Table of Contents

"Great African Travellers"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

"Happy Jack"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

"The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Four.

"Hendricks the Hunter"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

"How Britannia Came to Rule the Waves"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

"The Gilpins and their Fortunes"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

"The Grateful Indian"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

"The Heir of Kilfinnan"

Preface.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Three.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Great African Travellers"

From Mungo Park To Livingstone And Stanley.

Chapter One.

Introductory.

Introduction—The African Association—Ledyard—Lucas—First information respecting the Niger, or Quorra, and the Gambia—Timbuctoo heard of—Thompson and Jobson’s voyage up the Gambia—Major Haughton’s expedition and death.

When the fathers of the present generation were young men, and George the Third ruled the land, they imagined that the whole interior of Africa was one howling wilderness of burning sand, roamed over by brown tribes in the north and south, and by black tribes—if human beings there were—on either side of the equator, and along the west coast.

The maps then existing afforded them no information. Of the Mountains of the Moon they knew about as much as of the mountains in the moon. The Nile was not explored—its sources unknown—the course of the Niger was a mystery. They were aware that the elephant, rhinoceros, cameleopard, zebra, lion and many other strange beasts ranged over its sandy deserts; but very little more about them than the fact of their existence was known. They knew that on the north coast dwelt the descendants of the Greek and Roman colonists, and of their Arab conquerors—that there were such places as Tangiers, Tripoli, Tunis, Algiers with its piratical cruisers who carried off white men into slavery; Morocco, with an emperor addicted to cutting off heads; Salee, which sent forth its rovers far over the ocean to plunder merchantmen; and a few other towns and forts, for the possession of which Europeans had occasionally knocked their heads together.

From the west coast they had heard that ivory and gold-dust was to be procured, as well as an abundant supply of negroes, whose happy lot it was to be carried off to cultivate the plantations of the West Indies and America; but, except that they worshipped fetishes, of their manners and customs, or at what distance from the coast they came, their ignorance was profound. They possibly were acquainted with the fact that the Portuguese had settlements at Loango, Angola, and Benguela; and that Hottentots and Kaffirs were to be found at the Cape, where a colony had been taken from the Dutch, but with that colony, except in the immediate neighbourhood of Cape Town, where ships to and from India touched, they were but slightly acquainted.

Eastward, if they troubled their heads about the matter, they had a notion that there was a terribly wild coast, inhabited by fierce savages, and northward, inside the big island of Madagascar, that the Portuguese had some settlements for slaving purposes; that further north again was Zanzibar, and that the mainland was without a town or spot where civilised man was to be found, till the Strait of Bab el Mandeb, at the mouth of the Red Sea, was reached. That there, towards the interior, was the wonderful country of Abyssinia, in which the Queen of Sheba once ruled, and Nubia, the birthplace from time immemorial of black slaves, and that, flowing northward, the mysterious Nile made its way down numerous cataracts, fertilising the land of Egypt on its annual overflows, till, passing the great city of Cairo, it entered the Mediterranean by its numberless mouths.

About Egypt, to be sure, more was known than of all the rest of the continent together—that there were pyramids and ruined cities, colossal statues, temples and tombs, crocodiles and hippopotami in the waters of the sacred river, and Christian Copts and dark-skinned Mahommedans dwelling on its banks. But few had explored the mighty remains of its past glory, or made their way either to the summits or into the interiors of its mountain-like edifices.

Those who had read Herodotus believed in a good many wonders which that not incredulous historian narrates. The late discoveries of Livingstone, however, prove that Herodotus had obtained a more correct account of the sources of the Nile than has hitherto been supposed. Indeed, free range was allowed to the wildest imagination, and the most extravagant stories found ready believers, there being no one with authority to contradict them.

When, however, Bruce and other travellers made their way further than any civilised man had before penetrated into the interior of the continent, their accounts were discredited, and people were disappointed when they were told that many of their cherished notions had no foundation in truth; in fact, up to the commencement of the present century the greater part of Africa was a terra incognita, and only by slow and painful degrees, and during a comparatively late period, has a knowledge of some of its more important geographical features been obtained.

We will now set forth and accompany in succession the most noted of the various travellers who, pushing their way into that long unknown interior, bravely encountering its savage and treacherous tribes, its fever-giving climate, famine, hardships, dangers and difficulties of every description, have contributed to fill up some of the numerous blank places on the map. Although, by their showing, sand enough and to spare and vast rocky deserts are to be found, there are wide districts of the greatest fertility, possessed of many natural beauties—elevated and cool regions, where even the European can retain his health and strength and enjoy existence; lofty mountains, magnificent rivers and broad lakes, and many curious and interesting objects, not more wonderful, however, than those of other parts of the globe, while the inhabitants in every direction, though often savage and debased, differ in no material degree from the other descendants of Ham.

Although our fathers knew very little about Africa, their interest had been excited by the wonders it was supposed to contain, and they were anxious to obtain all possible information respecting it. This was, however, no easy matter, as most of the travellers who endeavoured to make their way into the interior had died in the attempt.

A society called the African Association, to which the Marquis of Hastings and Sir John Banks belonged, was at length formed to open up the mighty continent to British commerce and civilisation.

