stairway, and 
 called aloud thrice in Sotek to say that I had arrived; 
 but no one answered. My voice went booming about 
 among underground hollows, making queer noises which 
 startled me. I waited, looking about me, straining to 
 pierce the gloom beyond ; but seeing nothing except the 
 ranged jars and the array of kings, stretching down into 
 darkness. I said to myself that all this silence was pre- 
 arranged to try me, and that it was nothing, and that 
 whatever happened I was not to show alarm. I waited 
 for some time longer, and then, with my machete in 
 my hand, I advanced into the gloom, rather glad that 
 I had the good sunlight behind me in case I wished to 
 run away. 
 
 I had not gone more than a few steps into the dark- 
 ness when my foot struck something which had a hu- 
 man feel. I pulled it out into the light. It was the 
 skeleton of an Indian, or of some one of some kindred 
 stock, for the brow had been flattened artificially. It 
 was lying on a vestment of painted linen. A sacrificial 
 knife, studded with turquoises, was slung about his 
 neck by a gold chain. The bones had been gnawed by 
 rats a good deal. It gave me a shock to find this skel- 
 eton in the temple. I could not understand its pres-
 
 198 LOST ENDEAVOUE 
 
 ence there. It did not frighten me. Why should it? 
 I am like that myself inside this flesh. But it puzzled 
 me a good deal. I was puzzled still more when I 
 found further on other skeletons lying in disorder all 
 along the temple, away from the light. Then it 
 dawned on me that the temple was a royal mausoleum, 
 and that here were the bones of all the Sotek kings, and 
 that I had been sent thither so that I might meditate 
 upon mortality before coming to the throne. 
 
 " If that is so," I said to myself, " I will meditate ; 
 but I do not understand this disorder, nor why I should 
 have been left alone to find this all out by myself." 
 
 I think I should have been quite at ease had I not 
 found other things among the skeletons. The bones of 
 rats. They set me thinking. 
 
 For, when I was in Jamaica during the plague, I 
 noticed that the rats came from their holes and ran 
 without fear (having the infection on them), and 
 dropped dead even in crowded rooms or in churches. 
 When I found the skeletons of rats among these kings, 
 and remembered this, I could not help thinking. I be- 
 gan to get uneasy. It came into my mind that all these 
 skeletons wore priestly tokens — symbols, or sacrificial 
 knives, or the golden brier of maceration — never 
 kingly tokens, such as crowns, or sceptres, or swords. 
 It was easy to say that priests would be likely to value 
 their kings rather as defenders of the faith than as rul- 
 ers or soldiers ; but the thought began to grow upon me 
 that there had been a pestilence, and that the priests
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 199 
 
 had died, there in the holy place, and that these were 
 their skeletons. 
 
 " Corruption," I said to myself. " It is impossible. 
 The air is sweet here, and besides, the natives on the 
 mainland would know if there had been a pesti- 
 lence." 
 
 But I knew all the time that it was not impossible. 
 The ants, which were everywhere, would soon cleanse 
 the bones of a body. The temple drew air from other 
 sources than the door; while, as for the natives, it 
 was probable that they never came near the place, ex- 
 cept to land their kings and novitiate priests. They 
 may go there for great religious festivals ; but about this 
 I am not sure. It was when I remembered the dead 
 guard by the boathouse that doubt became certainty. 
 I went up the steps into the light, saying that pestilence 
 had fallen on the island, and that the priests had been 
 destroyed by it. As I went up the steps I had a fancy 
 (perhaps it was more of a hope than a fancy) that when 
 I came out into the light I should find the amphitheatre 
 full of people, waiting there for me to welcome me; 
 but no, no one was there. It was just as it had been. 
 There were the trees, the wind-ruffled trees, and the 
 surf going over the reefs. All else was still, still as 
 Nature can be. The droning of the pipes only seemed 
 to make it more still. Suspicion came to me then that 
 perhaps I was alone on the island. The guards and 
 priests were perhaps all dead of plague. I was per- 
 haps the only living human being within half a degree.
 
 200 LOST e:n'deavour 
 
 XVII 
 
 I am not going to worry you with my sensations. 
 They were ugly. Before I gave way to them alto- 
 gether I cut and lit some torehwood, and stuck great 
 blazing brands of it all down the temple. I wanted 
 to find out if anybody were still alive there. What I 
 saw left me no doubt that the college of priests had been 
 extirpated. Even the cells where the priests had 
 worked were full of death. One body lay bowed over 
 a roll of painted cloth. His brush was still in his 
 hand. He had died, as I could read, while describ- 
 ing in hieroglyphs the progress of the plague among 
 the priests. There, by his side, were little terra-cotta 
 pots of pigments, intensely bright, and a list of the 
 priests, half of them ticked off with the death symbol. 
 It was frightful; but the pathos of it moved me more 
 than the fright. There were great rolls of painted 
 cloth in the cell there. It had been the scriptorium. 
 The rolls of cloth contained the secrets of the higher 
 ritual, which now, as I supposed, would never be prac- 
 tised on earth again. 
 
 I got out of that house of death, and sat down in 
 the sun to think. Plainly my scheme of becoming 
 King of Mexico, in fulfilment of the prophecy, would 
 have to be abandoned, unless I could see Kicolai and 
 concert a plan. And how could I see Kicolai ? Prob- 
 ably everybody in the island was dead; and how was 
 I to get to the mainland ? And even if I were to reach 
 the mainland, how could I find Nicolai ? Probably he
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 201 
 
 had gone "back to the temple at Toatlan, to wait till 
 I came, in the care of the high priests, to be anointed 
 and crowned. And how could I get to Toatlan, five 
 hundred miles away? If I went ashore (I thought) 
 unaccompanied by the high priests, it might be said that 
 I was rejected by them, and then a dig with a bone 
 spear would very quickly end me. And even if I 
 were to reach Toatlan, then that old schemer !N^icolai 
 might make me king by fraud. I was willing enough 
 to be king, provided that I had qualified myself be- 
 fore the chosen brains of the race; but to be king by 
 the wiles of that old fox was unfitting and distasteful 
 to me. 
 
 The more I thought the less clear the issues seemed. 
 And sitting there in the sun gave me a headache, so 
 that I had to plunge into the sea. The place began 
 to seem so unreal to me that I doubted whether the 
 shock of cold water would not wake me. It was all 
 dream-like and strange, all this gold, and the chance 
 of the kingdom, and O'Neill. O'Neill must have been 
 a fine man. He had looked on all that gold and spurned 
 it, respecting the faith which put it there. He had 
 gone from its presence to the society of pirates, and 
 never once mentioned it to them. He had been con- 
 tent to have seen it, and to have copied the s}Tnbols on 
 the walls above it, s\^nbols which he did not even un- 
 derstand. He had been the guest of the priests, and 
 had had the strength to respect that bond between them. 
 I admired that reverence. It was like an Irishman 
 to have done that. A word to his captain would have
 
 202 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 made him a rich man. What could the guards have 
 done against white men with g-uns ? But he had never 
 spoken that word. He had gone away when the ship 
 sailed, and had died soon afterwards, despised probably 
 by his shipmates for poring over symbols and Indian 
 rubbish instead of getting drunk on cana. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 As I walked to the beach from which I started I 
 called repeatedly, hoping that some one would reply. 
 JSTobody answered me. It was evident truth that the 
 island had been smitten by the plague, and that every 
 human soul was dead. I was alone there with their 
 bones, and might be alone there, for all I knew, till 
 my bones lay with theirs. I told myself that only one 
 white man's ship had ever been there in the past, and 
 that no other would ever come to take me away. I 
 kept repeating this, I remember, as my head grew 
 worse; for to tell the truth I was sickening for the 
 plague. I remember saying too that what I wanted 
 was a ship to take me to Nicolai. The fever was gain- 
 ing on me, and as I became light in my head I felt 
 the need of some one by me to look after me. iNicolai 
 had looked after me. He was in my head continually. 
 I remember getting to the beach, calling out for l^icolai, 
 and trying to undress for a bathe. After that it is very 
 misty and fiery, with comings and goings and noises 
 distinct and indistinct.
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOKY 203 
 
 A ship happened to put in there, I suppose two 
 days later, when I had passed the worst of it. She 
 was in search of turtle. I was lying on the beach, 
 with a ring of vultures round me waiting for me to 
 die. Every now and then one of them would hobble 
 a few steps towards me, and I would move or shift, 
 and then he would go back again. But of all this I 
 knew nothing whatever. What was wrong with me, 
 so they told me afterwards, was not the plague; but it 
 was yellow fever. My face was the colour of a canary. 
 The men didn't mind yellow fever. They had seen 
 enough of it to know that it isn't caught by man from 
 man, so they dropped me into a boat and took me to the 
 ship. They put to sea after that. And by-and-by I 
 got better. 
 
 By-and-by I got better. By the time the ship was 
 up with Cape Catoche I was about again. And when 
 I knew that they were only smugglers, bound to smug- 
 gle goods into Virginia, I thought that — well, I 
 thought a foolish thing. I thought that perhaps their 
 Captain Pointer would turn to the Lagoon of Tides, so 
 that I might talk with JSTicolai. When I asked this 
 privately of Captain Pointer, he wanted to know why 
 I was so anxious to get to Campeachy instead of com- 
 ing on with him as his navigator. That was natural 
 enough. He had saved my life and given me a pas- 
 sage, and he had a right to know. But I was a mys- 
 terious person. I had been discovered by chance upon 
 the beach of an uninhabited island. I had been dressed 
 in outlandish clothes, and outlandish gear had been
 
 204 LOST EIs^DEAVOUK 
 
 found upon me, books of pictures and Indian writing. 
 He wanted to know more than I cared to tell. 
 
 " Very well," said Captain Pointer. " You want to 
 go to Campeacliy ? I don't want to pry into what isn't 
 my affair, but what were you doing on that island ? " 
 
 " Studying Indian antiquities," I said. 
 
 " And what do you want to go to the lagoon for ? " 
 
 " To see a friend." 
 
 "A native?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Of course the friend was a native. "No white people 
 live at the lagoon. They stay there to cut wood, and 
 then load it and go. 
 
 " You must be powerful fond of natives," he said, 
 " to want to go seven hundred miles to see one. What 
 do you want to see him about ? " 
 
 I have always held that entire frankness is a good 
 thing. If you take a man entirely into your confi- 
 dence he must be more than base to betray you. It is 
 the highest compliment that you can pay to him. But 
 being frank and betraying a secret are different mat- 
 ters. I had no right to betray my secret; and to tell 
 the truth, Captain Pointer, being something between a 
 pirate and a smuggler, was by no means the man for 
 honest dealings. I did not think of him with any pleas- 
 ure as my confidant. 
 
 " Important business," I said. 
 
 " Money in it ? " he asked. 
 
 " Perhaps," I answered. " I am not sure. That is 
 why I want to see him."
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 205 
 
 " Say," he said, harking back to the old scent, " what 
 antiquities were you after in that island ? Is it in the 
 island, this business of yours ? " 
 
 " Ko. In Mexico," I answered. " In Chiapas." 
 
 " I see," he said. " What do I get for my trouble 
 in case I take you to Campeachy? Am I to share in 
 the business, or am I to be paid ? " 
 
 Now I knew that Nicolai could get gold dust literally 
 by the bucketful just for the asking — the Indians value 
 it less than coin. So I said that I could not let him 
 share in the business, nor hear of it; but that if he 
 took me to the lagoon, and if when there I found my 
 friend, who might of course be dead or absent from 
 home when the ship arrived, I would gTiarantee him ten 
 pounds' weight of gold, or that failing, engage to serve 
 him as a navigator for a year without pay. 
 
 " No," he said. " As you say yourself, your friend 
 might be dead or absent, and then I wouldn't get the 
 gold-dust. I could do without your navigation all 
 right. But I couldn't do without the gold. No; it's 
 not good enough business. Tell me what your busi- 
 ness is, and promise me a share in it — I know it's 
 pretty good, or you wouldn't be so anxious about it — 
 and perhaps I'll go out of my course, if I think it's 
 worth my while. Otherwise you're just a beach- 
 comber, to whom I'm giving a passage in exchange for 
 services. You've told me that you've got no money, 
 so I'm letting you work your way. Well, I'm a coast- 
 runner, with a cargo to put ashore in Virginia. Treat 
 me as a friend, and I'll be a friend. Treat me as an
 
 206 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 ordinary captain, whom you're afraid to trust, and I'll 
 be that. It's purely a business question between us if 
 you aren't going to tell me more." 
 
 XIX 
 
 I could see that the mystery had excited him. I 
 could see the workings of his mind. Here was I, sud- 
 denly discovered alone on one of the Bay Islands. 
 What was I doing there? 'Now, a week or two later, 
 I was feverishly anxious to see an Indian in Chiapas. 
 What did I want with him, and what connection was 
 there between the Indian and the island? Eor a mo- 
 ment, I hesitated. I very nearly told him something of 
 the secret, then I decided that I could not. 
 
 " No, captain," I said. " It's not my secret. I can't 
 tell you what it is. And, until I see my friend, I can't 
 even tell you whether there is money in it." 
 
 " All right," he grunted. " Then we go on to Vir- 
 ginia." He waited for some while, and then asked me 
 rather slyly how I had come to the island, and what the 
 antiquities were like. 
 
 " I went there from Sula," I said. " The Indians 
 took me across in a big canoe. I have been studying the 
 Indians for some time now. As for the antiquities, 
 there are a lot of old war-whistles, a lot of skeletons, 
 and a stone altar with niches in it." 
 
 " And nobody living there ? " 
 
 " No ; they are all dead. The island has been at- 
 tacked by the plague, I think."
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STOEY 207 
 
 " And your Sula Indians ? Didn't they stay ? How 
 came it that they left you alone there ? " 
 
 " The island was uncanny to them. They were super- 
 stitious about it. You know what Indians are." 
 
 " And how were you going to get back to Sula ? " 
 
 " I expected to be put ashore there by the islanders." 
 
 " Free of charge ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 He shook his head, unconvinced. " None of my 
 business," he said. " But I don't think you're being 
 frank with me. I've treated you above board, and 
 none of your things has been so much as touched by 
 any man here. But there's something hidden." He 
 went on deck, evidently hurt. After that he treated 
 me coldly. 
 
 "When we lay at Charleston, selling our contraband, 
 the Marie Galante lay at anchor near a turtler. Cap- 
 tain Pointer made friends with some young men aboard 
 her. They came aboard to dine with him. During 
 dinner, as they became drunk, they asked me many 
 questions about the Indians, which I answered with- 
 out betraying myself. I thought them very rude and 
 tactless, but this I put do^vn to their parentage, and 
 to the punch. Thinking it over now, when it is all 
 rather dim, I believe that I had some half plan of con- 
 fidence in Captain Pointer. Perhaps, even had I done 
 so, the end would have been the same. 
 
 I noticed that after this dinner the man was more 
 polite to me. I put it down to a desire to make up 
 for the rudeness of his drunken guests. We cruised
 
 208 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 north along the coast, putting our contraband ashore. 
 Lastly, after a successful cruise, we put into a creek 
 in Accomac, where we opened a market among the 
 farmers. We were short of meat in the Marie Galante. 
 So, after putting a lot of goods ashore, Captain Pointer 
 asked me if I would go cattle-hunting with some of the 
 hands who had been buccaneers. I wanted to run 
 ashore. I went. 
 
 You will say, " Oh, but you must have been mad to 
 go away from the ship, leaving your papers behind 
 you." It was foolish. But, remember, I had been 
 very ill ; so ill that my ambitions were dulled in me. 
 I do not think that I was excited about the island, nor 
 really eager to go to Nicolai. It was all a little blurred 
 and unreal. I had not made up my mind whether to 
 go on with the scheme, or to let it fall and start an- 
 other. I wanted to rest awhile. Fever is like that. 
 It kills your energy for a time. It kills your power 
 of decision. And then, I had no living distrust of 
 Captain Pointer. I did not think that he would rum- 
 mage my chest. I do not think even now that he was 
 that kind of man, unless inflamed by drink or com- 
 pany. I suppose that it was one of those young men, 
 putting together my ravings about gold, the mysterious 
 rhyme on the map, and perhaps some Indian legend, 
 who moved Pointer to his action. There. It cannot 
 matter now. While I was ashore, Pointer received 
 some final prompting. Whatever it may have been, he 
 decided that he would go to the island with his new 
 friends. The rest you know. And you know, too,
 
 LITTLE THEO'S STORY 209 
 
 how a man will care little for a thing till something 
 threatens it or robs him of it, and how then he will 
 risk his life to save it. It was like that with me, then. 
 I wanted to save that island. It was a sacred island. 
 One would save anything sacred from human brutes. 
 And then, the threat stirred the longings in me. . . . 
 Old Nicolai and the religion and the kingdom. It 
 might be, I thought. I might be king there. It was 
 not a dream. I might do what the Spaniards never 
 did. . . . 
 
 THE END OF LITTLE THBO S STOUT
 
 PAET THIRD 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY
 
 PAET THIRD 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 
 
 {Continued from page 102) 
 
 I LEFT off, as it were, with my hand on the sheer- 
 pole. At that instant the trouble began. 
 Just as I stood in the chains, about to spring 
 aloft, I heard a crackling and trampling in the scrubby 
 wood ashore. The hands were just then beginning to 
 strain about the capstan, tautening our warp ; I could 
 see them all breasting the capstan bars, heaving hard, 
 so that a ripple of way came brokenly from the bows. 
 Far up the creek, under the clump of red cedars to 
 which the warp was taken, three or four hands were 
 putting off to us in the boat. Up aloft above me the 
 top-gallant sails, set as course and topsail, showed ab- 
 surdly. There came a hail from the landward, and 
 then a storm of shouting, and the noise of horses gal- 
 loping in scrub. Looking round, I saw a posse of 
 planters galloping hard dovni to the shallows abreast 
 of us. 
 