The first explorer they despatched was Ledyard, who as a sergeant of marines had sailed round the world with Captain Cook, and after living among the American Indians had pushed his way to the remotest parts of Asiatic Russia. If any man could succeed, it was thought he would.

He proceeded to Egypt, intending to make his way to Sennaar, and thence to traverse the entire breadth of the African continent; but, seized with an illness at Cairo, he died just as he was about to start with a caravan.

The next traveller engaged by the society was Mr Lucas, who, having been captured by a Salee rover, had been several years a slave in Morocco. He started from Tripoli, but was compelled by the disturbed state of the country to the south of that place to put back.

It should have been said that it had been long known that two mighty rivers flowed through the interior of Africa, one called the Gambia and the other the Niger, or Quorra; but whereabouts they rose, or the direction they took, or the nature of the country they traversed in their course, no exact information was possessed.

From Arab traders, also, accounts had been received of a vast city, situated near the banks of the Niger, far away across the desert, called Timbuctoo, said to possess palaces, temples and numberless public buildings, to be surrounded by lofty walls and glittering everywhere with gold and precious stones, to rival the ancient cities of Mexico and Peru in splendour and those of Asia in the amount of its population.

A century and a half before, two sea captains, Thompson and Jobson, sent out by a company for the purpose, had made their way some distance up the Gambia in boats, and early in the eighteenth century Captain Stibbs had gallantly sailed up the same river to a considerable distance, but, his native crew refusing to proceed, he was compelled to return without having gained much information.

As a wide sandy desert intervened between the shores of the Mediterranean and the centre of Africa, it was naturally supposed that the unknown region could be more easily reached from the west coast than over that barren district, and, soon after the return of Lucas, Major Haughton, a high-spirited, gallant officer who had lived some time in Morocco, volunteered to make his way along the bank of the Gambia eastward, under the belief that a journey by land was more likely to succeed than one by water. Some way up that river is the the town of Pisania, where an English factory had been established, and a few Europeans were settled, with a medical man, Dr Laidley. Leaving this place, he proceeded to Tisheet, a place in the Great Desert, hoping from thence to reach Timbuctoo; but, robbed by a Moorish chief, of everything he possessed, he wandered alone through the desert, till, exhausted by hunger and thirst, he sat down under a tree and died. The news of his fate was brought to Dr Laidley soon afterwards by some negroes.

These expeditions threw no light on the interior of the continent. A fresh volunteer, however, Mungo Park, then unknown to fame, was soon to commence those journeys which have immortalised his name, and which contributed so greatly to solve one of the chief African problems—the course of the Niger.

Chapter Two.

Travels of Mungo Park.

Parentage—Returns from India—Sent out by the African Association—Sails for Africa—Arrives at Pisania—Starts with a come eastward—Mumbo Jumbo—Arrives at Koojar—Reaches capital of Bondou—Welcomed at the capital of Kaarta by King Daisy—Seized at the town of Dalli by Moorish soldiers, and carried captive to Benowm—Barbarously treated by Ali—Taken to visit Ali’s wife Fatima—She compassionates him—Almost starved—Difficulty of obtaining water—His servants taken from him—Ali attacked by Daisy—Park again falls into Ali’s hands—Resolves to escape.

Mungo Park, who long ranked as the chief of African travellers, was born on the 10th of September, 1771, at Fowlshiels, a farm occupied by his father on the banks of the Yarrow, not far from the town of Selkirk, in Scotland.

The elder Mr Park, also called Mungo, was a substantial yeoman of Ettrick Forest, and was distinguished for his unremitting attention to the education of his children, the greater number of whom he saw respectably settled in life. The young Mungo, after receiving with his brothers a course of education at home under a private tutor, was sent to the Grammar School at Selkirk, and at the age of fifteen was apprenticed to Mr Thomas Anderson, a surgeon of that town. Hence he removed to the University of Edinburgh, and during his vacations made a tour with his brother-in-law, Mr Dickson, a distinguished botanist. On going to London he was introduced by his relative to Sir Joseph Banks, whose interest procured for him the appointment of assistant surgeon to the “Worcester,” East Indiaman. Returning from India, he offered his services to the African Association, who, notwithstanding the failure of the first expeditions they had sent out, still determined to persevere in their efforts.

Possessed of unbounded courage and perseverance, he was admirably fitted for the task he undertook, and his offer was gladly accepted.

Having received his final instructions from the African Association, he sailed from Portsmouth on the 22nd of May, 1795, on board the “Endeavour,” an African trader bound for the Gambia, where he arrived on the 21st of the following month.

His directions were to make his way to the Niger, by Bambook or any other route, to ascertain the course of that river, and to visit the principal towns in its neighbourhood, particularly Timbuctoo and Houssa, and afterwards to return by way of the Gambia or any other route he might deem advisable.

Houssa is not a city, as was then supposed, but a kingdom or province.

The vessel anchored on the 21st of June at Jillifree, where he landed and from thence proceeded up the Gambia to Pisania. The only white residents were Dr Laidley and two merchants of the name of Ainsley, with their numerous black domestics. It is in the dominions of the King of Yany, who afforded them protection.

Assisted by Dr Laidley, Park here set to work to learn the Mandingo tongue, and to collect information from certain black traders called Seedees. During his residence at Pisania he was confined for two months by a severe fever, from which he recovered under the constant care of his host.