 " Ship ahoy ! " came the hail. " Surrender, and 
 come ashore." 
 
 213
 
 214 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Heave/' cried Little Theo to the men at the cap- 
 stan. " Heave. Up aloft, you boy. Aloft. To the 
 cross-trees with you." 
 
 A man at the capstan cried out : " Heave, boys. 
 Oh, heave. Heave and start her. Heave and break 
 your backs." The men cried out, rallying each other, 
 the bow-wash began to cream, the warp grunted and 
 crackled. I saw the oarsmen in the boat stand off from 
 the shore, pulling hard, so as to put the ship between 
 them and the posse. " Heave," cried Little Theo. 
 " Heave, and she goes." 
 
 " Surrender. Do you hear ? Surrender, or we 
 fire," the planters shouted. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " Dick shouted to them. 
 " Why should we surrender ? " 
 
 " Smuggling's the matter," they answered. " Cease 
 heaving on that warp. Stop, or we fire." 
 
 " Up with you, boy," said Dick, advancing a step 
 or two towards me. " Up. Heave ahead, forward 
 there." 
 
 " Come ashore, you in the boat," a voice cried. 
 
 " Fire," cried some one else. I glanced down, and 
 there was Theo fingering his pistols. I had a feeling 
 that I had only a second more to live. A quick fear 
 startled me; I bounded swiftly up two ratlines; and 
 then, just as a gun went off with a crack from some- 
 where behind me, I lost my footing on the ratlines, 
 clutched at something and missed, and tumbled back- 
 wards into the creek. 
 
 I seemed to be a long time falling. I hit the water
 
 CHAKLES HARDING'S STORY 215 
 
 a flattening slap, went do\vn, rose, took a mouthful, 
 and struck out. I heard no particular noise during 
 my eclipse — no noise, that is, which I could rightly 
 distinguish; but when I rose there was the shore in a 
 swathe of powder-smoke. They had fired a volley. 
 One or two men were racing up the creek to fire at the 
 boat, which, as I could plainly hear, was pulling hard, 
 amid cries and the dry grunting of the rowlocks. The 
 men in the Marie Galante were singing now some old, 
 sweet, noisy chorus of the sea, about being bound to 
 Rio. A gun or two crackled among the smoke. I 
 heard the bullets " pobbing " into the wood of the ship. 
 " Come back, you," Little Theo shouted to me. 
 " Catch this rope." But the rope fell short. I couldn't 
 get to it. There came a thundering volley over my 
 head. Somebody flung a handful of earth at me, the 
 water spattered up in little jets. I heard Dick's voice 
 shout " Heave," a shout of " Stand clear," cries of 
 "Fire again," "Shoot higher," "That's got them." 
 Then quite clearly and plainly, in a lull, as I swam, 
 I heard a quiet voice say, " Ride to Myngs' Creek. 
 The frigate's there. She'll catch them as sure as 
 eggs." " Fire," said some one else again. The smoke 
 rolled all round me. Recollect that I was swimming 
 hard, swimming like a man in a nightmare, through a 
 sea which seemed to be made of blankets. I was so ex- 
 cited that my strokes were probably short and wild, and 
 I kept dropping my feet to see if I could touch ground. 
 I suppose I had been in the water some seventy or 
 eighty seconds when my foot found bottom. I strained
 
 216 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 forward, throwing up my hands. I was groping for- 
 ward on hard ground, within a dozen yards of the 
 shore; but all whelmed in the stinking powder smoke, 
 full of hot smuts from the wads. A hand suddenly 
 settled on the back of my neck. " Give us your arm," 
 said Dick's voice, amid a swirl of water. " Back you 
 come. Heave." He was clutching a loose line of 
 something, the end of the main buntlines probably. Di- 
 rectly he cried out to heave, the hands aboard hauled in 
 on it. 
 
 " You young cub," said Dick good-humouredly, 
 blowing the water from his mouth, " I'll cut your liver 
 out with a file. Heave in, you jokers. Heave." It 
 was evident that the ship was now moving fast through 
 the water. She was dragging us astern of her. Guns 
 cracked and banged behind us. On deck, when I got 
 there, it seemed just as it had been before, and that 
 was strange, for I had passed through so much in those 
 few minutes. There was one difference — Benito lay 
 dead by the main hatchway, shot through the heart; 
 a little silver crucifix lay beside him, cut from its beads 
 by the shot which killed him. I cannot say that I was 
 moved by the sight of that poor body. I had seen too 
 much fighting since the day before to be startled by a 
 corpse, yet the crucifijx lying there touched me to the 
 quick. 
 
 " Cut the cable," shouted Dick. " I'll take her out 
 under sail. Keep her as near as you can, Cap." Theo 
 was at the helm. " Up now," said Dick to me. " Try 
 to get away again, and I'll take you and hang you. If
 
 CHAELES HAEDIN'G'S STORY 217 
 
 youVe given my wound cold, I'll give you a dozen with 
 a Gosport cat. Up aloft with you." 
 
 I went up to the cross-trees, shivering in my drip- 
 ping wet clothes; and from the cross-trees I watched 
 the water ahead, changing to yellowy paleness and some- 
 times breaking. The posse had galloped forward to 
 the bluff among the cedars, hoping that we should be 
 unable to pass through the creek mouth unhelped by 
 our warp, which was now cut, both by them and by 
 ourselves. We were forging slowly forward now, close- 
 hauled, about two hundred yards from the shore, and 
 standing further away from it, so as to make the open- 
 ing out of range of their guns. A man in the top below 
 me cried out from time to time to Dick to alter his 
 course, so as to avoid a rock. 
 
 II 
 
 You might think that it was as exciting as a play 
 to sit up there in the bright sun watching it all, know- 
 ing that I was escaping from slavery. There was the 
 mouth of the creek, three hundred yards across. There 
 to the right was the bluff, with the posse of armed 
 men off their horses, crouched among the sumach-bushes, 
 or behind boulders; while the horses shook their heads 
 and jingled among the trees at their backs. But I saw 
 that if the wind, which was coming light and gusty, 
 should fail, we should go ashore on the rocks below 
 the bluff. Then there would be a fight, and some would
 
 218 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 be shot, and others drowned, and I, if I escaped death, 
 should go back to be a slave. If the wind held, then 
 we might pass out to sea ; but even so I should be a 
 pirate and a smuggler. And the frigate (I remem- 
 bered so clearly what they had said about the frigate) 
 would sail down and catch us, and I should perhaps be 
 hanged as a pirate at the yardarm. There was no ex- 
 citement for me in the matter: only a dull, dead, sick 
 feeling, and a sort of fascination, such as they say those 
 caught by a boa feel in the instant before the folds 
 crush round, smashing out the life. We were mov- 
 ing very slowly, remember. We had only those light 
 top-gallant sails set, and they were barely enough to 
 make us crawl. There came a noise behind me, which 
 made me look round. The hands below had found an 
 old poop-awning, which they were setting on the main- 
 yard. It made a most queer-looking sail, for it had 
 the sheets knotted to its corners, and a gap in the centre 
 where the gTiy should have been. But crude as the 
 sail was it made a difference to us. It gave us at least 
 half a knot more (as I could plainly see and feel) when 
 they got the sheet aft and the tack boarded. Then 
 the wind drooped, the sails slatted once or twice and 
 drooped too. We began to drift ashore very slowly 
 and idly, broadside on, with our sails lifting lazily, 
 and falling back again. My heart leaped at this. I 
 thought that the pirates would surrender, because in a 
 minute or two we should be on the rocks, piled up, per- 
 haps lying on our side, so that the posse could pick us 
 off one by one if surrender were not made.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 219 
 
 The men ashore thought that this would happen. 
 One or two of them galloped round the creek to take up 
 positions on the other side. Some crept down under 
 cover, so as to be nearer to us if we struck. Up there 
 on the cross-trees I could feel the ship slowly sagging 
 away towards the rocks. I could even pick out the 
 pale patch of water which hid the rock on which she 
 would strike. It was a big, irregular rock, shaped 
 roughly like a V with the apex towards us. It oc- 
 curred to me when I saw this rock that we should strike 
 with great force — not once, nor twice, but half a 
 dozen times, with pounding jolts which would fling the 
 masts out of her. I realised in a dim sort of way 
 that up aloft there in the cross-trees I was like a stone 
 in one of those ancient catapults, and that in a moment 
 or two, when she took the rock, the catapult would be 
 discharged and I should be shot into the sea as the 
 mast tipped over. Well. I dared not leave my perch. 
 Little Theo's pistol was a worse thing than the water. 
 I was not going down to face Little Theo. I remem- 
 bered how my father had told me that a number of 
 long breaths should alwaj^s be taken before a plunge 
 into the sea. I stood up on the cross-trees, holding on 
 by the top-gallant halliards, and took three or four deep 
 breaths. As I stood there inhaling, something flashed 
 and cracked ashore, and something struck the mast be- 
 low my hand, scattering tiny white splinters. It was 
 not till the half second afterwards that I realised that 
 I had been fired at. Another shot cut away the 
 halliards above my hand, so that I swerved, staggered.
 
 220 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 and almost went down, while the great yard jolted all 
 its weight on to the lifts. That was enough for me. I 
 slid down from the cross-trees by the topmast back-stay 
 into the top, where I lay down flat behind the thick 
 tarpaulin which made a low breastwork all round it. 
 The seaman stationed in the top to warn the helmsman 
 of rocks and shallows came over to me, jeering, asking 
 what I was afraid of, telling me to get on up again; 
 for if I were to be shot, he said, I shouldn't be hanged, 
 and if I were to be hanged, why then I shouldn't be 
 shot; so what was I making all the fuss for? Up 
 with me, or he'd prod me one with his hanger. How- 
 ever, at that instant of time the ship grated over a patch 
 of sand, with shock enough to fling him flat on to the 
 planking beside me. A shot cut a hole in the tarpaulin, 
 and drove a bit of yam on to his nose with a smart 
 fillip. " O Eliza," he said, going as white as cotton. 
 " Oh, I'm killed. I'm killed." 
 
 " Well, how do you like it yourself ? " I asked him. 
 " Why don't you get up, and sing out where the rocks 
 are?" 
 
 A smart little volley of shot came scattering with a 
 buzzing and a rapping. When it had gone I felt 
 strangely cheered and soothed. I looked through a hole 
 in the top (the lubber's hole) to see how the whitish 
 patch of rock lay. There was a fascination in that 
 rock. I did not consider the risk of being killed as I 
 stared down. I wanted to see the ship sidle herself 
 on to the reef. I wanted to say to myself, " Not yet. 
 Not yet. In a moment. Now;" and have my hands
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 221 
 
 firmly on something at the instant of her striking. 
 " She will keel over," I said to myself, " and pound 
 down upon the reef again, grinding her side out with 
 the pressure. Then she will fill, and turn her keel 
 shoreward, flinging me into the sea." Again she took 
 the sand and staggered, driving clear with her own 
 weight, and churning the water into soup. Then I saw 
 things projecting suddenly from her side, lashing the 
 water, swinging that shoreward side of her away from 
 the posse. Little Theo had got out sweeps, or those 
 long oars used for small ships in light air. He was go- 
 ing to row her out. 
 
 " What are they doing ? " the man asked. He was 
 still overcome with terror. 
 
 " Trying to sweep her off," I answered. 
 
 " Why don't they shoot them hayseeds ? Shoot 'em. 
 That's the style. That's my style. Them sweeps is 
 old rotten things. They'll go ; and I'll be hanged. I'll 
 be hanged." 
 
 "Well," I said (rather aptly, I thought). "If 
 you're hanged you won't be drowned. Look out. 
 Hold tight." Another volley came from the shore. 
 Our rowing stopped. One oar, crippled by a slug, bent 
 and swung aft uselessly. The other two made a tenta- 
 tive stroke and paused. The 'tween-deck ports on that 
 side went up together with a dry rattling of port-ropes. 
 After an instant's pause for aiming, a volley of small 
 arms flashed from them, making the ship tremble, as I 
 could feel even up in the top. After the volley the 
 ports fell back again. The oars tugged and wavered
 
 222 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 again, straining bard. They began to take bold. We 
 began to move. Tbe posse seeing tbat, fired bard at 
 tbe oars, at tbe oar ports, and at tbe top wbere we 
 were. I suppose a dozen bullets came tbrougb tbe tar- 
 paulin breastwork over me. As long as I lay still I 
 could not be bit; but it dawned on me after a time 
 tbat we were moving, and tbat tbe cbannel needed care- 
 ful steering. Tbe sbip was being steered from witbin 
 tbe cabin by means of tbe relieving tackles. Little 
 Tbeo, lying buddled up against tbe bulwarks far aft, 
 was calling to tbe steerers to port or starboard by wbat 
 be could see of tbe sbore from wbere be lay. He 
 took little peeps from time to time tbrougb one of tbe 
 empty upper deck gun-ports ; but tbat was of little use. 
 Wbat be wanted was a band to warn us of tbe sboal- 
 ing of tbe sea in our patb. Stretcbing out my leg, I 
 kicked tbe frightened man. " Get up," I said, " and 
 con tbe sbip out." He wbimpered and baulked, cry- 
 ing out tbat be wasn't fit to die. " Very well," I said, 
 " I'll do it. But first you give me your knife and belt. 
 If I'm to do your work I'll be paid for it." He did tbis 
 very gladly. I tbink be would bave given me all be 
 bad. I put tbem on and stood up. 
 
 I bad no sooner stood up tban a couple of balls came 
 past my ears with a wbang. At tbe same time a fresb 
 gust caugbt us and drove us forward, almost flinging 
 me down lubber's bole. We gatbered way fast, for 
 tbe wind beld. "Port," I sbouted. "Port bard." 
 We swung past a bad rock just in time, and tbumped 
 witb a sbaking crasb on to a spur lying out from it. 
 
 i
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 223 
 
 She rose up from it and pounded down before she drove 
 by, with the pressure of the way she had upon her. 
 Up aloft where I was I could not tell how badly she 
 had struck. I had nothing to tell me except the clatter 
 aloft of gear flogging and buckling spars. I did not 
 doubt from the motion of the ship that she had hit her- 
 self severely, somewhere abaft her beam, I heard 
 them crying out down below to get the pumps rigged. 
 The sweeps on that side trailed aft uselessly. The 
 rowers had flung them down to attend to the pumps. 
 Those ashore gave a cheer when they saw us strike. 
 They. ceased firing, expecting us to fill and go down in 
 short order; but instead of that we kept our course, 
 drawing away from them, till even their heaviest gun 
 fell short of us. Now the ship began to bob to the 
 advancing ranks of cresters setting into the creek. The 
 danger was over. We were drawn abreast of the bluff 
 with the cedar trees upon it, standing out to open 
 water, with a bright sparkle of foam at our bows. Lit- 
 tle Theo was walking the deck once more. A hand 
 was at the helm on deck. Dick, far aft, was dipping 
 Spanish colours to the posse in contemptuous farewell. 
 A spurt of water shot from one of the 'tween-deck ports. 
 They were trying the well with a little hand-pump. 
 Something in the gaiety of that leaping fountain made 
 me homesick and sad. I knew then that I was out- 
 ward bound again, to a new kind of life of which I 
 could not see the end. There was Virginia, where I 
 had eaten my heart for two years. Before me was 
 water, running on into the sky, a greyish blue waste of
 
 224 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 Atlantic. I did not know what I was to find there. A 
 violent, rough, dishonest way of life, I thought; a life 
 without beauty, without leisure, without friends. I 
 had wasted two years of my life in that land of hill 
 and forest astern. In a little while I should be too 
 old for any profession. I should be a wasted life, un- 
 taught and boorish. I should be but a daily labourer, 
 while boys below me at Dr. Carter's would be filling 
 honoured posts, advancing the world's thought and their 
 country's dignity. In this melancholy mood, even the 
 thought that I should be with Mr. Mora gave me no 
 comfort. He had not been able to save himself. A 
 hail came up to me from the deck. 
 
 " Hands," cried Little Theo. " Hands, man the 
 pump. Starboard watch, trim sail. Down from aloft 
 there, you." I slid down the topmast back-stay to the 
 deck, and there was Dick, cutting a pump-washer from 
 a boot. 
 
 " Dick," I cried, " what are they manning the pumps 
 for ? Is she badly hurt ? " Dick turned to me, all wet 
 and filthy from prowling down below to get at the 
 leak. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " she's ripped her garboard strakes 
 off of her quick-work. So if you don't get a hold of 
 that pump, or ladle her out with one of them buckets, 
 you'll know what sea-floor smells like, before you're put 
 in a watch. Pump, you young rip. Pump. Look at 
 it coming out there. It's as bright as breakers. She's 
 rammed a hole in her silly old bilge as big as Uncle 
 James's waggon. Heave round on that brake, my son.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 225 
 
 Off saddle and muscle up. Make the pretty salt water 
 go back where it belongs." He bent down and fitted 
 the washer carefully. " There," he cried. " Try her 
 with that, my sons. Heave round now. Heave. 
 Does that fetch her ? " They took a few fetching 
 strokes with the brakes till the water was running into 
 the waterways in a smart stream. " That's got her," 
 said Dick. " Start a song with it." He gave a heave 
 or two at one of the brakes, and then piped up a plain- 
 tive old song, with a tune which thrilled me. The men 
 joined in as they pumped, singing with real feeling, 
 keeping good time and tune : — 
 
 "I dreamed a dream the other night. 
 
 Lowlands, Lowlands. Hurrah, my John. 
 I dreamed a dream the other night. 
 My Lowlands a-ray." 
 
 Singing this old sad song, I passed past Old Joe's Head- 
 land, and away from Accomac forever. 
 
 Ill 
 
 There was a great deal of confusion in the Marie 
 Galante that afternoon. Half a dozen hands had been 
 wounded by the posse, two very seriously, including 
 the drunken doctor. With these out of action, as well 
 as those hurt in the fight with the Indians, we were 
 desperately short-handed. It ought not to have been 
 so; for she was a small and handy ship, under hardly 
 any sail; but the leak was a serious matter, keeping 
 six hands always at the pumps in twenty-minute spells.
 
 226 LOST EITDEAVOUK 
 
 With a hand steering, a hand looking out aloft, a hand 
 taking charge and keeping the rest to their work, we 
 were as short-handed as the Ark, as Dick said. The 
 hands made a sort of a meal on deck, with a good al- 
 lowance of spirits. I noticed that Dick kept a care- 
 ful eje on them as they ate. He checked the least ap- 
 pearance of rudeness and discontent, with what seemed 
 to me to he unnecessary bitterness. He seemed uneasy 
 during the meal. He kept glancing at the water from 
 the pumps. " Why," he said, in a surprised tone, 
 " ain't them pumps sucking yet ? Sing out when they 
 suck." Then he turned to the next spell, who were 
 standing by to take their turn. " I'll give a ten-dollar 
 mess-treat to the spell which sucks her." {Note. — By 
 sucking he meant making the pumps to " suck," or 
 draw up air, showing that they had emptied the well.) 
 " What are you staring at ? " he said to me. " You 
 want some work to do. You've eaten as much as you're 
 worth. So. You see that fore-hatch. Go down it into 
 the 'tween-decks, and from there into the fore-hold. At 
 the foot of the ladder you'll see a cask lashed abaft the 
 stanchions of the hatch. In the cask is some soft-brick 
 and some old sail-rag. You get some of that, and clean 
 the brass on the cabin-windows. Down with you, now." 
 I left my food, and ran away to do what I was bid. 
 
 Down in the fore-hold below the water-line it was 
 very dark. I groped all about the fore-hatch for the 
 cask which Dick had mentioned, but I could not meet 
 with it anywhere. I was just going to go on deck 
 again, to tell Dick that I could not find the cask, when
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 227 
 
 I saw a liglit, like a lantern light, moving about above 
 the bales and casks of the stowed cargo, in the narrow 
 space between their tops and the 'tween-deck beams 
 and planks. I did not know what it was at first. It 
 frightened me. Enough wickedness and violence had 
 gone on in that ship for it to be haunted by evil things, 
 such as they say walk in old castles at night. It is all 
 nonsense, of course; no one ever sees such things; one 
 fears darkness because one cannot see what is in it. 
 But you go down into a dark hold, full of gurglings 
 and groanings, after a day and night of wildest nervous 
 strain, and see a globe of light coming slowly towards 
 you out of the darkness, and you will remember all the 
 ghost stories you ever read, and believe them, and quake 
 all down your marrow at them. After ten seconds of 
 horror I saw that a man was scrambling over the bales 
 towards me with a lantern in his hand. " Don't cut," 
 said Dick's voice. " Hold on ; I want you." He slid 
 himself down some packs of vicuna wool, and brought 
 to alongside me. " Here," he said. " Come on here, 
 and don't make a noise." He pulled me over to the 
 ship's port-side. " See this," he said, showing a small 
 earthenware pot. " Watch me." He placed it against 
 one of the great ribs of the ship and laid his ear to 
 it. " Quiet," he said. " Don't stir. Quiet a min- 
 ute." He listened intently for a while, and then moved 
 to the rib further forward, where he listened again. 
 Then he went right up to the bows of her and listened 
 again at the foremost rib of all, in a space so dark that 
 I could only grope my way with one hand on the ship's
 
 228 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 side. The lantern, being of thick horn, gave little more 
 light than a rushlight. He sighed a little at the fore- 
 mast rib, and bade me come aft again to one of the after 
 ribs. " Be careful of the ring-bolts," he said. " We 
 had the slaves down here three trips back, and some of 
 the irons are still about. There. Now, quiet again." 
 
 We listened together intently in that central dark- 
 ness. It was unreal there. It was strange. It was 
 wonderful, I felt that we were two conspirators down 
 below, plotting something; or if you like, two doctors 
 testing the ship's heart-beats, two little thoughts in a 
 brain, two dim figures from a dream. 
 
 " Now," said Dick. " Come here, boy. Put your 
 ear to the pot here and listen carefully." I stepped 
 up to him, and laid my ear to the pot ; and instantly, 
 as though I had laid a shell to my ear, a noise of water 
 came to me — not as it comes with a shell, though ; nor 
 as it comes from a tap. It was a peculiar noise. There 
 was a gurgling and a bubbling sound, as though a brook 
 were running at a little distance. All sorts of noises 
 were mixed up with it, of course. There was the pip- 
 ing, groaning noise of a ship's side straining at every 
 roll, and the noise of rats scuffling and squeaking; but 
 very plainly, through all the noises, there came the 
 noise of water gurgling and bubbling. At first I 
 thought that it might be water creaming away from the 
 bows as we drove along; but I soon found that that 
 noise was distinct. " Well," said Dick at last, " what 
 do you make of it ? What do you hear ? " 
 
 i
 
 CHAELES HAEDING'S STORY 229 
 
 " Water," I answered, " water gurgling." 
 
 " Yes," he said. " Water gurgling. About how 
 much water ? A good big brook of water ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. " A pretty good swift brook of 
 water." 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " A pretty good swift brook. 
 Well, it's coming into us, that brook. There's two feet 
 of it in the well. I tell you, boy, it will be a close call 
 for us this trip. She's knocked a big hole in herself." 
 I was aghast at this. I didn't know what to answer. 
 At last I asked him what they would do, and whether 
 they could get to the island. 
 
 " No," he said. " 'No, no. With a hole like that in 
 her, and a crew of hangbacks like them on the deck 
 there, that's out of the question. We shan't smell Boca 
 Drago this trip." 
 
 " No ? " said I. " And you can't put in to James 
 Town nor into the creek here, for the country's raised on 
 you. And by this time the frigate will be after you, 
 and you won't be able to get away from her. You've 
 got no sails." 
 
 " Yes," he said, in a gloomy voice. " We may look 
 to be chased in less than an hour. I wonder what we 
 could do. One thing is sure, we are in a bad way 
 all round. But, listen, you. Do you hear the pump 
 going ? " 
 
 " No," I answered, after a pause. " They've stopped 
 pumping." 
 
 " Well," said he, " I'll dye my hair. Do they want
 
 230 LOST ENDEAVOTJE 
 
 her to sink ? " He ran up on deck, muttering angry 
 words; I followed him. 
 
 IV 
 
 When we got to the deck we found the hands quar- 
 relling round the pump, some part of which had broken 
 internally, choking it. Some were maintaining that 
 the thing could be mended ; the others, by far the larger 
 body, were saying that they would break the head of 
 any one who mended it; for why, said they, should 
 they want to mend a pump which would keep them 
 hard at work all day; short-handed as they were? 
 Dick was never a patient man. He flung them aside 
 angrily, so that he might examine the damage. " See 
 here," he said, after a short examination. " One of 
 you fools has been monkeying with this. Which of you 
 was it ? " 
 
 Nobody answered ; but the tone of Dick's voice trou- 
 bled them a good deal ; they hung their heads, and looked 
 as schoolboys look between the lecture and the flogging. 
 " Where is Theo ? " said Dick, sucking in his lower lip 
 and biting on it. 
 
 " Gone asleep," said one of them. " His wound's 
 broke out again, so Jose gave him a sleeping draught, 
 and he's just off, quiet as a lamb. He'll sleep till 
 night, I guess." 
 
 " Well then," said Dick, rounding on them fiercely. 
 " I command here, I guess. And I'll tell you some-
 
 CHAKLES HARDING'S STOEY 231 
 
 thing. Virginia, there, is death to you. See? You 
 fired on the posse, even if you didn't kill anybody. 
 And, even without them counts, our cargo here is 
 enough to hang the lot of us. That ticks off Virginia. 
 In one of them creeks, getting ready to come after 
 us, is the station frigate, which we thought was at 
 James Town. She'll be after us at any minute. So 
 much for her. We're at sea without sails and with- 
 out stores. We're short-handed, and a lot of our hands 
 are hurt. And a pretty rotten lot the sound ones 
 are. Lastly, we've got two foot of water in the well, 
 and one of you beauties has gone and wrecked the pump. 
 That ticks off us. Now then, you may chew on that 
 for a while ; I'm going to have a smoke." 
 
 He lit a seaman's short pipe, and walked up and 
 down to windward of them, giving them contemptuous 
 glances from time to time. I never saw a sorrier lot 
 of men than those crestfallen pirates. At first they 
 stood dumbfoundedly looking at each other. Then one 
 of them went to the place abaft the main-mast where 
 the sounding-rod hung, to measure the leak for him- 
 self. The rod was no longer there; Dick had dropped 
 it overboard privily. They had to accept his word 
 for the leak's presence; and since they could not dis- 
 prove it, they did so. One or two of them bent down 
 in a faint-hearted way as though to repair the pump. 
 The others stared stupidly at Dick, and then looked 
 at each other, each hoping that somebody else would 
 pipe up an answer or suggest a remedy. At last one 
 of them, more frightened that the others, asked " what
 
 232 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 would become of them, please," which was just the 
 question which Dick wanted. 
 
 " Why," he said, " if you are not hanged you'll be 
 drowned, which is what I hope from my heart you 
 will be." This crushed any little show of mutiny 
 which might have been left in them. It made them 
 realise that they were in a pretty tight place. One of 
 them said that the best thing would be to run the ship 
 ashore, or take her humbly into James Town and sub- 
 mit to the King's mercy. 
 
 " Yes," said Dick. " The posse are following along 
 the shore, hoping that that is what you'll do. As for 
 the King's mercy, you've just defied it. Eind another 
 answer. Guess again, my Toro." Toro did not guess 
 again, nor did anybody else guess again. " Well," 
 said Dick, " you are all fallen dumb, are you ? You 
 were talkative enough just now. 'Now perhaps you'll 
 listen to me, before she sinks on you, as she will if 
 you leave her to herself much longer. Up there, some 
 of you, and rip that awning off her. It's a bare 
 chance. Two of you bring up blankets from below — 
 twenty or thirty, and any mattresses you may run 
 against. Stop, no. A bale or two of that vicuna wool, 
 down in the fore-hold. That's a thicker kind of stuff. 
 Be lively with it. Don't stand looking on, the rest 
 of you. Eetch out the hand-pump and get her started. 
 The rest of you get a chain of buckets ready, in case it 
 comes to that. I'll keep this ship alive as long as there's 
 any sense in it. Stamp now. Jump." 
 
 In a few minutes the awning came down from the
 
 CHARLES HARDmG'S STORY 233 
 
 main-yard. Dick stretched it out on the deck, and 
 sent some hands to get two tackles passed round the 
 ship from without (under her keel), one on each side 
 of the site of the supposed leak. While they were do- 
 ing this, he put other hands to the work of sewing 
 thick handfuls of wool, or rolls of blanket, on the in- 
 side of the awning, so as to make it resemble a furry 
 mat. I helped at this work by tearing out the wool 
 from the bale and handing it to those who had sail- 
 needles. We worked at a feverish rate. As we worked, 
 a man came up from the 'tween-decks to say that the 
 little hand-pump, which would at least have held the 
 leak in an even balance, was out of order in some way. 
 A hole had been knocked in the shaft, letting in the air. 
 There was no working it. It wouldn't draw water. 
 Dick didn't say much to this. 
 
 " Some more of you beauties' handiwork," he mut- 
 tered. " Well. If I get you out of this mess," he 
 added, " perhaps you'll be wiser another time." They 
 certainly looked as though they had made up their 
 minds to be a great deal wiser another time. For my 
 part I doubted whether that other time would ever 
 come. When I thought of that gurgling water down 
 in the hold, I began to think of what would happen 
 if this contrivance of Dick's came to nothing. What 
 would happen ? The water would come creeping, in 
 little runnels, over the 'tween-decks, sliding across with 
 a nasty rush at each roll. And each roll would be 
 smaller than the one before. And each pitch would be 
 deader, and " more soggy " (as they said) than the one
 
 234 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 before. Till at last she would be a log on the sea, set- 
 tling, settling, settling, the swing-ports awash, the 
 hatchway a brimming well, the bitts an island. Then 
 we should waver to one side, and lurch, and go down, 
 like a dropping stone ; and I should smell the sea-floor, 
 as Dick called it, and lie rolled about by the ground 
 swell, with the little white sea-snails and the coral-plants 
 and the shadows of big ships passing. 
 
 " Now," said Dick, when we had finished the work. 
 " The sooner we get this joker over the side the bet- 
 ter. There's three foot inside the lower hold by this 
 time. So heave now, hearties. Over with her." We 
 adjusted the tackle to the corners of the awning, and 
 then hauled it under the ship's keel, till we had got it, 
 as we judged, over the hole. Dick took me down be- 
 low from time to time to try the leak by the method of 
 the pot. After the fourth readjustment of the tackle 
 I found that the noise of the running brook had ceased, 
 but that in its place there was a dull swashing noise, 
 just below our feet as it seemed. The rats were in 
 great numbers, running about excitedly, without any 
 fear of us. 
 
 " See those rats ? " said Dick. " They're flooded out 
 from the lower hold. We've got as much sea down be- 
 low us as would float a Campeachy sloop. Hark at it 
 swishing around. Ugly noise. It gives you a grue, I 
 think. But we've checked the leak for the time, that's 
 certain. That gives us time to look around us, any- 
 how. We'll get the pumps rigged."
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 235 
 
 But getting even the hand-pump rigged was no easy 
 job to men left practically without tools. Dick was 
 a marvel of adaptive skill and patience, the crafts- 
 man's two qualities, but even he found it hard to get 
 anything done. 
 
 " Well," he said at last, when the pump sent its first 
 wavering jet of water over the side, " she works at 
 last. I pity Doggy Sam if I ever come across him in 
 the future. He's given me the time of my life get- 
 ting this pump rigged. Heave gently, boys. She may 
 burst on you at any minute. Now we'll tackle the big 
 one." All this time we were dragging slowly along on 
 a course about S.E., holding slantingly away from the 
 land, now distant from us about four miles. We were 
 crawling, because we had no fit sails to set. What 
 we should do in foul weather, or if the wind, freshen- 
 ing and drawing ahead, should force us back, I could 
 not imagine. I supposed that we must be driven in- 
 evitably into James Town. 
 
 " Aloft there," shouted Dick. " Any sign of the 
 frigate? Come do^m for a glass and see if you can 
 make her out inshore there." 
 
 A careful examination of the coast-line through a spy- 
 glass showed the mouth of Myngs' Creek, but no sign 
 of the frigate. 
 
 " Good," said Dick. " There'll be no moon to-night. 
 We shall get away after all, boy. Does any one here 
 know about Myngs' Creek ? "
 
 236 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 iMow it happened that, rather than a year before, I 
 had gone to Mjngs' Creek in old Carteret's sloop, with 
 Carteret and a couple of negroes. We had taken about 
 a ton of tobacco, for the Planters' Association, and 
 had brought back a cargo of assorted iron-ware. I had 
 been hard at work throughout my stay in the creek, 
 and I remembered little about the entrance from the 
 sea. I said that it was a very good place for ships to 
 careen in — [Note. — To careen a ship is to heave her 
 over on her side, so as to scrub all the barnacles from 
 her] — because the end of the creek was sandy, and 
 free from rocks. More than that, there was plenty of 
 good brush-wood thereabouts in case any captain chose 
 to burn away the barnacles by the process called 
 " breaming." It was not a well-known place. Myngs, 
 the planter, was dead now, and his plantation over- 
 grown ; but I remember hearing that the frigates on the 
 station sometimes careened there, or put in for wood and 
 water, instead of going the extra two or three days' sail 
 to James Town. I mentioned this to Dick. 
 
 " Yes," he said casually. " I shouldn't wonder." 
 He stopped and looked carefully shoreward. " There," 
 he cried, " there. Yes. There she comes. She's com- 
 ing out after us. Give me the glass." Before I real- 
 ised what it was that had moved him, he was racing 
 up aloft to the cross-trees to exaamine her. Looking 
 towards the land I saw that, sure enough, she was com- 
 ing out, a small frigate of the sixth-rate, under a fore-
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 237 
 
 topsail, spritsail and mainsail, hardly more canvas than 
 we ourselves carried. There was something wrong 
 with her after-masts; but what it was I couldn't quite 
 make out, they were cloaked by her topsail. It was 
 just upon sunset when we first caught sight of her, a 
 fine-weather sunset, with a good deal of haze. The 
 wind came fair and light, growing if anything weaker, 
 with the promise of falling calm. It would be dark 
 probably in an hour's time, perhaps more quickly if 
 the haze gathered. Our one chance was to keep out 
 of her clutches till dark, when we might possibly elude 
 her. It was a slender chance, I admit. I could see by 
 the looks of the men on deck that they gave themselves 
 up for lost, directly they caught sight of her. 
 