A coffle, or caravan, being about to start for the interior of Africa, Park, having purchased a hardy and spirited horse and two asses, arranged to accompany it. He obtained also the services of Johnson, a negro who spoke both English and Mandingo. Dr Laidley also provided him with a negro boy named Demba, a sprightly youth who spoke, besides Mandingo, the language of a large tribe in the interior. His baggage consisted only of a small stock of provisions, beads, amber and tobacco, for the purchase of food on the road; a few changes of linen, an umbrella, pocket compass, magnetic compass and thermometer, with a fowling-piece, two pair of pistols and other small articles. Four Mahommedan blacks also offered their services as his attendants. They were going to travel on foot, driving their horses before them. These six attendants regarded him with great respect, and were taught to consider that their safe return to the countries of the Gambia would depend on his preservation.

Dr Laidley and the Mr Ainsleys accompanied him for the two first days, secretly believing that they should never see him again.

Taxes are demanded from travellers at every town, by the chiefs.

Madina was the first town of any size he reached. He was here received by King Jatta, a venerable old man, who had treated Major Haughton with great kindness. He was seated on a mat before his hut, a number of men and women ranged on either side, who were singing and clapping their hands. Park, saluting him respectfully, informed him of the purport of his visit. The king replied that he not only gave him leave to pass, but would offer up his prayers for his safety. He warned him, however, of the dangers he would encounter, observing that the people in the east differed greatly from those of his country, who were acquainted with white men and respected them.

The king having provided a guide, Park took his departure, reaching Konjowar the next night. Here, having purchased a sheep, he found Johnson and one of his negroes quarrelling about the horns. It appeals that these horns are highly valued as being easily converted into sheaths for keeping secure certain charms, called saphies. These saphies are sentences from the Koran, which the Mahommedan priests write on scraps of paper and sell to the natives, who believe that they possess extraordinary virtues. They indeed consider the art of writing as bordering on magic; and it is not in the doctrines of the Prophet, but in the arts of the magician that their confidence is placed.

On the 8th, entering Koloa, a considerable town, he observed hanging on a tree a masquerading habit, made of bark, which he was told belonged to Mumbo Jumbo, a sort of wood demon, held greatly in awe, especially by the female part of the community. This strange bugbear is common to all the Mandingo towns, and much employed by the pagan negroes in keeping their women in subjection. As the Kaffirs, or pagan Africans, are not restricted in the number of their wives, every one marries as many as he can conveniently maintain; and it frequently happens that the ladies disagree among themselves, their quarrels sometimes reaching to such a height that the authority of the husband can no longer preserve peace in his household,—in such cases the interposition of Mumbo Jumbo is called in and is always decisive. This strange minister of justice, who is supposed to be either the husband or some person instructed by him, disguised in the dress which has just been mentioned, and armed with the rod of public authority, announces his coming by loud and dismal screams in the woods near the town.

He begins the pantomime at the approach of night, and as soon as it is dark he enters the town and proceeds to the bentang, or public meeting-house, at which all the inhabitants immediately assemble. The women do not especially relish this exhibition; for, as the person in disguise is entirely unknown to them, every married female suspects that the visit may possibly be intended for her; but they dare not refuse to appear when summoned.

The ceremony commences with songs and dances, which continue till midnight, about which time Mumbo fixes on the offender. The unfortunate victim being thereupon immediately seized, is stripped naked, tied to a post, and receives a severe switching with Mumbo’s rod, amidst the derisive shouts of the whole assembly, the rest of the women being the loudest in their exclamations against their unhappy sister. Daylight puts an end to the unmanly revel.

The desert was now to be passed, in which no water was to be procured. The caravan therefore travelled rapidly till they arrived at Koojar, the frontier town of Woolli, on the road to Bondou, from which it is separated by another intervening wilderness of two days’ journey.

While crossing the desert, they came to a tree, adorned with scraps of cloth, probably at first hung up to inform other travellers that water was to be found near it; but the custom has been so sanctioned by time that nobody presumes to pass without hanging up something. Park followed the example and suspended a handsome piece of cloth on one of the boughs. Finding, however, a fire, which the negroes thought had been made by banditti, they pushed on to another watering-place, where, surrounded by their cattle, they lay down on the bare ground, out of gun-shot from the nearest bush, the negroes agreeing to keep watch by turns, to prevent surprise.

They soon after reached Koorkarany, a Mahommedan town, which contained a mosque, and was surrounded by a high wall. The maraboo, or priest, a black, showed Park a number of Arabic manuscripts, passages from which he read and explained in Mandingo.

Moving on at noon of the 21st of December, the traveller...

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His fellow-travellers considered it necessary to journey by night till they could reach a more hospitable part of the country. They accordingly started as soon as the people in the village had gone to sleep. The stillness of the air, the howling of the wild beasts and the deep solitude of the forest made the scene solemn and impressive. Not a word, except in a whisper, was uttered; and his companions pointed out to him the wolves and hyaenas, as they glided like shadows from one thicket to another.

The inhabitants of Bondou are called Foulahs. They are naturally of a mild and gentle disposition; but the uncharitable maxims of the Koran have made them less hospitable to strangers and more reserved in their behaviour than the Mandingoes.

Leaving Bondou, the caravan entered the kingdom of Kajaaga. The inhabitants, whose complexion is jet-black, are called Serrawoollies. The dooty, or chief man of Joag, the frontier town, though a rigid Mahommedan, treated Park very civilly; but while he was staying there a party of horseman, sent by the king, arrived to conduct him to Maana, his residence. When there, the king demanded enormous duties, and Park had to pay him the five drachms of gold which he had received from the King of Bondou, besides which his baggage was opened and everything of value taken. His companions now begged him to turn back, and Johnson declared it would be impossible to proceed without money. He had fortunately concealed some of his property; but they were afraid of purchasing provisions, lest the king should rob him of his few remaining effects. They therefore resolved to combat hunger during the day and wait for another opportunity of obtaining food.

While seated on the ground, with his servant-boy by his side, a poor woman came up with a basket on her head, and asked Park if he had had his dinner. The boy replied that the king’s people had robbed him of all his money. On hearing this the good old woman, with a look of unaffected benevolence, took the basket from her head, and presented him with a few handfuls of ground nuts, walking away before he had time to thank her.

Leaving Joag in company with thirty persons and six loaded asses, he rode on cheerfully for some hours till the caravan reached a species of tree for which Johnson had frequently inquired. On seeing it he produced a white chicken which he had purchased at Joag, tied it by a leg to one of the branches, and then told his companions that they might safely proceed, as the journey would be prosperous.

This incident shows the power of superstition over the minds of negroes; for though this man had resided seven years in England, it was evident that he still retained the superstitions imbibed in his youth.

Koomakary was the birthplace of one of Park’s companions from Pisania, a blacksmith, who had been attentive to him on the road. On approaching the place shouts were raised and muskets were fired. The meeting between the long-absent blacksmith and his relations was very tender. The younger ones having embraced him, his aged mother was led forth, leaning upon a staff. Every one made way for her as she stretched out her hands to bid her son welcome. Being totally blind, she stroked his arms, hands and face with great care, and seemed highly delighted that her ears once more could hear the music of his voice. “It was evident,” observes Park, “that, whatever may be the difference between the negro and European, there is none in the genuine sympathies and characteristic feelings of our common nature.”

The king, Dembo Sego, gave the traveller an audience, and appeared well-disposed towards him. An escort was also sent to conduct him to the frontiers of Kaarta.

The capital of that province was reached on the 12th of February, and as soon as he arrived a messenger came from the king, bidding him welcome, and a large hut was at once provided for his accommodation. The people, however crowded in till it was completely full; when the first visitors went, another took their place—in this way the hut being filled and emptied thirteen different times.

Park found the king, whose name was Daisy, surrounded by a number of attendants, the fighting men on his right-hand and the women and children on his left. A bank of earth, on which was spread a leopard-skin, formed the throne. Daisy seemed perfectly satisfied with the account the traveller gave of himself, but warned him of the dangers in his way on account of the war which was then raging, and advised him to return to Kason, there to remain till it was over. Wise as this advice was, the approaching hot months made it important for him to proceed, dreading as he did having to spend the rainy season in the interior of Africa.

Daisy presented him with food, and sent a party of horse men to conduct him to Jarra, while three of his sons, with about two hundred horsemen, undertook to accompany him part of the way.

He had evidence of the disturbed state of the country while staying at the next town he entered. A body of Moors approached the gates and carried off the cattle, and one of the horsemen was shot by a Moor. The wounded man was brought in, when, as he was borne along, his mother went before, clapping her hands and enumerating the good qualities of her son. The ball had passed through both his legs, and as he and his friends would not consent to have one of them amputated, he died the same night.

Going forward, on the 18th they passed through Simbug, the frontier village of Ludamar. It was from hence Major Haughton wrote his last letter, with a pencil, to Dr Laidley. After leaving the place, when endeavouring to make his way across the desert, he was murdered by some savage Mahommedans, who robbed him of everything he possessed.

At this time, while Daisy was employed in fortifying a strong position among the hills, his territory was overrun by his enemy, Mansong.

On the evening of the 5th of March Park reached the town of Dalli. Here the people crowded in so disagreeable a manner to see the white stranger, that his host proposed, in order to avoid them, going in the cool of the evening to a negro village called Samee, at a short distance off.

As he was now within two days’ journey of the heathen kingdom of Goumba, he had no apprehensions from the Moors, and readily accepted the invitation. His landlord was proud of the honour of entertaining a white man, and Park spent the forenoon very pleasantly with these poor negroes, their gentleness of manner presenting a striking contrast to the rudeness and barbarity of the Moors.

While thus enjoying himself, greatly to his dismay a party of Moorish soldiers suddenly appeared in the place. They were sent, they said, by their chief, Ali, to convey the white stranger to his camp at Benowm. If he would come willingly it would be better for him, but come he must, as they had orders to convey him by force; because Fatima, Ali’s wife, having heard much about Christians, was anxious to see one. Park, unable to resist, was compelled to accompany them. The journey occupied many days, during which both Park and his attendants suffered much from thirst.