 " We're done," said one of them. " She'll fetch us 
 up in a round turn, and then we shall dangle. We may 
 as well go drink." 
 
 " On deck there," cried Dick from aloft. " Heave 
 round on that pump, or I'll come and make you. Come 
 up aloft, you, boy. Come up here to me." 
 
 When I got to the cross-trees, Dick bade me sit down 
 steadily, and take a good view of the frigate through 
 the glass. " Tell me," he said. " You've got a good 
 view of her ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said ; " and what a wonderful thing this 
 glass is. It makes her seem almost within hail. She's 
 as clear as clear. I've never looked through a glass 
 before." 
 
 "No?" said Dick. "Well. That one is a very 
 good glass. I got that glass at the Isle of Aves. It
 
 238 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 was in a brass case, buried a foot in the sand. I was 
 digging for water there, above the tide-marks, and I 
 came across that. That glass belonged to the great 
 French Admiral the County Stree (Comte d'Estrees), 
 so it has a right to be a good one. But look now very 
 carefully, and tell me what you make of her after- 
 masts." 
 
 " Why," said I, after a brief examination, " her main 
 topmast has been left ashore, and her mizzen topmast is 
 unrigged." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick. " That's the case. I thought so, 
 but I didn't dare hope it. Now look carefully ashore, 
 at the back of Myngs' Creek there. What do you see ? " 
 
 " Smoke," I said ; " smoke going up in a column. 
 Two or three columns. What can be smoking there ? " 
 
 Dick did not answer, but called to the men below 
 to rig up tackles aloft, so as to hoist buckets of water 
 on to the sails. Then he called to the helmsman to 
 put dead before the wind, which was the Marie Ga- 
 lante's best point of sailing. In a few minutes, while 
 we watched the frigate, the hands began to send up 
 buckets of water, which they tipped over the sails so 
 as to make the canvas swell. When a sail is swollen 
 with water it retains the wind. An old sail, which is 
 dry and worn thin, lets a lot of the wind through it. 
 Presently, in the failing wind, the night began to come 
 upon us. As it grew darker, Dick took careful bear- 
 ings of the land, and gave orders for a light to be placed 
 in the cabin. The men grumbled at this ; but Dick told 
 them that he knew what he was about, and that he
 
 CHAELES HAEDING'S STORY 239 
 
 wanted it done; so they obeyed, growling that Dick 
 wanted to get them all hanged, showing where they 
 were. When this had been done, Dick got up a lot of 
 boards, lashed them together so as to form a raft, and 
 rigged upon it a cask, with square holes cut in it at 
 intervals, and a little mast and sail for its forward end. 
 At the bottom of the cask he placed a big tin full of 
 oil, with a wick stuck into each end. At nine o'clock, 
 when it was pitch dark and almost calm, he lowered 
 this contrivance into the sea, climbed down upon it, and 
 listened intently for some minutes. Then he climbed 
 back, put out the light in the cabin, lit the wicks in the 
 raft, and turned her adrift into the sea. 
 
 " Charles," he said, drawing me aside, " d'you know 
 what kind of a fix we're in ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said, " I think I do. The fothering mat 
 over the leak may slip (in which case we shall sink in 
 a few hours), or if that doesn't happen first, the frigate 
 will take you, and you will all be hanged, either for 
 killing the men in resisting the Sheriff, or for piracy. 
 And I shall be taken back to old Carteret." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, " and have the life pretty well 
 welted out of you for losing the horse, and failing to 
 bring the salve. But we aren't sunk or taken yet. And 
 what do you think of the frigate ? " 
 
 " Why," I answered, " she's a little frigate. And in 
 this wind she's going no faster than we are." 
 
 " No," he said, " that's not what I meant. Listen. 
 You see that she is partly unrigged ? That shows that 
 she put into Myngs' Creek to careen. Why else would
 
 240 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 she be unrigged at anchor in fair weather? News of 
 us reached her when she was half-stripped, ready to 
 careen; that is why she was so long in coming out 
 after us. The smokes which you saw show that she is 
 getting tar heated; or so I suppose. Possibly she was 
 going to caulk her lee side, before putting it over on 
 to the mud. Her captain is a child at his business. 
 Otherwise, he would have got news of us from the 
 planters a week ago. I don't know, though. He may 
 have just come on to this station from the southward. 
 One other thing. The frigate has come out in such a 
 hurry that she has brought no boats. How do I know 
 that ? If she had boats she would have taken us by 
 this time by means of them. I listened carefully, a 
 minute or two ago, but I could hear no noise of oars. 
 So now I am going to play a new card. Bring the ship 
 to the wind," he said to the helmsman. " Bring her to 
 the wind, and rouse out, a few of you, and load your 
 pistols." 
 
 " What are you going to do now ? " they grumbled. 
 " You've been working our old irons up till we're sick 
 of it. What's your new game ? " 
 
 " You'll soon see," he said. " Get ready the boat. 
 I'm going into that creek to steal the frigate's stores. 
 When you're in a desperate mess, be desperate. That's 
 what Julius Caesar done, and look what a big gun he 
 was. And you, boy, you shove your head into a bucket 
 of water and get your brains clear. I want you to re- 
 member what Myngs' Creek is like inside. Now then.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 241 
 
 you gang of ten-and-a-talliers, buck your sand. Come 
 on and get hearty, or I'll club you with a Portsmouth 
 fiddle. That's what makes the sailors dance. Get 
 ready the boat, you crockamores. Stamp and go, now." 
 
 But here one of those maddening seamen made an 
 objection. 
 
 " Here," he said. " You say you're going into the 
 creek to take the frigate's stores, and that ? What kind 
 of madness do you call that ? " 
 
 " Madness," said Dick. " A kind of madness which 
 will lift you out of a pretty queer lash-up." He took 
 the fellow by the waist, and danced him down to the 
 boat's inhaul. " Now," he said. " Never you mind 
 about madness. You're here to work. Catch hold." 
 
 When we came to examine the boat, we found that 
 she could not carry more than six men without danger 
 of swamping. Five was load enough for her, espe- 
 cially as there was rocky landing by the sides of the 
 harbour entrance. 
 
 " Very well," said Dick. " I must have fifteen hands 
 for this job. We must make a raft and tow." The 
 men grumbled again ; but they set to work in the dark- 
 ness, and built a very creditable raft of plank, buoyed 
 up by empty casks. 
 
 " Load your pistols," said Dick to me. " We'll go in 
 now. Muffle all your rowlocks, so that they won't grunt 
 when you row. You on the raft, paddle with any- 
 thing you can find to paddle with. — We may take it," 
 he said, addressing the crew, " that the few hands in
 
 242 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 Mjiigs' Creek will either be asleep or out along the 
 rocks, watching for guns from the frigate." 
 
 " No," I said, " that you may not, Dick. If there 
 are Indians about, as we know there were only last 
 night, there will be a keen look-out kept on the land- 
 ward side of the sheds. As far as I recollect, the creek 
 is like a sack, with a few sheds on the left-hand side 
 half-way down. Your best plan would be to land well 
 away from the creek, and attack from to landward." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, " from the south of the landing, 
 if we're allowed. Then rush the buildings. Get the 
 stores, if there are any ; and then pull out in the frigate's 
 boats, with any spoil there may be." 
 
 " There may not be any," said one of the men. 
 " And then what are we to do ? " 
 
 " When we come to the water, we'll build a bridge," 
 said Dick. " At present you will kindly hold your jaw. 
 I'll do all the doing that's needed, never you fear." 
 
 After this little brush, he saw that all the rowlocks 
 and crutches were muffled, so that our passage might 
 be noiseless. " Shove off," he said ; " and you ship- 
 keepers, wounded as you are, burn a blue light for us 
 if you see three pistol-flashes from the sea. Otherwise 
 we may not find you. Pull easy, sons. We've a long 
 pull before us. There's no sense in getting tired. 
 Don't talk. Of all the queer things in this world, 
 sound over water is the queerest. You never can tell 
 how far it will travel in a calm."
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 243 
 
 VI 
 
 The men stopped talking. They settled down to 
 pull, in a long, wearily-slow, merchant-service stroke, 
 pausing on the recover and the half-stroke, but putting 
 on all their weight, from heels to neck. The darkness 
 covered away the ship from us till she was a blur, hiding 
 a few stars, a darkness against which the phosphorus 
 fileamed, as the ripples gurgled against her. It was 
 deathly still, pulling there alone on the sea. The pant- 
 ing of the men, the swirl of the oars, the whisking, 
 flickering dripping of the drops from the oar-blades, 
 seemed only like the night breathing, a great breath 
 from the darkness. When we had pulled, as it seemed 
 for hours, we heard very far away a ship's bell faintly 
 making eight, and a deep-toned fo'c'sle bell replying, 
 faintly, but more loudly. 
 
 " Midnight," said Dick, in a whisper. " That comes 
 from the frigate." 
 
 By this time we were near the shore, quite near 
 enough for safety. The surf was pretty bad, as it so 
 often is in calm weather. We were in a ground-swell, 
 which rolled up big and oily, to lump itself down on the 
 reef, spreading out like fire as it smashed. Roller after 
 roller broke, throwing up high sprays. 
 
 " This is all very well," said Dick. " But there's 
 no landing through that. We must chance the open- 
 ing. It's safer so." 
 
 The men began to growl that it was what they had 
 always said, there was no landing. Now they were
 
 244 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 going to be taken under the guns of everybody in the 
 creek, they said, and have their heads blown olf them 
 by a lot of royal pugs. 
 
 " Lie down on the raft," said Dick, " and keep still 
 till you're called. Give way in the boat. Take your 
 muffles from your rowlocks. I'm commanding here." 
 
 Ten minutes' more pulling brought us off the creek's 
 entrance, towards which we steered at a good pace. 
 We could see nothing but the black mass of land broken 
 by the harbour mouth, with white water foaming at 
 its base. Then Hunko, who stood in the bows looking 
 out, said that he smelt some white men, smoking cured 
 tobacco. Almost at the same instant there came a hail, 
 in a rather high-pitched cultivated voice. 
 
 " Boat ahoy. Oars, there in the boat. What are 
 you? Lay on your oars, or I'll fire into you." 
 
 " Sir," shouted Dick, without a second's hesitation 
 (he must have made up his tale beforehand), "we're 
 from Hog's Creek with a raft of wrought wood. We 
 be come to put up a shed for Mr. Carey of the Grains." 
 
 We heard the lieutenant, or so we supposed him to 
 be, ask a man near by him something about this man 
 Mr. Carey. Dick had heard the name mentioned two 
 days before as that of a wealthy planter, who might 
 care to buy a few slaves whenever the Marie Gcdante 
 had any such " goods " to sell. It was not a very happy 
 choice for us, as it happened. Mr. Carey was not so far 
 off as we had supposed. 
 
 " Oars a minute," the lieutenant cried again. 
 " Fetch Mr. Carey, one of you. Lie by, you in the
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 245 
 
 boat, till I tell you. Bring your raft alongside these 
 rocks here." We heard a man moving oif up the creek 
 at a smart pace, stumbling through the scrub like a 
 trotting cow. We could make out about a dozen men 
 in the gloom there. There might have been more for all 
 we could tell. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, sir," said Dick submissively ; 
 "would you allow us to pull a little further in? The 
 suck here is setting us on to the rocks ; and the raft is 
 only lightly made, sir. If your honour would allow 
 us, sir." 
 
 " All very well," said the lieutenant to himself (we 
 could hear him quite plainly in the stillness) ; " but 
 you come very late to Mr. Carey of the Grains." He 
 raised his voice and hailed Dick again. " What brings 
 you here at this time ? Why do you bring the wood at 
 this time of night ? It's after midnight." 
 
 " Begging your pardon, sir," said Dick, " we hoped 
 to be here by nine; but there was no wind, and we've 
 been rowing all the time. And what's four oars, sir, 
 against a soaking drift like the current here ? " 
 
 The lieutenant made no answer to this. He said 
 something in a low voice to somebody close to him. 
 One of our seamen dug his oars into the sea, and pulled 
 a couple of strokes. 
 
 " Keep her off, Dick," he said gently. " We'll be on 
 the rocks in a minute." 
 
 "Oars," said Dick angrily. "Wait till his honour 
 gives us leave." He paused, and then called out to the 
 lieutenant.
 
 246 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Begging your pardon, sir," be said, " might we 
 just pull up alongside the jetty further in ? We could 
 be searched better there, if your honour pleases. We 
 got nothing contraband, though, your honour." All 
 this he said in the very accent of the fishermen of those 
 parts, showing in his voice that fear of being searched, 
 or impressed, which I think all the coastwise people had 
 in those bad old days of the French war. 
 
 " Very well," said the lieutenant ; " pull ahead to 
 the quay. I'll have a look at you there. Corporal," 
 he added to a soldier there, " fire into that boat if you 
 see anything suspicious." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir," said the corporal, cocking his musket. 
 Two other men, no doubt the corporal's guard, cocked 
 their muskets also. 
 
 " Pull her in, boys," said Dick lightly. " Pull her 
 in. Thank you, your honour." 
 
 I was just at his elbow when he spoke, but I could 
 detect no change in his voice. I don't know what he 
 was feeling; but, if ever a man was in a tight hole, I 
 think Dick was at that moment. He said nothing more, 
 while we pulled, but piped up a cheery whistle of " Joan 
 to the Maypole," which jarred on our tense nerves un- 
 pleasantly. The corporal and his guard followed us 
 along the shore. 
 
 After about five minutes of slow pulling, Dick called 
 to the hands, loudly and clearly, to " Oars a minute." 
 As the oars ceased to give way he called to the cor- 
 poral. 
 
 "Officer," he cried, "whereaway is the jetty? I
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 247 
 
 can't see any piles, it's tliat dark. Could you give me 
 a lantern to bring her alongside by ? " 
 
 '' Give him a flare-up from the fire there," said the 
 corporal to one of his guard. The man gave his musket 
 to his fellow, and walked out into the light of a now 
 dying bonfire. 
 
 I could see his tattered red coat and ragged hat 
 bent over the glow. The man pulled up a dead shrub 
 from a pile of fuel, cut, I suppose, for breaming. He 
 thrust it into the embers, and held it aloft as it blazed. 
 By the light of that torch we could see the jetty plainly, 
 and all the four men who had come to search us. They 
 looked like actors in a theatre staring from a stage at 
 the audience. As we very well knew, they were too 
 dazzled by the glare to see us. They had the light in 
 their eyes. Dick cut the towline from the boat, and 
 spoke aloud to the raft's crew, so that those ashore 
 might hear. 
 
 " Look alive on the raft there," he said, in an angry 
 tone. " What are you casting off for ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, the line's parted," said some one in 
 the raft. 
 
 The lieutenant came more plainly into the glare of 
 the blazing shrub, and peered down upon us, but with- 
 out seeing us, save as a blur in the night. 
 
 " Get the end aboard and come alongside," he said 
 sharply ; " I'm not going to wait all night for you." 
 
 " Can we come alongside, your honour ? " asked 
 Dick, with winning himibleness. " Are there no boats 
 lying there ? "
 
 248 LOST ENDEAVOUE 
 
 " There's the cutter, sir," said the corporal to the 
 lieutenant. 
 
 " Haul the cutter further up then. Haul her up 
 alongside the longboat there," the lieutenant snapped. 
 " Put down your firelock, corporal. And you, Jones, 
 give him a hand. Haul her to the jetty-end." 
 
 " Come, come," cried Dick, in pretended anger, to 
 the men in the raft, as the corporal and his man began 
 to haul the boat forward to make room for us. " Chuck 
 us that line here, and let's get alongside. We're keep- 
 ing the gentleman waiting. Throw it here now. 
 What are you waiting for? Has the ring-bolt drawn 
 out ? " This he said to prompt the raft's crew to give 
 him the answer he wanted. 
 
 " Yes," said a sorry voice on the raft, " the ring's 
 gone." 
 
 " Please, your honour," cried Dick again. " Could 
 your m.en help the raft alongside? Her tow-ring's 
 broke, and we can do nothing." 
 
 " I've got no men," said the lieutenant, fuming. 
 " Get her ashore as you best can." 
 
 " Paddle her in, boys," said Dick, in a low voice to 
 the raft's crew. " Land below us, where you can." 
 
 At this moment we heard an angry bull-bellow of a 
 voice from somewhere ashore, rapidly coming nearer. 
 
 " Lieutenant," it roared. " What do you mean by 
 this? How dare you call me out of bed with a cock- 
 and-bull story of this kind? What's this nonsense? 
 Are you drunk, sir, or are you merely incapable? 
 Where's this boat from Hog's Creek? I've no wood 
 
 I
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 249 
 
 coming from Hog's Creek. And you have the audac- 
 ity to call me out of bed, at the bidding of any drunken 
 lout who cares to impose on your credulity. I'll report 
 you to the Governor, sir." 
 
 " Ashore, boys," said Dick. " We're blown upon. 
 Here's old Carey. We've stopped too long." We 
 bumped the boat in to the jetty and clambered up the 
 piles on to the pier. The raft came ashore in shallower 
 water somewhere astern of us. 
 
 " Corporal," cried the lieutenant in a startled yell. 
 " Secure those men. Stand back there, you. Back 
 into your boat, or I'll run you through." 
 