On the evening of the 12th they came in sight of Benowm, which presented to the eye a number of dirty-looking tents scattered without order over a large space of ground. Among the tents appeared large herds of camels, cattle and goats. As soon as he was seen the people who were drawing water threw down their buckets and, rushing towards him, began to treat him with the greatest discourtesy; one pulled at his clothes, another took off his hat, while a third stopped him to examine his waistcoat buttons.

At length the king’s tent was reached, where a number of men and women were assembled. Ali was seated on a black leather cushion, clipping a few hairs from his upper lip, a female attendant holding up a looking-glass before him.

He enquired whether the stranger could speak Arabic, and being answered in the negative he remained silent. The ladies, however, asked a thousand questions, inspected his apparel, searched his pockets, and obliged him to unbutton his waistcoat to display the whiteness of his skin.

In the evening the priests announced prayer. Before they departed his Moorish guide told him that Ali was about to present him with something to eat. On looking round he saw some boys bringing a wild hog, which they tied to one of the tent ropes, when Ali made signs to him to kill and dress it for supper. Though very hungry, he did not think it prudent to eat any part of an animal so much detested by the Moors, and therefore replied that he never touched such food. The hog was then untied, in the hopes that it would run at the stranger, the Moors believing that a great enmity subsists between hogs and Christians. In this, however, they were disappointed, for the animal no sooner regained his liberty than he began to attack indiscriminately every person who came in his way, and at last took shelter under the couch upon which the king was sitting.

Park was after this conducted to a hut, where he found another wild hog—tied there to a stick for the purpose of annoying him. It attracted a number of boys, who amused themselves by beating it with sticks, till they so irritated the animal that it ran and bit at every person within reach.

A number of people came in and made him take off his stockings to exhibit his feet, and then his jacket and waistcoat to show them how his clothes were put off and on.

Day after day he was treated in the same manner. He was also compelled to undertake various offices. First, he was told to shave the head of one of the young princes, but, unaccustomed to use a razor, he soon cut the boy’s skin, on seeing which the king ordered him to desist.

On the 18th his black servant, Johnson, was brought in as as a prisoner before Ali by some Moors, who had also seized a bundle of his clothes left at Jarra. Of these Ali took possession, and Park was unable to obtain even a clean shirt or anything he required. The Moors next stripped him of his gold, his watch, the amber he had remaining and one of his pocket compasses. Fortunately he had hidden the other in the sand near his hut. This, with the clothes on his back, was the only thing Ali now left him.

Ali, on examining the compass, wished to know why the small needle always pointed to the Great Desert. Park, unwilling to inform him of the exact truth, replied that his mother lived far beyond the sands of the Sahara, and that while she was alive the piece of iron would always point that way and serve as a guide to conduct him to her. Ali, suspecting that there was something magical in it, was afraid of keeping so dangerous an instrument in his possession.

The Moors now held a council to determine what should be done with the stranger. Some proposed that he should be put to death, others that he should only lose his right-hand, and one of Ali’s sons came to him in the evening and with much concern informed him that his uncle had persuaded his father to put out his eyes. Ali, however, replied that he would not do so until Fatima, the queen, who was at present in the north, had seen him.

In vain Park begged that he might be permitted to return to Jarra. Ali replied that he must wait till Fatima had seen him, and that then he should be at liberty to go, and that his horse should be restored to him.

So wearied out was he at last with all the insults he received that he felt ready to commit any act of desperation.

One day Ali sent to say that he must be in readiness to ride out with him, as he intended to show him to some of his women. They together visited the tents of four different ladies, at every one of which he was presented with a bowl of milk and water. They were all remarkably corpulent, which in that country is the highest mark of beauty. They were also very inquisitive, examining minutely his hair and skin, though affecting to consider him as a sort of inferior being to themselves, and pretending to shudder when they looked at the whiteness of his skin. Notwithstanding the attention shown him by these fat dames, his condition was not improved, and he was often left without even food or water, while suffering fearfully from the heat.

Ali at length moved his camp, and Park was sent forward under the escort of one of the king’s sons. The new encampment was larger than that of Benowm, and situated in the midst of a thick wood, about two miles distant from a neighbouring town, called Bubaka. Here Park was introduced to queen Fatima by Ali. She seemed much pleased at his coming, shaking hands with him, even though Ali had told her that he was a Christian. She was a remarkably corpulent woman, with an Arab cast of countenance and long hair.

After asking a number of questions, with the answers to which she appeared interested, she became perfectly at her ease and presented her visitor with a bowl of milk. She was, indeed, the only person who treated Park kindly during his stay.

Both men and cattle suffered much from thirst, and though Ali had given him a skin for containing water, and Fatima once or twice presented him with a small supply, yet such was the barbarous disposition of the Moors, that when his boy attempted to fill his skin at the wells, he generally received a sound drubbing for his presumption. One night, having in vain attempted to obtain water, he resolved to try his fortune himself at the wells, which were about half a mile distant. About midnight he set out, and, guided by the lowing of the cattle, he reached the place. Here a number of Moors were drawing water, but he was driven by them from each well in succession. At last he reached one where there was only an old man and two boys. He earnestly besought the first to give him some water. The old man complied, and drew up a bucket; but no sooner did Park take hold of it than, recollecting that the stranger was a Christian, and fearing that his bucket might be polluted, he dashed the water into the trough, and told him to drink from thence. Though the trough was none of the largest, and three cows were already drinking in it, Park knelt down, and, thrusting his head between two of the cows, drank with intense pleasure till the water was nearly exhausted.