 The man with the torch made a rush for his gun, 
 but I saw a dark shape topple him over, amid a shower 
 of sparks. I saw the lieutenant's sword flash. He was 
 quick enough, now that it was too late to do anything. 
 Dick, who had just reached the pier top, ran at him, 
 and snapped off the blade of his sword with a knock 
 from a stretcher. The lieutenant struck at Dick with 
 the hilt, a short arm blow which had no force behind 
 it. Dick took it on his shoulder, stooped, caught the 
 man round the knees and flung him. Somebody pitched 
 the muskets into- the sea. I distinctly heard the 
 splashes, just as another somebody, charging in the 
 dark, sent me sprawling from behind. The men who 
 were hauling the cutter forward dropped their rope with 
 a few startled exclamations. I heard, " Eh. Eh." 
 " What in the world ? " from Carey ; a " Stand clear," 
 and " 'No, you don't," from some coarser voice, I think 
 the corporal's. A second later I was on my feet again,
 
 250 LOST EINDEAYOUE 
 
 and there was Dick trussing up a kicking lieutenant, 
 in a deep silence, as though the night were intently lis- 
 tening. It had been done with a rush. Dick had taken 
 them at the very instant. It had all ended as quietly 
 as a church service. There was no more noise than a 
 sort of dull helpless drumming on the ground, like that 
 huddled drumming that a dying rabbit makes with its 
 body. 
 
 " We've done better than I thought," said Dick. 
 " Now, corporal, I'm going to take out your gag. If 
 you let out a squeal I shall cut your throat. Here's 
 my knife. Feel its point. Well. Be warned. I'm 
 not joking. I^ow then." 
 
 He bade one of the men (I think it was Silvestre, 
 the mulatto) take out the gag, which the man did at 
 once. The corporal made no noise when he was re- 
 leased, except a sort of spitting noise as he got rid 
 of the tarry dust of the old sail which had choked 
 him. 
 
 " Well," said Dick, " I'm pleased you've got sense 
 enough to hold your peace. What's this lieutenant's 
 name ? Oh, you won't tell, won't you ? Feel the point 
 then. One. Two. Thr — ." (You must note that 
 Dick made no attempt to torture the corporal. He 
 only pretended to do so, to the end that, afterwards, the 
 lieutenant might not blame the man for betraying se- 
 crets, if any were to be betrayed.) 
 
 " I won't tell you," said the corporal sourly. 
 
 " Try Carey then," said Dick easily, to the man who 
 sat on that foaming gentleman's chest. " Dig a knife
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 251 
 
 into Mr. Carey. What's the lieutenant's name, Mr. 
 Carey ? Don't bellow, sir. We don't want to hurt you. 
 What's the lieutenant's name ? " 
 
 " Atkins," said Carey. " And I'll see you hanged, 
 you ruffian. You shall dangle for this, if there's any 
 law in the land." He was one of the richest planters 
 on that side of Virginia. It was said at the time that 
 he owned as much land as the whole of Wales. I had 
 heard vaguely, from farm-hands and the like, that he 
 lived in great state. He had built himself a house with 
 a gilded dome (I believe), which was the talk of all 
 America in those days. Afterwards, when I was with 
 the logwood cutters at One Bush Key, I heard that he 
 was known as old King Golden-Cap, on account of this 
 house. He was a choleric old man, with a great sense 
 of his own importance. To be lying on his back, chew- 
 ing a clue of an old sail, while a pirate picked his 
 Adam's apple with a dagger, was something new to him. 
 He resented it. " Wait," he said, gurgling. " Wait. 
 You filthy ruffians. Only wait." 
 
 " We'll wait," said Dick. " And how many men are 
 down by the sea there ? " 
 
 " Enough to swing you all at a rope's end before 
 dawn," said Mr. Carey. 
 
 " Jim," said Dick. " Lieutenant Atkins's compli- 
 ments, and the hands are to extend in open order along 
 the coast, to the southward, to watch for an intended 
 landing of smuggled goods. Say that the boat's crew 
 just taken are smugglers. That's ourselves, remember. 
 You are a farm-hand, sent with a message. Lively
 
 252 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 now. Get the pugs (as the King's seamen were always 
 called then) out of the way, pronto. Kun." 
 
 A hand started off smartly down to the sea to send 
 the other watchers (if any were still about the creek's 
 mouth) away from that part, so that we might creep 
 out without challenge. I remember thinking how ready 
 and bold the messenger would have to prove himself, 
 and how wild a thing it was for Dick to send a mes- 
 sage of the kind. " Suppose," I thought, " there is a 
 lieutenant superior to this Atkins. Or suppose that 
 the order just given countermands an order left by the 
 captain. Or suppose, what is very probable, that At- 
 kins is a false name, given by Carey to deceive us." 
 ISTo one paid much attention to me at the moment. I 
 dare say I could have got away then had I tried. I 
 had no thought of bolting, curiously enough. I had 
 too lively a fear of being hanged without trial, if taken 
 or forced into the living death of the man-of-war, among 
 pressed men and branded criminals. You may think 
 that I was very young and foolish to fear that. Was 
 I ? I was an innocent boy, torn from his home by 
 kidnappers, sold into slavery, and now torn from his 
 slavery by pirates. I was entitled to every charity and 
 consideration. But how much charity and considera- 
 tion was I likely to get, out there in the wilds, from 
 angry naval officers like this man on the ground, or 
 from furious, mad planters like Mr. Carey ? If I had 
 been taken, and had had to tell my story, how many 
 would have believed it, do you suppose ? The very un- 
 likeliness of the tale was against its being believed.
 
 CHAKLES HAKDING'S STORY 253 
 
 VII 
 
 "Well. There was not much time for these reflec- 
 tions. Even while I thought them, Dick forced open 
 the door of the great store-shed, where M>mgs had once 
 stored his tobacco. There were some ship's lanterns 
 hanging outside the door of the shed. These were 
 lighted from the bonfire so that we could look about 
 us. There were sails in plenty, lying on the shed- 
 floor like monster snakes bulged with food. The frigate 
 had landed all her foul-weather suit, and the greater 
 part of the thinner, tropic suit, now half worn through. 
 I suppose that the sails there would have come to some 
 hundreds of pounds in taxpayers' money. They were 
 well worth that to us. I think that within twenty sec- 
 onds of the door being opened, a great heavy course 
 (or lower sail for the mast of a square-rigged vessel) 
 was being lighted out on to men's shoulders and borne 
 staggeringly to the edge of the jetty, where the frigate's 
 long-boat lay beside the cutter. The sail was tailed 
 carefully into the boat by the light of a couple of blaz- 
 ing shrubs, one of which was given to me to hold. I 
 remember peering over the dark jetty-edge to see the sail 
 coiling down length by length, nine or ten feet at a 
 time, while the dead leaves crinkled with fire fell upon 
 it from the shrubs, lighting the cringles in the rop- 
 ing. It was falling so exactly like a snake that a very 
 little would have made me scream out, just like a girl. 
 A topsail followed the course, and other sails followed 
 the topsail. The men dragged out sail after sail, and
 
 254 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 passed them down into the boats. Bush after bush 
 burned away in my hands to fiery stumps ; and, al- 
 though the time seemed long, it was not really long, 
 for the men worked very hard and did much in a few 
 minutes. The sails of the boat were hoisted. They 
 wavered and unfolded, gleaming out whitish and dark- 
 ening as they moved above the heaps of canvas stowed 
 along the thwarts. The boats were full of sail now. 
 Coils of rope were being passed down, with bundles of 
 neatly stopped and ticketed running rigging, which had 
 been laid away in a corner of the shed. The men were 
 just tossing down some of these, making more noise in 
 their excitement than was wise, when the messenger 
 came running back to Dick to tell him that the pugs 
 were coming. 
 
 " Did you give my message ? " said Dick. 
 
 " N'o," he said, very candidly, " I didn't. I didn't 
 go near them. I was afraid." 
 
 " Put out," said Dick to us torch-bearers. " And 
 dash some water on the fires. Into the boats and shove 
 oif. We've bungled it, I shouldn't wonder. What 
 were you afraid of ? You're a nice one to come out in 
 the dark with. What's this? Oh, the lieutenant. 
 Quick. Bundle him to one side." 
 
 The lieutenant was thrust aside without ceremony. 
 The men were scared in good earnest. People were 
 marching slowly up towards us, coming by the path by 
 which the corporal had come. In the stillness of the 
 night we could hear their voices plainly. They were 
 walking as men walk in the night watches at sea. We
 
 CHAELES HARDIXG'S STORY 255 
 
 dropped down into the boats. The last thing Dick did 
 before he shoved oli" was to pull out the plug of the boat 
 in which we had come. She must have filled and sunk 
 in a minute or less. 
 
 " Shove ott," said Dick, " and oh, paddle light, and 
 send us a good fair wind to blow us clear of this." 
 
 The oars dipped and drove us forward. " Muffle 
 your rowlocks," said Dick, " and pull across to the other 
 side of the creek." 
 
 VIII 
 
 As we paddled across with our spoils we regretted 
 that we had left no light behind us to show us how 
 many sailors were coming. One or two might have 
 been secured without trouble; but we knew that they 
 were more than that. Perhaps four, perhaps forty. 
 How can one tell in the dark? And frightened men 
 can never judge anything. Dick muttered to himself 
 that it all depended on whether they stumbled on the 
 lieutenant or not. We got across to the other side of 
 the creek, and turned towards the sea. "We were all 
 in the cutter, towing the long-boat. Rowing as they 
 were, with their faces turned aft, the men watched the 
 site of the jetty, where somebody, as we could hear, 
 was striking a flint with a steel. The fires had been 
 dashed with water. Even pirates, you see, showed a 
 little sense at times. 
 
 Presently we saw a light placed in a lantern. The 
 men there moved about in a dim uncertainty of candle-
 
 256 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 light. We could hear their voices talking about the 
 extinction of the fires. A grutt' voice called aloud to 
 the corporal, in a blurring Gloucester accent, to ask 
 if the lieutenant were along there. The corporal was 
 past speech. The man (I suppose a boatswain or 
 boatswain's mate) got no answer. He said something, 
 probably about the delights of being a soldier, and an- 
 other man laughed a little. 
 
 " Pull hard now," wdiispered Dick. " And here's the 
 wind." 
 
 A puff of wind came down the creek to us. The 
 sail leaped, straining its sheet, and driving the boat 
 forward. On the instant we bumped into a half-tide 
 rock with a shock which flung us all down among the 
 bottom-boards. The long-boat, surging forward on 
 her towline, struck the cutter hard on the quarter, and 
 nearly flung her over. Before we had shoved clear of 
 the rock a voice hailed us from the jetty. 
 
 " What is that there ? Who are you out in the creek 
 there ? " 
 
 " Liteutenant Atkins," cried Dick. " I'm pulling 
 out to the frigate with important information." 
 
 There was no answer for a few seconds. The war- 
 rant officer was turning the matter over in his mind, 
 not liking it particularly, and finding it very odd. 
 
 " Begging your pardon, sir," he hailed, " will you 
 just pull over here, sir, for me to make sure ? " 
 
 " Certainly," cried Dick. " Pull, starboard. Give 
 way, port. Pull in there." In a low voice he bade the 
 men pull for their lives to open water. It was a few
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 257 
 
 seconds later, when way was on the boat again, so that 
 we had the sea in fair view, that the boatswain trod on 
 the lieutenant (as I suppose; but it may have been the 
 corporal), and learned what we were. In just five sec- 
 onds more he was blazing at us with his boarding- 
 pistols. Men were rushing down to the shore, crying 
 out to the sentries there to fire at us. A slug struck 
 the long-boat. The wind caught us again in a brisk 
 gust, giving us good way. A couple of muskct-balls 
 went through the sail. A voice shouted to haul up the 
 sail. 
 
 " Drop your guns," came the cry. " Drop your guns. 
 Haul the chain across." 
 
 " Good lack," said Dick with a groan, " they've got 
 a chain across the creek mouth. Now, I suppose, we're 
 done in good earnest. Pull, boys, pull. There goes 
 their capstan. We're caught like rats if you don't." 
 The pawls on the capstan began to click as the seamen 
 hove it round to drag the guarding chain across the 
 mouth of the harbour. 
 
 " Shall we fire ? " said one of our men. 
 
 " No," said Dick. " The flashes would show them 
 where we are. Pull, boys. Here comes the wind. 
 We're saved." 
 
 One of those strong dangerous gusts which blow down 
 gullies and glens to the sea came fiercely on to us, heav- 
 ing us all to one side. The water clucked and talked 
 round us. The broken water, where the creek current 
 met the sea, shook us and splashed us. We charged 
 across it gallantly, plunging our tow. The capstan
 
 258 LOST EXDEAVOUR 
 
 ceased clicking. I fancy that the men there recognised 
 that thej could never get the chain across in time to 
 stop us. Instead of heaving they ran to their muskets, 
 which had been piled somewhere near the sea. They 
 were a well-drilled company. Before we cleared the 
 land they got down among the rocks as near to us as 
 they could, and gave us a smart volley. It must have 
 been fired pretty much at a random, for we could have 
 been nothing more to them than a black shadow flitting 
 over the lower stars, jet it had disastrous results to us. 
 It took effect upon the cutter near the bows ; indeed, it 
 came near to missing us altogether, for I think no bul- 
 lets passed abaft her amidships section. Forward of 
 that, it destroyed us. Both the bow oars were killed 
 outright. The starboard second bow died in a few 
 minutes. His fellow, pulling on the same thwart, and 
 hit perhaps by the same bullet, lingered unconscious for 
 two days, and then drowsed away to death, knowing 
 nothing of what had happened. The second midship 
 oar had his right arm broken. 
 
 You may have seen birds or rabbits shot in the fields, 
 and wondered at the suddenness with which the change 
 from life to death comes. In one second the creature 
 is running or flying, full of splendid energy. In the 
 next it is a crumpled and bloody heap of feathers or 
 fur, batting the ground while its eyes film. The change 
 in the boat was like that. For one second we were all 
 pulling and straining, hearing the feet of the seamen, 
 and the locks clicking and the flints snapping. In the 
 next second, before the roar of the guns was gone, vio-
 
 CHAELES HARDmO'S STORY 259 
 
 lent death was among us, and one of us was crying out 
 that he was hit. There was nothing to* announce death, 
 only a sharp little thudding noise made by the bullets 
 as they struck. Yet in that second there was all that 
 shocking change, and those men had gone to their ac- 
 counts, in the midst of all that violence, fresh from 
 murder and robbery. I think that that moment was 
 one of the most terrible ever spent by me. It made me 
 very lonely ; I cannot describe it better than that — very 
 lonely, and wanting to cry. What moved me most was 
 seeing them toss the dead men overboard, there and 
 then,, with neither prayer nor feeling, only a grumble 
 at their weight. It was that callous toss over the side 
 which seemed to brand it into me that I was shut away 
 now from my own party in life, the party of order and 
 honesty. I was being carried away, out into the dark, 
 with outlaws whose hearts were like millstones. Life 
 had been very cruel to me so far. I remember think- 
 ing of a little brook at home which had the property 
 of crusting the leaves which dro})ped into it with a 
 coat of lime till they were really leaves of lime, with 
 their true leaf-like qualities gone from them. I should 
 be like one of those leaves — the human being in me 
 dead, and all the added callousness and cruelty crusting 
 me over till they were all the nature of me. 
 
 IX 
 
 After two hours of sailing seawards, drenched with 
 the spray from the cutter's plunges and the wash off
 
 260 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 the bows of the longboat, we fired our pistols in the air 
 by way of signal. Those in the Marie Galante, seeing 
 the flashes, burned a blue light, and the frigate, think- 
 ing that we might be from shore, fired a gun, showing 
 her position too. We got aboard the Marie Oalante 
 somewhere in the first early greyness, when the sea was 
 showing like a dull sheet of steel, heaving towards the 
 observer and sinking from him. Voices hailed us from 
 the black bulk of the ship telling us to give the word if 
 we didn't want to be blown out of the sea. Then we 
 drew alongside, hooked on, and, by Dick's direction, 
 rigged up a yardarm tackle to clear the boats of the 
 spoil. The man with the broken arm was told to get 
 out of the way. No one was going to bother about him, 
 they said. By the time we were up on the main-yard, 
 bending the stolen sail, the frigate was within a mile 
 of us, standing over to us, with her men at quarters. 
 I was up on the yard with Dick, and got my ears cuffed 
 very shrewdly for looking round at her instead of help- 
 ing in the work. We got the main-sail set before she 
 tried her heavy guns on us. In fact, I don't think that 
 we had so much as a shot from her until we had rigged 
 a fore-topsail, and begun to hold our own in speed in 
 the freshening wind. Then there came a strange whis- 
 tling screech, which I had never heard before. It was 
 not unlike the tearing of linen rags ; but no sound known 
 to me is quite like it, for there is something eerie and 
 terrifying in it which other sounds want of. The shot 
 which made it passed astern, somewhere close to us. 
 After it had gone, as the boom of the report reached
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 261 
 
 us, I saw a pillar of water leap from the sea, then an- 
 other, then another, dazzlingly white, as the shot struck 
 the sea with blows before it sank. We did not pause 
 in our work because of the shooting. Firing at a mov- 
 ing target at such a range is not very dangerous to the 
 target. We sent up a third sail, and bent it. This 
 third sail was soon seen to be enough to keep us out of 
 danger. We began cheering whenever a shot came near 
 us. We began now to draw away from the frigate, 
 though we could see her men pouring water on the 
 sails, and playing the hose on the courses so as to keep 
 up with us if she possibly could. She lost way at every 
 shot, for in order to fire she had to yaw out of her course. 
 At last we saw that we had won the race. She saw it 
 too, and gave up. We saw her yards swinging as she 
 hauled more to the wind in order to beat back to the 
 creek. Standing on the poop to see the last of her, I 
 saw her great yellow hull, with its blue top-works, gleam- 
 ing with the wet as she came round. Her flag blew 
 clear, in a white ruffle marked with red. She surged 
 down, creaming her catheads, then rose with a light 
 airy roll, heaving her side out. Then, as I watched 
 her, her side spurted fire, and, to my intense surprise, 
 the air screamed suddenly with flying iron. A yard 
 of the poop rail near me leaped up and overboard, spin- 
 ning like a buzz-saw. Some blocks came down from 
 aloft. A groove gouged itself before my eyes in the 
 dirty deck-planks, marked with so many footprints. 
 Something white, I suppose a bit of wood, struck my 
 finger a sharp tap, numbing it for the rest of the day.
 
 262 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 It was all over in a few seconds. A dozen iron round- 
 shot had carried to us from the broadside, all apparently 
 hitting or flying over the poop. No great harm was 
 done, nor were we fired at again. But the sudden hur- 
 tling of that destruction taught me something of the 
 power and terror which lie controlled in a gun. I have 
 never seen a gim since without having in mind the 
 vision of that broken wood flying up suddenly from a 
 seascape all peace and beauty. 
 
 When w^e had escaped from the frigate we set a course 
 for the Windward Passage. The hands wanted to know 
 where we were going. They wanted to go to Port 
 Eoyal, they said. They came aft in a body to ask us to 
 put in to Jamaica, " where their friends lived." Dick, 
 Little Theo, and I debated it down below. We had no 
 very clear prospect of getting anywhere in that old ship, 
 battered as she was. In our hearts, though, we felt that 
 before all things we should go to Boca del Drago. The 
 plan of the kingdom was not ruined, we said. We 
 would go there. We w^ould beat those thieves. We 
 would defend that treasury. Then, having saved it 
 from sacrilege, we would carry the gold to Nicolai, and 
 band ourselves to set Theo on the throne. It seemed 
 so simple a thing to plan. The hands, to whom we con- 
 fided something of it, consented. We were all going to 
 make Theo a king, and to serve him as ministers and 
 generals.
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 263 
 
 This was my belief, too, whenever I was in Theo's 
 presence. But when I got away by myself, after some 
 rough treatment by the hands or some agony of labour, 
 it all seemed the maddest business. Then I thought 
 that I was in the Ship of Fools, going to Gotham, and 
 that Theo, brave, kind fellow as he was, was after all 
 only a madman, driven mad by fever and cruelty. 
 When I thought these things, wretched boy that I was, 
 I used to long for some English frigate to capture us 
 and take us home. 
 
 XI 
 
 I need not say much about our passage. It was a 
 nightmare to us all, I think. Five of the wounded men 
 took fever, from drinking or careless treatment, and 
 died, after a brief while of raving, and were tossed over- 
 board without a prayer. The leak gave us trouble in- 
 termittently, in spite of the new mat. Sometimes it 
 would terrify us all by gaining suddenly, in the middle 
 of the night perhaps, two feet, or even two feet six; 
 so that we had to pump and bale for dear life, till the 
 hands swooned at the brakes and lay on deck senseless, 
 with the bright brine running over them. Then she 
 would run dry for a season, and leak no more perhaps 
 for two or three days. " Ah," those fools would say, 
 " a fish has got into the seam " ; or " Bill's blanket's 
 done for her." Then they would laugh and sing, and 
 grow mutinous and threatening, till the next scare hum- 
 bled them. We were dreadfully short-handed all the
 
 264 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 time. As far as I remember, we had only eight men 
 in a watch. Of those, one (or two, for she steered very 
 wild with the wind at all aft) had to be at the helm, and 
 another aloft looking out. That left us, at the most, 
 six hands to do all the work of the ship, such as pump- 
 ing, bracing the yards, setting up the rigging, and furl- 
 ing and loosing sail, etc. Six were not enough to brace 
 the lower yards up ; so at every shift of wind all hands 
 had to be called. They came out grumbling and curs- 
 ing, perhaps twenty minutes after being called; then 
 when the work was done they went below again grum- 
 bling, and when they were wanted on deck again, they 
 would refuse, even though it was their rightful watch. 
 
 " They were going to have their lawful sleep," they 
 said. " They wouldn't come on deck till the time they 
 had lost had been made good." 
 
 There was continual fighting among the men about 
 this question of sleep. Nor can I wonder; for the 
 want of sleep makes men crusty, and sudden awakenings 
 make crusty men savage, and, to a savage man, any lit- 
 tle momentary injustice is cause enough for a fight. 
 They might have overlooked the over- work (though we 
 were all taxed to the limits of our strength by the almost 
 incessant pumping) had they been properly fed ; but we 
 were all half starved all the time ; for Doggy Sam (his 
 real name was Samuel Pointer, and a pointer, as these 
 wits agreed, was a dog) had taken most of the ship's 
 provisions. We had a little bad beef and a little bad 
 bread, nothing more, till some of the men, grown des- 
 perate, trapped the rats and ate them. I tried this mess
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 265 
 
 once myself, but it made me sick (perhaps my rat was 
 a bad one), and I never tried it again. The other men 
 used to call it sea-chicken, and pretended that they liked 
 it. To be short of food was bad enough; but our 
 greatest hardship was want of water. We were going 
 south into the hot latitudes, when a man craves for 
 drink, even though it be of the kind carried in ship's 
 water-casks, continually. We were on an allowance of 
 water almost from the day we sailed — a pint a man a 
 day, not a drop more, and this in the hot weather to 
 men engaged in hard physical exercise through all day 
 and half the night. One day a man stole my allow- 
 ance from me. I had put it in my hook-pot, below in 
 the 'tween-decks, and when I came below for my dinner 
 that day it had all been drunk ; so that I would have gone 
 thirsty had not Dick made all hands give me what he 
 called " dips " (that is, mouthfuls) from their allow- 
 ances. Afterwards the thief was caught, in the act of 
 drinking another man's allowance. We tried him sol- 
 emnly in the cabin, in what Dick called the " Brethren's 
 Way." It was a rough but fair trial. They beat him 
 severely, after sentence had passed — two cuts with a 
 belt apiece ; so that that kind of theft ceased among us. 
 The coming down and finding my precious water gone 
 was as bad to me that day as the loss of his crown is 
 to a king. I think that none of us aboard there thought 
 of anything except of water — springs of water bub- 
 bling up out of the ground ; brooks of water going over 
 pebbles ; quiet pools and lakes, cold and clear ; or bright, 
 abundant waterfalls splashing the naked skin and the
 
 266 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 spray wetting the lips. When we slept we dreamed of 
 water. Either it was raining down on us from heaven, 
 filling the main-deck and the awnings and our own dry 
 throats, or we were at a pond or river, wading out, as 
 the cattle will when thirsty, to get wet before the luxury 
 of drinking. Then we woke, or were wakened, to our 
 mess of dry salt beef, boiled in salt water, and to our 
 wearisome heaving of the pump-brakes, up and down, 
 up and down, under a sky like blue flame, above a sea 
 like glaring brass. It was painful in another way. 
 You may think it childish, but one of the worst torments 
 of that thirsty time was the memory of days at home 
 when I had had plenty of water, and had bathed in it 
 even, and wasted it, and flung it at my schoolfellows 
 in one of our water fights as we called them, and poured 
 it away on flowers, and thought nothing of letting a 
 tap run. I used to think of these things with agony 
 day after day. I can truly declare that from that time 
 until this I have never wasted any water, nor can I 
 bear to see others waste it. I see people treating it as 
 a common thing enough ; but to me it will never be that 
 again. I had my drilling long ago, and a sharp drill- 
 ing it was. To continue. 
 
 XII 
 
 I do not know how long the passage was. I suppose 
 it lasted a couple of weeks. To me it was like one long 
 term of misery, throughout which the pumps were 
 heaving and Jieaving. Up with a hard heave, down
 
 CHARLES HARDIIS-Q'S STORY 267 
 
 with a jerking bang, they went. The water spurted and 
 jetted in a bright little fount. The men cursed and 
 panted, snapping at each other just like wolves. " Put 
 your weight on, you." 
 
 " I am putting my weight on." 
 
 " You're not. You're leaving it all to me." 
 
 " You call me a liar, and I'll give you something'll 
 teach you." 
 
 " Hijo de puta." 
 
 " Cabron." 
 
 " Drop it, you swine. Pump, you. Stick your 
 knives into each other when you get ashore." 
 
 Then the knives would be put back, and the men, 
 still glaring at each other, would go on with that labour 
 at the pumps. You say that labour is a noble thing. 
 I say that it makes a man a wild beast if it be not pro- 
 portioned and relieved. That was a bad time in the 
 Marie Galante. 
 
 At last one day when Dick, Theo, and I were alone 
 in the cabin, there came a cry from aloft of " Land 
 — oh " ; and immediately after a cry of " Sail — oh." 
 Low down on the starboard horizon there was something 
 like a cloud with gleams on it. 
 
 " There, boy," said Dick, " that is the island of Cuba, 
 that cloudy thing." 
 
 Something white flashed out against it, and then was 
 lost even as I stared at it. 
 
 "And that," he added, looking through his glass, 
 " is a brig, I fancy. A fine fast brig, making a pass- 
 age from the Havana. Theo, she is crossing our bow."
 
 268 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Yes," said Theo. " We shall save tlie temple yet. 
 We shall get to the island before them." 
 
 After that we all went on deck, and laboured at wet- 
 ting the sails, to give us speed. We had been like 
 wolves in winter ever since we left Virginia. The sight 
 of those white sails, swaying and flashing there, run- 
 ning down to cross our path, was like the sight of food 
 and shelter after long starving in the snow. There 
 was a look of the wolf in all those men's faces. Until 
 you see him looking out of a man's face you do not 
 guess how vile a thing the beast of prey is, nor how 
 cruel his spirit is. I assure you that it awed me to see 
 the hungry savagery in those men. They were pumping, 
 and passing buckets along, and every now and then 
 they would pause and mutter, looking out upon the 
 prize. 
 
 " Yes, you beauty," they said, " come on. Come on 
 a little nearer. You come a bit nearer and we will 
 change ships with you. You Cuban dons shall have a 
 ship to go home in." 
 
 No one had said that we should attack the brig. No 
 order had been given; but we were not like men any 
 longer ; we were like wolves, an instinct to kill had run 
 through the pack. I felt it too; why should I pretend 
 that I did not? We were half-starved and half -dead. 
 We had not been living like men. We had been eating 
 rats and drinking the drainings from the sails, glad of 
 what we could get of them, and undergoing this — not 
 for any noble end, as a scholar enduring hardship so 
 that he may bring intellectual beauty to the world, or
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 269 
 
 a soldier suffering wounds to bring peace, but so that 
 we might have strength to pump, and to keep on pump- 
 ing, lest we should drowoi, like the rats we ate, before 
 another robbery could give us ease. And as we were 
 not like living men, so the Marie Galante was no longer 
 like a ship to us. She was the most bitter form of 
 prison, in which we moaned and toiled, always under 
 sentence of death. And there, coming over the sea, was 
 deliverance. It seemed a natural thing that we should 
 look upon the brig there as our prey, and that we should 
 set ourselves instinctively to prepare to seize her. I 
 know. that every man there hungered like a wild beast 
 for the rush that would take possession of her. They 
 would have boarded a frigate rather than stay longer 
 in that death cell. 
 
 " Knock off pumping, boys," one of the men cried. 
 " We've pumped this hooker enough. Let her sink. 
 I'd rather sink than rot at these brakes any more." 
 
 " Yes," said others, " if we don't take her we'll 
 run her ashore on the cape there. We've had enough." 
 
 One man cried to heave the brakes overboard and 
 wreck the pumps with an axe; but the others over- 
 ruled this. The brig had the legs of us. There was 
 some doubt whether we should get alongside of her ; and 
 leaking as we were, we might never reach " the cape 
 there," without pumping. Still, the dreary up and 
 down straining of the brakes ceased. It was strange 
 to notice the quiet after the long hours of that monot- 
 onous noise. Very soon the decks, which had so long 
 run brine, dried at last ; and gleamed dry, covered with
 
 270 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 little white salt crystals. So we drove on to action 
 quietly, rolling a little, while below, with faint irregular 
 gurglings, the sea dribbled into our hold and washed 
 and lipped there, splashing up as we pitched. 
 
 That was almost the last thing noticed by me before 
 the actual encounter, for the men wanted me in the 
 forecastle to turn the grindstone for them while they 
 sharpened their hangers. I had no glimpse of the brig 
 from where I worked ; but each man, coming in in turn, 
 told me something of her, if his nerves were not too 
 tense for speech. One said that she showed Spanish 
 colours, and that we had lowered our topsail to her by 
 way of salute. Another said that she was one of the 
 Havana despatch-boats going to Puerto-Rico. The last 
 to come in said that she would cross our bows in another 
 five minutes, at a distance of about half a cable (a 
 hundred yards). He said that both ships were keeping 
 their courses, as though unsuspicious of each other ; that 
 there seemed to be few men in the brig, and that our 
 men were all lying down under cover, with loaded pistols 
 in their hands, ready to rush up as we ran alongside of 
 them. After this last man had gone, Dick looked in, 
 and told me to go below into the fore-peak to see if the 
 water were coming in. He said that I was to lie low 
 there till I heard from him again. 
 
 XIII 
 
 You will want to know how the battle went ; and how, 
 as we ran alongside, our gang boarded. You will want
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 271 
 
 to hear about the decks, the men with the handkerchiefs 
 tied about their heads, the sudden falling of the killed, 
 and all the violent hurry with which life and death 
 mingle in a fight at sea. I cannot tell you anything of 
 all that. I was down in the night of the fore-peak, 
 hearing very little, except the wash and suck of the 
 water parted by the bows, and the crying out of the rats. 
 I heard a voice call, from somewhere outside the ship, 
 and an answer from the deck in Spanish. Then an- 
 other hail, startlingly loud and near, followed by a 
 bumping crash which flung me over. As I fell we 
 bumped again, grindingly, as though the side of the 
 ship were being crushed on a millstone. Then I heard 
 cries and a shot or two, a stillness, then another mighty 
 bump, with heavy falling on the deck above, as blocks 
 and gear were shaken down from aloft by the collision. 
 Shots and cries, both strangely unmeaning to me, fol- 
 lowed on the last collision ; then they too at last ceased, 
 and it was all pretty quiet except for the grinding of 
 the two ships together, and the sudden shouting out of 
 Silvestre's voice, asking somebody a question. The 
 water choked up between the two vessels. People were 
 talking. Some one cried out " Yes," at a random, 
 in answer to Silvestre. A voice called out excitingly 
 to swing the fore-yards before they got themselves tan- 
 gled into kinks. The brace rattled out, and I heard 
 men calling out as they hauled. Presently some one 
 just above me shouted aft. 
 
 " Yes. Down in the fore-peak " ; and then another 
 Englishman called to otherg to "get along there;
 
 272 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 march." I swung tip out of the fore-peak at that, and 
 into the 'tween-decks, just as our prisoners were being 
 driven down to prison. One of the prisoners, a sad- 
 looking Spaniard, with long black moustachios, stopped 
 to stare at me at the foot of the upper-deck ladder. I 
 think now that I must have resembled some one known 
 to him. At the time I felt that he was wondering what 
 a boy was doing in such company, and I turned away 
 my face ashamed. His look reproached me for a great 
 while after. 
 
 There were seven of these prisoners altogether. Two 
 of their crew, as I found afterwards, had been killed 
 in the scuffle, and three more had been put in irons 
 aboard the brig in order to be held to ransom. 
 
 " Don't you stand staring there," said one of our 
 seamen to me. " Your eyes'll fall out. On deck with 
 you, and help shift the gear into the brig." He kicked 
 me savagely, swearing that he would like to knock my 
 brains out. 
 
 On deck I found the seamen rapidly passing the 
 few things left to us into the brig, which lay grinding 
 alongside. Little Theo was sunning on a hatchway, 
 giving words of encouragement. Dick was up aloft, 
 on the main topsail-yard, sending the sail down by the 
 halliards. Knowing that I should be beaten if I held 
 back, I ran to the work in hand, and lent my pound to 
 the rope. As I worked I asked French Jean, a seaman 
 who had always been kind to me, whether we were 
 going to take all the sails away. 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked. 
 
 r^
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 273 
 
 " Why," said I. " Because if we do, the poor Span- 
 iards will drown before they can reach the land. The 
 ship will sink with them." 
 
 " We shall leave them a foresail," growled one of the 
 Englishmen. " You keep your tongue in your head. 
 Who cares whether they do drown ? " 
 
 Somebody else said that I was getting to be a regular 
 young sea-lawyer and wanted a good clumping. Sil- 
 vestre bade them all keep quiet, and get along ahead 
 with the work ; there would be " time enough for clump- 
 ing later on," he added. 
 