The rainy season was now approaching, when the Moors evacuate the country of the negroes and return to the skirts of the Great Desert.

Ali looked upon Park as a lawful prisoner, and though Fatima allowed him food and otherwise treated him kindly, she had as yet said nothing about his release.

Fortunately for him, Ali had resolved to send an expedition to Jarra, of two hundred Moorish horsemen, to attack Daisy. Park obtained permission to accompany them, and, through the influence of Fatima, he also received back his bundle of clothes and his horse.

On the 26th of May, accompanied by Johnson and his boy Demba, he set out with a number of Moors on horseback, Ali having gone on before. On his way Ali’s chief slave came up and told Demba that Ali was to be his master in future; then, turning to Park, said, “The boy goes back to Bubaka, but you may take the old fool,” meaning Johnson, “with you to Jarra.” Park in vain pleaded for Demba, but the slave only answered that if he did not mount his horse he would send him back likewise. Poor Demba was not less affected than his master. Having shaken hands with the unfortunate boy, and assured him that he would do everything in his power to redeem him, Park saw him led off by three of Ali’s slaves.

At Jarra he took up his lodgings in the house of an old acquaintance, Dayman, whom he requested to use his influence with Ali to redeem the boy, and promised him a bill on Dr Laidley for the value of two slaves the moment he brought him to Jarra.

Ali, however, considering the boy to be Park’s principal interpreter, would not liberate him, fearing that he would be instrumental in conducting him to Bambarra.

Still Park was eager, if possible, to continue his journey, but Johnson refused to proceed further. At the same time he foresaw that he must soon fall a victim to the Moors if he remained where he was, and that if he went forward singly he must encounter great difficulties, both from the want of an interpreter and the means of purchasing food. On the other hand he was very unwilling to return to England without accomplishing his mission. He therefore determined to escape on the first opportunity at all risks. This arrived sooner than he expected.

On the 26th of June news was brought that Daisy had taken Simbug, and would be at Jarra the next day. Hearing this, the people began packing up their property and beating corn for their journey, and early in the morning nearly half had set off—the women and children crying, the men looking sullen and dejected.

Though Park was sure of being well treated could he make himself known to Daisy, yet as he might be mistaken for a Moor in the confusion, he thought it wisest to mount his horse with a large bag of corn before him, and to ride away with the rest of the townspeople.

He again fell in with his friend Dayman and Johnson. They pushed on two days’ journey to the town of Queira.

While Park was out tending his horse in the fields on the 1st of July, Ali’s chief slave and four Moors arrived at Queira, and Johnson, who suspected the object of their visit, sent two boys to overhear their conversation. From them he learned that the Moors had come to convey Park back to Bubaka. This was a terrible stroke to him, and, now convinced that Ali intended to detain him for ever in captivity, or perhaps to take his life, he determined at all risks to attempt making his escape. He communicated his design to Johnson, who, though he approved of it, showed no inclination to accompany him. Park therefore resolved to proceed by himself, and to trust to his own resources.

Chapter Three.

Mungo Park’s travels continued.

Park escapes at night—Pursued by Moors and robbed—Fearful suffering; from thirst—Finds water—Kindly treated by an old woman—Wanderings in the forest—Reaches Bambarra—Ill-treated—Reaches the Niger—Arrives at Sego, the capital—The king refuses to see him—Sent to a distant village—Almost starving—A compassionate woman takes him into her house and feeds him—King Mansong orders him to quit the country—Enters Sansanding on the Niger—The Moors threaten him for being a Christian—Writes charms for his host—Proceeds—Followed by a lion—His horse falls sick, and, leaving the animal, he proceeds on foot—Proceeds down the Niger to Moorzan—Determines to return—Finds his horse alive—Rainy season commences—Again reaches Sansanding—Inhospitably treated—Repulsed from numerous places—Swims several rivers—Better treated as he gets westward—A negro merchant at Rammako receives him hospitably—Sets off with a singing man as his guide—Conducted by two shepherds—Despoiled of his clothes and horse by robbers—In danger of perishing—Reaches Sibidooloo—Mansa, the chief man, recovers his horse and clothes—Suffers from fever—People starving—Continues his journey—Kindly treated at Kamatia by a Bushreen—Kafa Taura—Starts with a slave caravan—Attacked by bees—Death of a slave—Sufferings of slaves—Reaches Pisania—Sails by way of America for England—Reaches home.

The time had arrived when, as Park felt, he must either again submit to the tyrannical treatment of Ali, or perish possibly in attempting to escape. At night he got ready a bundle of clothes, consisting of two shirts and two pair of trousers, with a cloak and a few other articles; but he had not a single bead to purchase food for himself or his horse. About daybreak Johnson came and told him that the Moors were asleep. The awful crisis had now arrived; a cold perspiration stood on his brow as he thought of the dreadful alternative and reflected that one way or the other his fate must be decided in the course of the day. To deliberate was to lose the only chance of escape; so, taking up his bundle, he stepped gently over the negroes sleeping in the air, mounted his horse, bade Johnson farewell, desiring him to take particular care of the papers with which he had intrusted him, and to say that he had left him in good health, on his way to Bambarra.