 XIV 
 
 In about half an hour we went aboard the brig and 
 sheered off from the old Marie Galante. I had hated 
 my life aboard her, as you can well imagine, and yet 
 when I looked at the outside of her again, after all those 
 weeks, I felt a sort of home-sickness, sharp and sudden. 
 I knew the life to be had in her. The life before me 
 in the brig was unknown to me, and therefore to be 
 feared. Something in the way the old battered ship 
 lifted touched me. And then the sight of the Spaniards 
 coming up on deck from their pen below, and shaping 
 a course for the nearest land, with such heavy hearts as 
 you may guess, was pathetic, too ; and then their sud- 
 den manning of the pump, scared perhaps by the dis- 
 covery of the leak, not till then suspected, was painful. 
 The last that I saw of her was an hour later, when
 
 274 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 we were five miles from her. She was then bright and 
 shining like a nautilus, ploughing slowly towards Cape 
 Majsi. 
 
 As for us, we had a fine brave wind to bustle us. Lit- 
 tle Theo cracked on more sail, and drove the brig; so 
 that in a couple of hours the Marie Galante was hull 
 down on the horizon. 
 
 " Yes," he cried, " you shall travel. You shall race. 
 We shall beat them yet. We shall be at the island be- 
 fore them if the wind hold. Then we will reckon with 
 them." He was in better sprits than he had enjoyed 
 since that long-ago day in Virginia. He walked the 
 deck excitedly, looking up at the sails and then away to 
 starboard, on which side, distant some seventeen hun- 
 dred miles from us, was his island of wonders. He 
 seemed possessed of a spirit, walking the deck there. 
 The sight of him set me wondering again whether that 
 story of his could be true, in any part of it. It was a 
 wild, improbable story, the story of a madman ; and yet 
 I heard the sailors talking of very strange secrets pos- 
 sessed by the Indians, and of the magic practised by 
 them, so that at last I think that something of the 
 man's enthusiasm took hold of me. I remembered how 
 Dr. Carter, a great scholar, had told me years before 
 that undoubtedly, beyond life, were many good and evil 
 spirits, which could be controlled and coaxed by any 
 earnest human soul, as might indeed be seen from the 
 lives of saints and magicians. I began to think that 
 perhaps this man had rediscovered some secret, long- 
 forgotten by the white races, but still potent to bring
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 275 
 
 the human soul into easier communion with the powers, 
 whatever they might be. And though this belief 
 wavered in me, like a sea at slack water, it kept crop- 
 ping up. Perhaps he was mad, perhaps he was wise. 
 And why, in that great strange land, overgrown with 
 forests, in which mysterious peoples had built and van- 
 ished, should there not be a record of wisdom, wilder 
 and stranger than any wisdom preserved by us ? What 
 was it ? What was in that temple on the hill ? Could 
 it all be an invention, or the result of sunstroke, or 
 something hideously remembered from one of the 
 dreams that come in fever ? 
 
 We were in the windward passage that evening. The 
 sunset was dying out of the west, the stars were show- 
 ing. Dick and I sat aft on the deck, lazily making 
 chafing-gear together in the failing light. Little Theo 
 stood near to us, looking out as before, to starboard, 
 towards his island. Abaft us was the helmsman. The 
 rest of the crew were scattered about the deck, getting 
 ready, as I thought, to hold one of their sing-songs, or 
 sea-concerts, to the music of Leon's bugle. A few of 
 them strolled aft casually, and got into talk with Dick, 
 asking what the chafing-gear was for, and yarning about 
 old times at sea. One of them, as I remember, had 
 been a peon on the plantation in which Sir Henry Mor- 
 gan had died. He told of that soldier's death. Two or 
 three others fetched up alongside Theo, and I, finding 
 it too dusky now for my work, listened idly to what they 
 said, but paid little enough heed to it till afterwards. 
 The talk was partly in Spanish, of which I had already
 
 276 LOST ENDEAVOUK 
 
 picked up a good deal, and partly in seamen's English. 
 It ran something like this : — 
 
 A man. She is a good brig to go, Cap. 
 
 Theo. Yes. She is fast. She is a good brig. 
 
 The man. A pleasant change after the Marie Gal- 
 ante. She was a useless article. 
 
 Theo. Yes. 
 
 The man. We had enough of pumping in the Marie 
 Galante. A hungry, hard-working, skinflint life aboard 
 that hooker. 
 
 Theo. Yes. 
 
 The man. Time we had a change, I guess. 
 
 Theo. We shall do it now. 
 
 The man. What are your plans. Cap ? Back to the 
 island to head them off ? 
 
 Theo. Yes. Back to the island. Back to my se- 
 cret. Back to my task. 
 
 The man. Don't you think that we could do with 
 a little jaunt. Cap, after all this hazing? 
 
 Theo. What do you mean by that ? 
 
 The man. There's Tortuga over yonder, Cap. It's 
 pleasant in Tortuga. 
 
 Theo. Well? 
 
 The man. Wliat would be the harm in just going 
 into Tortuga for a couple of days ? It would set us all 
 up after what we've been through. 
 
 Another man. Sure, Cap. Let's let her go off for 
 Tortuga. The island's almost in sight. 
 
 Another man {sitting by me.) Tortuga. It's a fine
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 277 
 
 place, Tortuga. I'd rather have a day in Tortuga than 
 spend a week in any island you care to give a name to. 
 
 Another man. That's what I say. I've had enough 
 for one trip. I want a rest. (Here he rose and came 
 close up to Theo.) And what I say is, I'm going to 
 have it. 
 
 Dich. That's enough of that. Put a stopper over 
 all, there. 
 
 Theo. So you want to put into Tortuga ? 
 
 All. Yes. 
 
 Theo. And go ashore to get drunk? 
 
 All. Yes. 
 
 Theo. Then I tell you that you'll do nothing of the 
 kind. You'll back off from here, and work this brig 
 to Boca Drago. Get forward with you to your work. 
 
 Dich. You hear, there. Clear out of this. 
 
 All. Don't you mix up with this, Dick. It's noth- 
 ing to do with you. Now, Theo, are you going to put 
 into Tortuga ? 
 
 Theo. Stand back. Get forward. You've had 
 your answer. 
 
 Dich. Look out. Cap. Draw your gun or he'll rope 
 you. 
 
 In another instant Dick was slung backwards on to 
 the deck, and as he lay there a couple of seamen sat upon 
 him. Little Theo, clove-hitched round his elbows, was 
 knocked over on his face. Both were bound up as 
 tightly as a man-of-warsman's hammock. 
 
 " Now then," said Silvestre, " you see ? You for-
 
 278 LOST ENDEAVOTJE 
 
 bade us to go ashore. Muj bien. Now I am captain, 
 not you. And now that I am captain, I tell you that 
 your story of going to the island is a story of a cow 
 and a hen, and yourself are no more good than a twice- 
 laid rope. So. Muy bien. You shall cease to be cap- 
 tain. You shall go ashore and tell your tales to the 
 French at Petit Guaves." 
 
 " What about the boy ? " said one of the seamen, in- 
 dicating me. " He's a regular hanger-on of the cabin 
 lot. I vote that he goes with them." 
 
 " Yes," said another man. " He's no good. Dirty, 
 idle skrimshanker. He's an unlucky youngster any- 
 way. Let him go with them." 
 
 " Yes," said another. " And now that that is set- 
 tled, we'll put these charming birds down below till we 
 make port. Let them sing and hang together." With 
 this, they bundled us down into the cabin. It was 
 dark in the cabin. Those on deck flung a tarpaulin 
 over the skylight, so that we could not see the stars. 
 We lay bound, flat on our backs, staring up at darkness. 
 Sometimes, by moving our heads a little, we could see a 
 gleam on the water through the cabin windows. Some- 
 times a man came groping in to get something, letting 
 in a little light from without. Otherwise we felt, as I 
 have sometimes fancied that the statues in a church must 
 feel, not quite alive. Little Theo was silent. The sud- 
 den dashing of his hope just when all had seemed pos- 
 sible to him, had made him as mute as a fish. Dick at 
 first was silent too. He showed then, I think, that his 
 was not (as I had thought) a master's mind. He was 
 
 ii
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 279 
 
 looking to Theo to direct him. He was good enough 
 at some common emergency of the sea, such as the mend- 
 ing of a pump, or the stealing of the frigate's topsails ; 
 but now he was dashed and crestfallen, waiting for his 
 captain to save him. He had tried to reason with the 
 hands, in his good-tempered way ; but he did not under- 
 stand these Spanish people, and his words, which might 
 have moved an English crew, only irritated them. He 
 saw this, and had the good sense to be quiet. So we 
 lay there in the cabin; and for my part I could not 
 help thinking of that verse in the Psalms which tells 
 us that " blood-thirsty and deceitful men shall not live 
 out half their days." 
 
 " Dick," I said, " what are they going to do to us ? " 
 
 " It'll be all right," he said. " Don't worry, boy. 
 We'll build our bridges when we come to the river. 
 It'll be all right." 
 
 " Are they going to sell us, Dick ? " 
 
 " I dunno," he answered. " Maybe that's what 
 they'll try to do. But don't you worry; I'll pull you 
 through." After that we were silent together for about 
 half an hour. Then Dick spoke again. 
 
 " I'm sorry for you, Cap. But maybe it will pan out 
 not so bad." 
 
 " I am hoping so," said Theo coldly. 
 
 "I didn't think it of Silvestre," said Dick. "I 
 wasn't quick enough. That was where I let you in. I 
 ought to have seen their game at once." 
 
 " It may be a good thing," said Theo. I imagine 
 from what happened afterwards that something had
 
 280 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 come into his mind. " Have you ever been in Tor- 
 tuga ? I mean, to live ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, " I've been there." 
 
 " What sort of a harbour is it there ? " 
 
 " ^o harbour," said Dick dully ; " only a road, where 
 I was — a road full of cat-boats and sloops. All the 
 scum of the Caribbean go there to buy letters of marque 
 from the French. Cat-boats and sloops, and then an 
 uphill sort of a shanty-town with a lot of seamen drink- 
 ing cana." 
 
 '' The Spaniards burnt it once," said Theo. " Spain 
 was too merciful ; she ought to have settled it with 
 people." 
 
 " Well, don't let's worry," said Dick ; " let's sleep." 
 
 XV 
 
 He was a tough sailor, able to sleep pretty much 
 wherever he pleased. He edged himself into a com- 
 fortable position, and fell asleep in a moment. Theo 
 said that he too would sleep ; but I, who was awake for 
 a long while after that, wondering what would happen 
 to me, and whether I would ever see my father again, 
 could tell that he did not sleep. He said " Ah " ex- 
 citedly once or twice, as though something good had 
 occurred to him ; and when I woke, just before the dawn, 
 he was still awake, muttering to himself. He said that 
 he had not yet been to sleep; but that it was all right, 
 he could do without.
 
 CHAELES HAKDING'S STOKY 281 
 
 We made the western end of Tortuga the next morn- 
 ing. By noon we were up with it, sailing about a mile 
 from the shore, with the shipping in the roadstead 
 plainly visible, though still pretty far away ahead of 
 us. They lowered a boat olf the western end of the 
 island. Silvestre and three others got into it. They 
 were there, with their oars out, dragging alongside, as 
 the brig slowly forged ahead, when (our ankle-bonds 
 being cut) we were marched up on deck into the light. 
 
 " Well, boys," said Dick easily, " what is it going to 
 be?" 
 
 "Get down into the boat here," said Silvestre; 
 " you're going ashore." 
 
 Dick scowled at me as though to say " You be quiet," 
 and led the way down. When we were settled in the 
 stern-sheets the boat was cast off. Silvestre, who pulled 
 the stroke-oar, sneered at us, asking if we should like 
 being sold. Dick nudged me hard to keep quiet. No- 
 body answered Silvestre. We sat with bound hands in 
 the stern-sheets, staring into his face. He had a yel- 
 lowish face, with broken teeth which showed when he 
 grinned. He wore ear-rings, and a whitish kind of a 
 hat. The bulwarks of the brig were lined with similar 
 faces, staring down at us. The brig seemed to roll a 
 good deal ; for there was a swell, and hardly any wind. 
 As she drew away from us I read the name on her 
 transom, Nuestra Sefiora la Virgen Santisima, and the 
 port name, Havana, in gold underneath. Some one, 
 anxious to show his contempt for us, fired two pistols 
 at us from over the taffrail while we were within easy
 
 282 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 range. The shot splashed the water on to Theo's hands, 
 and lay there in little bright drops. He did not trouble 
 even to shake them away ; but sat still as before, staring 
 into Silvestre's face. There was something in his look 
 which frightened me. The water-drops made his skin 
 look like canvas. I kept thinking of the similarity. 
 Silvestre rowed slowly, pausing after each stroke to 
 stare back at Theo. Sometimes he paused in his row- 
 ing altogether, letting the boat drift, while he stared 
 into his prisoner's eyes. I had the horrible fancy that 
 he was debating whether to cut his throat or not. When 
 he stopped rowing I looked at the hilt of his knife, 
 which peeped out of its sheath in the belt lying on the 
 thwart beside him, where he had flung it so that he 
 might row more easily. It was an ordinary Spanish 
 sheath knife, with a sort of brass bird on the top of 
 the handle. It looked like a duck, but it was meant for 
 a phoenix. I wondered what we could do if he laid 
 aside his oar and reached for that knife. We could 
 upset the boat, I thought, and all drown together, pris- 
 oners and masters, or be torn by the sharks. There 
 were sharks there. One came nuzzling past, with a 
 great rippling heave, showing the white of his belly 
 as he shouldered down. 
 
 The boat gently grated past a submerged rock. Sil- 
 vestre stood up, and turned round. To me, in my dis- 
 ordered state, it seemed that he was going to kill us, 
 and that he was looking round for support among his 
 crew. One of the men caught his eye, and guessed his 
 intention (if indeed it had been what I thought). Per- 
 
 2i 
 
 i
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 283 
 
 haps there was some exchange of looks between them. 
 
 " We'll land them on the rocks, boss," he said. ^' It's 
 sheltered to leeward of the spit. Pull in." 
 
 After that Silvestre's intention cooled off. He sat 
 down, fingering his knife, and then went on with his 
 rowing. He kept looking at us in an ugly way ; but he 
 made no attempt upon us. We were safe for that time. 
 We drove in on a hissing roller, to a sheltered place 
 among the rocks. 
 
 " Jump out," said one of the men. 
 
 " Pull in, and let us jump ashore," said Dick. 
 " What sort of a place is this to land us ? " 
 
 " Good enough for you. Jump out," said Silvestre ; 
 " if not, we will throw you." 
 
 Theo jumped at once on to the rock ; I followed him ; 
 Dick lingered to speak his mind to Silvestre. 
 
 " Come along, Dick," I cried. I was afraid that he 
 would taunt them into some desperate cruelty. 
 
 " Get out," said Silvestre, raising his oar. 
 
 Dick jumped on to the rock beside me, to finish what 
 he had to say in safety. 
 
 " Otra vez, Silvestre," he said. " Otra vez. Hasta 
 luego, you amarillo perro. A Portuguese drummer's 
 cabron was your abbeyalo. Sabe? Mauana, mozos." 
 
 The men laughed at Silvestre's ugly face. They 
 looked at him and from one to another, expecting him 
 to avenge the insult. Dick waited for a few seconds 
 to see whether he would, but he did not ; I don't know 
 why. Perhaps he felt that even the pirates would have
 
 284 LOST E:N"DEAV0UR 
 
 despised him for hurting men whose hands were tied. 
 He scowled at us, and grinned to see us pitching on our 
 faces (as of course we did, owing to our hands being 
 bound) when we jumped from rock to rock. He was a 
 bad man, Silvestre. 
 
 XVI 
 
 After going about fifteen yards we came to a narrow 
 gut of sea, where we saw that we should have to wade. 
 Beyond it there was a steep bit of rock, difficult enough 
 to climb even with free hands. 
 
 " Kneel down, boy," said Dick, " and see if you can 
 bite my hand-lashings in two." 
 
 I knelt on the sharp rocks, and gnawed at the spun- 
 yarn till I got a bit of it gnawed in two. After that 
 Dick soon freed himself, and set us free. We stood 
 together, chafing our numbed hands, watching the boat, 
 which was now fifty yards from us, near the ground. 
 The brig had backed her topsail for them. She lay 
 gracefully heaving, " seething in her own milk," as 
 Dick said. Something flashed from the boat and went 
 in a gleam ashore. The boatman cried to us, pointing 
 to where the bright thing lay on the sand. 
 
 " They've thrown us a machete," said Dick. " I'm 
 going to throw them something." His knife had been 
 taken from him. In his pockets he had a case of wick- 
 trimming scissors, such as are used at sea for the bin- 
 nacle lamps half a dozen times in a night. With these 
 he snipped off a bit of leather from his belt, and trimmed
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 285 
 
 it to shape. " I'm going to make a sling," he cried ; 
 bring those bits of spunyarn and come along." 
 
 We plunged into the gut of sea together, and struck 
 out for the shore. We got to the beach safely, but 
 shaking with the cold of the water. We had had no 
 food ; we could not stand cold water. We had to stand 
 and stamp to get our warmth again. 
 
 Before the sling was ready the boat was alongside 
 the brig, out of sling shot, and the main-yards were 
 filling to the breeze. The beautiful little brig was 
 heaving away out of our lives towards that Port of 
 Peace, the " shanty town " of Dick's account, where the 
 seamen sit drinking caiia year in, year out, while the 
 money lasts. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Theo picked up the machete and felt it. It was a 
 sorry old " trade knife," blunt and dull, with a bright 
 tin basket-guard to please the Indians. We took off 
 our clothes, wrung them out and laid them to dry in the 
 sun. while we heaped hot sand upon our bodies, and 
 waited till we could wear them. 
 
 " Wliat is the next move. Cap ? " said Dick. 
 
 " Food," I answered. " There must be plantains 
 in the woods here." 
 
 "Yes. Food first," said Theo, "but afterwards I 
 have a plan. We are going to the island, you and I. 
 We have a chance yet. Who knows ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows," said Dick ; " but I don't see what 
 chance there is."
 
 286 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Yes," said Theo ; " to-night there will be a chance. 
 We shall get aboard one of the sloops in the Road, and 
 put to sea in her. In two weeks we shall be at the 
 island. I tell you that the spirit tells me. The road is 
 made plain to me. In two weeks we shall be in the 
 lagoon there, the northern lagoon, in time. I am quite 
 sure that we shall be in time." 
 
 " It is a crazy plan," I said. I had grown very old 
 for my years, with all these excitements and miseries. 
 !N'ow I felt myself the equal of these two grown men. 
 I spoke up boldly to them. Why should they settle my 
 destiny for me ? 
 
 " Not so crazy," said Dick. " But first we have to 
 cross this island. And there's not much chance of 
 doing that, by all accounts. There's the Tortuga 
 copper-head." 
 
 "What is that?" I asked. 
 
 " A snake," he said. " Not a very big one. He lies 
 in the canebrakes for mice, and strikes you before you 
 see him. He is a surly snake. He doesn't move out 
 of your way like other snakes. But, if we get across 
 the island, we must get out of it at once, be sure of that. 
 This is pirates' island, where we three will be outlaws; 
 any man strong enough to take us can enslave us. 
 That's the French law about foreigners. Neither you 
 nor I intend to go into slavery again. The only other 
 chance for us is to ship in privateers and go out a- 
 cruising with the gang again; rum and dough-boys. 
 The brig there has given me enough of privateers. 
 There's no life for a man in a privateer."
 
 CHAELES HARDING'S STORY 287 
 
 " Yes," said Tlieo, " we must go to the island. I told 
 you so." 
 
 " It's fifteen hundred miles, Cap," said Dick. 
 
 " The road will be cleared for us," said Theo. " Old 
 Father Coal- White, the negro, came to live in Tortuga. 
 He would help us if we could find him." 
 
 " The brig is up to the roads," said Dick. " If they 
 tell the planters about us, there'll be a hue and cry. 
 All the farmers will be out to catch us. We must 
 start." 
 
 We set out on our long march through the scrub. 
 We cut ourselves sharp stakes as weapons. We took it 
 in turns to cut a way with the machete. Whenever we 
 came to a fruit-tree we ate. The sun rose up to blister 
 us as we marched. We drank at every puddle and 
 brook to which we came. It was death to drink such 
 stuff, we told each other, but then it was death not to 
 drink. We did not think much about the snakes when 
 once the agony of thirst had begun. At about five in 
 the evening we were attacked by that pest, " the bete 
 rouge," a little stinging beast about as big as a pin's 
 head. It is a little creature, but its bite sows a man's 
 flesh with little burning fire sparks, which rage like 
 vitriol. After some time we found an oily kind of leaf 
 which soothed the pain of these bites ; but for a while 
 they took all heart out of us. When a man is in 
 fierce pain he is apt to think of nothing else. The 
 thirst, pain, and weariness destroyed our fear of snakes, 
 and made us go incautiously, forgetting that now we 
 were outlaws in a foreign land, prizes for whoever
 
 288 LOST EITDEAVOUR 
 
 would take us. Going on thus carelessly, with our 
 heads down, we came suddenly to a sugar-mill, where 
 a few slaves were piling their mattocks at the end of 
 the day's work. We had hoped to avoid people alto- 
 gether, perhaps, if we had been cautious, we might have 
 avoided these ; but there it was. We came plump upon 
 them, with no lie ready, and such a startled, guilty look 
 as made them suspicious, as we could see by the way 
 they stared, 
 
 Theo spoke to them at once, asking if this were the 
 Soleil d'Or estancia. They replied surlily by asking 
 us what we were. 
 
 " Good Frenchmen," said Theo, without thinking. 
 " Good Frenchmen in the tobacco trade, crossing the 
 island for stores." 
 
 They stared at us suspiciously, without speaking, for 
 some little time. JSTot liking their silence, Theo asked 
 them if Father Coal-White, the negro witch doctor, 
 still lived at Port of Peace. They did not answer him 
 at once. They all stood very still, staring hard. Then 
 one of them, moving a step forward, replied that nearly 
 all the negroes in the island had died of lung-sickness 
 the year before — " As surely we knew," he added 
 shrewdly, " if we were islanders as we maintained." 
 
 " Naturally, I know all that," said Theo. " I want 
 to know whether he survived the lung-sickness." 
 
 They did not answer him, but muttered among them- 
 selves. Then one of them, smiling, asked us whence 
 we came and whither we were going. Theo said that 
 we were going to Port of Peace.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 289 
 
 " And the boj," said the slave, quickly changing into 
 Spanish, " es tambien Frances el muchaco ? " [Is the 
 boy also French ?] 
 
 It was easy to see that the slaves thought us liars. 
 They had caught some Spanish trick of accent in Theo's 
 French, and now tried to surprise him into speaking 
 Spanish. Theo's face looked very blank, as though he 
 did not understand. 
 
 " Allons," he said, turning to us. We began to shog 
 off upon our road, while the slaves, still staring at us, 
 nodded to each other and muttered in the slaves' patois, 
 which none of us knew. 
 
 " They take us for runaway slaves," said Theo, under 
 his breath to us. " They get a reward for catching run- 
 aways. We must get rid of them." 
 
 One of them, the smiler, came after us, offering to 
 guide us into Port of Peace by a short cut. Theo told 
 him that we already knew the short cut, and that we 
 disliked the society of slaves, who were reckoned pretty 
 low in the scale in Tortuga in that year of grace. He 
 thought that this would quiet the fellow ; but no, he be- 
 came both saucy and truculent. He must have been a 
 favourite of his master, or nearly out of his time. He 
 followed us at a little distance, no doubt to watch 
 whether we took the short cut. Now and then he flung 
 little pebbles at us, and called out abusively. 
 
 " Never mind him," said Dick quietly. " If we 
 round on him we'll be tackled by the rest of the slaves. 
 Come on, and pay no attention." 
 
 " Not so," said Theo. " That would prove us to be
 
 290 LOST EITDEAVOUK 
 
 slaves in their opinion. ISTo free man would stand sucli 
 insolence here. We will treat him with the high hand. 
 Here he comes again. ISTow, after him." 
 
 We rogue-marched the fellow with us for some little 
 distance, and then Dick cobbed him with a cudgel. 
 It was a lucky thing as it proved that we brought him 
 with us a little way instead of cudgelling him on the 
 spot, for I learned, long afterwards, that the man, when 
 we let him go, ran back to the estancia for the blood- 
 hounds, vowing that we were escaped slaves. The 
 hounds (having just been fed) would not work the 
 scent; whereas, had we let him go at once, he would 
 have reached the estancia before the feeding-time, and 
 we should have been run down and taken. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 We got to the first house of Port of Peace at about 
 twelve that night. A dog was baying the moon in the 
 street before us, with his head thrown up, and his 
 shadow beside him, black as ink. A lamp or two burned 
 in the town, which sloped to the sea in a street of wooden 
 huts, some of them tottery and quaint in the moonlight. 
 A negro was beating a drum, far away below in a hut 
 near the water. Otherwise the town seemed deserted, 
 the town of a dream, the town of the sleeping beauty. 
 One or two negroes lay asleep in the street. A drunk- 
 ard, talking to himself in the dark, was the only voice 
 heard by us as we passed through.
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 291 
 
 There was a plank pier, jutting out into the water 
 between handrails, at the end of the town. At the end 
 of the pier stood a chister of poles to which boats were 
 moored. One little boat had oars in her. We got into 
 this boat, and pulled her in to the Road among the ship- 
 ping. The Road was very full of shipping. A pri- 
 vateer was fitting a fleet there (I believe) to cut log- 
 wood. The ships lay in tiers everywhere at double 
 moorings. A light mist about them made them unreal 
 and very beautiful. It was all like a dream, that night 
 adventure. 
 
 The sloops and small craft lay nearer to the shore 
 than the bigger ships. We rowed to a small sloop which 
 looked to be newly in from the sea, since she was 
 loaded and had her sails bent. We were not careful 
 any longer. Something in the night and the sea gave 
 us confidence, and it was not so dangerous as it sounds. 
 I think that we could have gone aboard any ship there 
 with equal certainty. Every man in all that shipping 
 had gone ashore to sleep. It was the custom in Tor- 
 tuga among the privateers, as Dick said. There was 
 no fever in Tortuga, and the custom suited the pub- 
 lic-house keepers. We got aboard the sloop and exam- 
 ined her. 
 
 She was padlocked at all her hatches; no one was 
 aboard her. She smelt very strong of logwood. There 
 was "no need to ask what she was," so Dick said. 
 That was the first time I ever smelt the log•^vood smell. 
 Afterwards, as you might say, I scented my life with 
 it. We broke open the padlocks with a spike from the
 
 292 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 boatswain's locker. We threw the hatches back to let 
 the air into the cabins, and then turned to together to 
 get the anchor up. 
 
 " We shall get to the island," said Theo quietly. " I 
 told you that the road would be cleared." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick ; " we shall make the island. We 
 can begin again at the island." 
 
 XIX 
 
 It comes back to me like madness, now; yet at the 
 time it seemed to be the only thing for us to do. So 
 much was closed to us, so much was dangerous to us, 
 so much was uncertain. Only the island seemed cer- 
 tain and safe and possible. And being all that, it be- 
 came everything to us, to Dick and myself, as well as 
 to the lunatic who had brought us there. We all felt 
 the magic of the island. It was like a land of promise 
 to us. The distance was nothing, the danger was noth- 
 ing. I do not understand the danger, and the others 
 did not show that it existed. Whatever might happen 
 at the island was dark to us, and in the future. The 
 going to the island was another matter; it was some- 
 thing certain, a plan, a plank to the drowning. Hope 
 rose up in me, as we got the anchor, that after all we 
 should reach the island before the mutineers. I 
 thought of nothing else as I hoisted and trimmed the 
 sails. The passion of Theo's gambling began to move 
 me. I was not so much excited for myself as a sharer 
 of Theo's excitement. His excitement coloured our
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 293 
 
 minds, so that everything was in a wrong proportion. 
 Excitement runs easily from one mind to another. 
 Theo infected us both. It seemed nothing to me that 
 I was helping to steal a man's sloop, for which I might 
 be hanged as a pirate. Playing this mad game had 
 blinded me. 
 
 "We shall get to the island," said Theo, as we be- 
 gan to draw out of the harbour. " If it were not meant 
 that we should reach the island, would all things, even 
 all disastrous things, have helped us as they have? I 
 tell you that we shall beat the mutineers. I shall com- 
 plete my work. Then I shall know the words of power ; 
 and I shall speak them to the Indians, and they will 
 rise up and drive out the foreigners. I shall be Manco 
 Capac come again. Bow, you wind. In a few days 
 I may be learning the word which makes the wind 
 blow.'"' 
 
 By dawn we were off Rabel, a weary trio, reckoning 
 the food and water which was to carry us so far. 
 
 XX 
 
 We made the island. We rose Sombrero Peak at 
 dawn one morning three weeks later. He glowed at 
 us out of the mist, catching the sun high up, before the 
 dawn had broken. The wind died away after that, and 
 all day long we lay within sight of him, tossing on 
 the sea, unable to get any nearer. At dusk a wind 
 caught us, and hurried us so near that we could see the
 
 294 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 lagoon entrance. We dared not stand in, there was sucli 
 a run of surf. We saw no trace of man on the island, 
 nor any ship's mast rising up over the neck of land 
 which shut the lagoon from the sea. 
 
 " We have come in time," said Theo. " We have 
 beaten them." 
 
 When he said that, dropping with weariness as I 
 was, I stood up to stare at the island. It was the place 
 which had been in my mind for so long a time. There 
 it was before us, dim and blue and fast fading, a dark- 
 ness flushed on its higher crags, and ringed with the 
 gleam of surf. And to-morrow, I thought, we shall be 
 — what ? Three poor forlorn men at the ends of the 
 world, or — ? It gave me awe to think that. " And 
 there on the island," I thought, " even if all that he 
 thinks be false, there has been a civilisation. There 
 has been a race which built temples and made poems. 
 They looked out over the sea here." I wondered if 
 any of them ever thought that all their splendour and 
 wisdom would pass away so utterly that a man believ- 
 ing in either would be counted a madman. Was he a 
 madman ? The brain of man holds marvellous things. 
 Dick, coming up half drowsed to head the sloop away 
 from the land, told me that we should soon know now. 
 
 " And if he becomes an idol," said Dick, " and rules 
 the Indians, you and I'll ha.ve happy days being 
 priests." 
 
 We went into the lagoon with a brisk breeze the 
 next morning, before the sun was out of the sea. I 
 had expected to see some trace at least of buildings
 
 CHARLES HAEDING'S STOEY 295 
 
 there. Instead of that there was nothing but jungle, 
 and the traces of recent fires among the scrub. 
 
 " We're too late, I guess," said Dick calmly. " The 
 scrub's burnt." 
 
 " Be quiet," said Theo. " They have been here, but 
 they may have done no harm. Let go the anchor." 
 
 We went ashore there, all three together. We went 
 through the wood by a narrow track no broader than 
 a horse's girth. Swathes of dead creepers lay on each 
 side of the track, where the machetes had slashed them 
 down. There were footprints in the mud of the path, 
 the marks of boot heels. 
 
 " These footprints were made a week ago," said 
 Dick. " Eegular cow-hunters' boots, and one of them 
 lame in the left leg. Doggy Sam has beaten you. 
 Cap." 
 
 " Be quiet," said Theo. " They may have done no 
 harm. Come on." 
 
 Soon we had climbed the scree, and crossed the broken 
 ground of the landslide. Now Dick took me by the 
 arm and pinched me, for a droning kind of a pipe 
 was wailing out of the earth all round me, changing 
 and roaring till the air was full of it, and then 
 dwindling into almost nothing. 
 
 " There is the whistling," said Theo ; " but we have 
 come too late for the rest." 
 
 Down below in a little hollow lay a heap of broken 
 reddish iron stones, scattered confusedly into a cairn. 
 Above the cairn stood a cleft pole, with a tin plate 
 stuck in the cleft. We slithered into the valley, and
 
 296 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 hauled down the ensign. There was writing on it, 
 scratched with a knife. Dick read it out, while Theo 
 looked about among the stones. 
 
 " Captain Theo," it ran, " your joss-house is smash- 
 oh. We done it good with kegs of powder. You was a 
 roten Cap. Smash-oh. We are havin good times. 
 
 Sam, mr mr. Prins of Wals. 
 
 Bill. Governor of Jamaica. 
 
 Charls. Adml. 
 
 So long, you dago swot." 
 
 Theo sat down among the rubbish, and held out a 
 broken tablet which had once been ingeniously carved. 
 " The clock is put back," he said simply. " The tem- 
 ple is blown to pieces. The Indians must wait, that is 
 all. I am not to be Manco Capac." 
 
 " Cheer up," said Dick ; " it's not your fault." 
 
 "No; it's not my fault," said Theo. "But it is 
 strange. All these months I have felt that I was di- 
 vinely inspired to do this work among the Indians. 
 I have felt that I was the agent of higher powers. And, 
 after all their help and suggestions, a fool with a keg of 
 powder stops the work forever." 
 
 " He may be an agent for even higher powers," I 
 said. 
 
 " Maybe," said Dick, evidently much struck by my 
 remark. " But why should he stop it forever ? Why 
 not go on to Nicolai ? The temple was all foolishness. 
 Put it out of your head, Cap. We'll go on to Nicolai
 
 CHARLES HARDING'S STORY 297 
 
 and be kings, like what you said. We could bo kings 
 without any temple, I guess. We're Christians, teak- 
 bound. We don't allow temples in our religion. Cheer 
 up. Cheer up, man. We'll go on to Nicolai and 
 be kings." 
 
 " We cannot go on to N'icolai," said Theo. " Our 
 sloop comes from the log-wood camps. If we went near 
 the Lagoon of Tides the sloop would be recognised. We 
 should be hanged as pirates." 
 
 " We can't stop here," I said. 
 
 XXI 
 
 It was Dick who solved the problem. 
 
 " Well," he said, " the king scheme's done with. It 
 was good while it lasted; it gave us good fun. But 
 it's done with. Shut it out of your head. Cap. Mean- 
 while, this stuff under our feet here is iron ore worth 
 working." 
 
 " Well ? " I said. 
 
 " We'll sail for Jamaica this afternoon," said Dick, 
 " as soon as our water's filled. We'll file our claim to 
 the island, and come back and get to work." 
 
 " What then ? " said Theo. 
 
 " Why," he said cheerily, " we'll get that iron up, 
 and sell it to the l^avy Yards. It'll be better than smug- 
 gling." 
 
 "I don't want anything," said Theo. "My life 
 ended when they put the match to the train."
 
 298 LOST ENDEAVOUR 
 
 " Life goes on," said Dick, shoving him ahead along 
 the path to the lagoon, " and iron is twenty pounds the 
 ton. You won't think of no grief when you got a few 
 tons of iron on the top of it. Pasear, my son. We'll 
 sail." 
 
 That afternoon we sailed. 
 
 Y todas las cosas se pasan. 
 Las memorias se acahan 
 Las linguas se cansan. 
 
 THE END 
 
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