He rode on, expecting every moment to be overtaken by the Moorish horsemen. Some shepherds he encountered followed, hooting and throwing stones at him. Scarcely was he out of their reach, and was again indulging in the hopes of escaping, when he heard somebody call behind him, and on looking back, he saw three Moors on horseback galloping at full speed and brandishing their weapons. To escape was vain. He stopped, and one of them, presenting his musket, told him that he must go back to Ali. The effect of this announcement was to benumb his faculties. He rode back with apparent unconcern, but he had not gone far when the Moors, stopping, ordered him to untie his bundle. Having examined the articles, they found nothing worth taking except his cloak, and one of them, pulling it off, wrapped it about himself. It had served to protect him from the rain in the day and the dews at night, and was of the greatest value to him. He earnestly begged the robbers to return it, but his petition was unheeded. As he attempted to follow them to regain his cloak, one of the robbers struck his horse over the head, and presenting his musket, ordered him to proceed no further. Finding that the sole object of the Moors had been to plunder him, he turned his horse’s head towards the east, thankful to have escaped with his life.

As soon as he was out of sight of the robbers, he struck into the woods and pushed on with all possible speed. He had at length obtained his liberty—his limbs felt light, even the desert looked pleasant. He soon recollected, however, that he had no means of procuring food, nor a prospect of finding water.

He directed his course by compass in the hopes of at length reaching some town or village in the kingdom of Bambarra.

His thirst, in consequence of the burning heat of the sun, reflected with double violence on the sand, became intense. He climbed a tree in the hopes of seeing some human habitation. Nothing appeared around but thick underwood and hillocks of white sand.

At sunset he again climbed a tree, but the same sight met his eyes. Descending, after taking the saddle off his horse’s back, he was suddenly seized with giddiness, and fell to the ground believing that the hour of death was fast approaching. He recovered, however, just as the sun was sinking behind the trees, and now, summoning up all his resolution, he determined to make another effort to prolong his existence.

He had gone on some distance further when he perceived some lightening in the north-east, a delightful sight, for it promised rain, and soon he heard the wind roaring among the bushes. He was expecting the refreshing drops, when in an instant he was covered with a cloud of sand. It continued to fly for nearly an hour; then more lightening followed and then down came a few heavy drops of rain, enabling him to quench his thirst by wringing and sucking his clothes.

He travelled on during the night, which was intensely dark, till he perceived a light ahead. Cautiously approaching it he heard the lowing of cattle and the clamorous tongues of the herdsmen, which made him suspect that it was a watering-place belonging to the Moors. Rather than run the risk of falling into their hands he retreated, but being dreadfully thirsty, and fearing the approach of the burning day, he thought it prudent to search for the wells which he expected to find at no great distance.

While thus engaged he was perceived by a woman, who screaming out, two people ran to her assistance from the neighbouring tents and passed close to him.

Happily he escaped from them and, plunging again into the woods, after proceeding a mile he heard a loud and confused noise. Great was his delight to find that it arose from the croaking of frogs, which was music to his ears.

At daybreak he reached some shallow pools full of large frogs, which so frightened his horse that he was obliged to keep them quiet by beating the water till he had drank. Having quenched his own thirst, he ascended a tree to ascertain the best course to take, when he observed a pillar of smoke about twelve miles off. Directing his course to it he reached a Foulah village belonging to Ali. Hunger compelled him to enter it, but he was denied admittance to the dooty’s house, and could not obtain even a handful of corn. Reaching, however, a humble hut at which an old motherly-looking woman sat spinning cotton, he made signs that he was hungry. She immediately laid down her distaff, and desired him in Arabic to come in, setting before him a dish of kous-kous. In return he gave her one of his pocket-handkerchiefs, and asked for a little corn for his horse, which she readily brought him.

While his horse was feeding the people collected round him, and from their conversation he discovered that they proposed seizing him and conveying him back to Ali. He therefore tied up his corn and, lest it might be supposed that he was running from the Moors, driving his horse before him he took a northerly direction, followed by the boys and girls of the town. Having got rid of his troublesome attendants he struck into the woods, where he was compelled to pass the night with his saddle for a pillow. He was awakened by three Foulahs, who, taking him for a Moor, told him that it was time to pray. Without answering them he saddled his horse and made his escape.

The next day he took shelter in the tent of a Foulah shepherd, who charitably gave him boiled corn and dates, although he was recognised as a Christian. He here purchased some corn in exchange for some brass buttons, and again took the road to Bambarra, which he resolved to follow for the night. Hearing some people approaching, he thought it prudent to hide himself, which he did in the thick brushwood. He there sat holding his horse by the nose to prevent him neighing, equally afraid of the natives without and the wild beasts within the forest. The former took their departure, and he went on till past midnight, when the croaking of frogs induced him to turn off from the road, that he and his steed might quench their thirst. Having discovered an open place with a single tree in the midst of it, he lay down for the night. He was disturbed towards morning by the sound of wolves, which made him once more mount.

On the morning of the 5th of July he reached a negro town in the confines of Bambarra. It was a small place surrounded by high walls, inhabited by a mixture of Mandingoes and Foulahs, chiefly employed in the cultivation of corn. The people were suspicious of his character, some supposing him to be an Arab, others a Moorish sultan, but the dooty, or chief magistrate, who had been at Gambia, took his part, and assured them that he was a white man. On its being reported that he was going to Sego, the capital, several women came and begged that he would enquire of Mansong what had become of their children, who had been carried off to fight.

He was allowed to take his departure without molestation, and on the 6th reached the town of Dingyee.

When he was about to depart the next morning, the landlord begged him to give him a lock of his hair, understanding that white men’s hair made a saphie, or charm, which would bestow on the possessor all their knowledge. This he willingly promised to do, but the landlord’s thirst for learning was such that he cropped nearly the whole of one side of his head, and would have done the same with the other had not Park told him that he wished to reserve some of this precious merchandise for a future occasion.

Having reached the town of Wassiboo, shortly afterwards eight fugitive Kaartan negroes, who had escaped from the tyrannical government of the Moors, arrived, on their road to offer their allegiance to the king of Bambarra. Park gladly accepted their invitation to accompany them on their road.

His horse at the end of three days, becoming completely knocked up, he dismounted and desired his companions to ride on, telling them he would follow; but they declined leaving him, declaring that lions were numerous, and that, though they would not attack a body of people, they would soon find out a single individual and destroy him. One of the party, therefore, insisted on remaining with him, and he and his friend, after he had rested, overtook their companions, passing through several of the numerous towns in this part of the country. His horse, now becoming weaker and weaker, he was obliged to drive the animal on before him the greater part of the day, so that he did not reach Geosorro till late in the evening. The dooty of the place refused to give him or his companions food, so he lay down supperless to sleep. Their host, however, relented, and about midnight he was awakened with the joyful information that victuals were prepared.

Next day his fellow-travellers, having better horses, went on ahead, and he was walking barefoot, driving his own poor animal before him, when he met a coffle, or caravan, of about seventy slaves coming from Sego. They were tied together by their necks with thongs of bullock’s hide twisted like a rope, seven slaves upon a thong, and a man with a musket between every seven. They were bound for Morocco.

On arriving at the next place he found that his companions had gone on without him, but he fell in, the following day, with two negroes going to Sego, who afforded him their company.

In the village through which he passed he was constantly taken for a Moor. The people jeered at him, laughing at his tattered and forlorn appearance. He, however, again overtook the Kaartans, who promised to introduce him to the king.

As they were riding along over some marshy ground, and he was anxiously looking around for the river which he now supposed to be near, one of his companions called out, “Geo affilli!” (“See water!”) and, looking forward, he saw with infinite pleasure the great object of his mission—the long-sought-for majestic Niger, glittering in the morning sun, as broad as the Thames at Westminster, and flowing slowly to the east. He hastened to the brink, and having drunk of the water, offered up his fervent thanks in prayer to the Great Ruler of all things for having thus far crowned his endeavours with success.

Sego, the capital of Bambarra—at which he had now arrived—consists, properly speaking, of four distinct towns: two on the north and two on the south bank of the Niger. They are surrounded by high mud walls. The houses are built of clay, of a square form with flat roofs—some of them of two stories, and many of them are whitewashed. Moorish mosques are seen in every quarter; and the streets, though narrow, are broad enough for every useful purpose in a country where wheel-carriages are unknown. It contains about thirty thousand inhabitants.

While waiting to cross the river, a messenger arrived, informing him that the king could not possibly see him until he knew what had brought him into the country, and that he must not venture to cross the river without his majesty’s permission. He was directed to pass the night in a distant village; but when he reached it, no one would admit him. He was regarded with astonishment and fear, and was obliged to sit all day without food in the shade of a tree. He fully expected to have to pass the night in the same place; but about sunset, after he had turned his horse loose, a woman, perceiving that he was weary and dejected, enquired into his situation. Casting looks of pity upon him, she took up his saddle and bridle, and told him to follow her. Having conducted him into her hut, she lighted her lamp, spread a mat on the floor and signified that he might remain there for the night. Finding that he was very hungry, she brought him a fine fish for supper. Having thus attended to the stranger, telling him that he might sleep in safety she called her women around her and desired them to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they continued to employ themselves the greater part of the night, lightening their labours by songs, some of which had reference to their white visitor.

Several days passed, when a messenger arrived from Mansong with a bag in his hands. He told Park that it was his Majesty’s pleasure he should forthwith depart from the neighbourhood of Sego, but that the king, wishing to relieve a white man in distress, had sent him five thousand cowries. From the conversation Park had with the guide, he ascertained that Mansong would willingly have seen him, but that he was apprehensive of being unable to protect him against the blind and inveterate malice of the Moorish inhabitants. His conduct, therefore, was at once prudent and liberal.

He was the same evening conducted to a village about seven miles to the eastward, where he was well received. His guide told him that if Jenne was really the place of his destination, the journey was one of greater danger than he might suppose; for, although that town was nominally a part of the King of Bambarra’s dominions, it was in fact a city of the Moors—the chief part of the inhabitants being Bushreens, a fanatical Mahommedan sect. He heard, too, that Timbuctoo, the great object of his search, was entirely in possession of that savage and merciless people, who allow no Christian to live there. He had, however, advanced too far to think of returning with uncertain information, and he determined to proceed.

Being provided with a guide, he left the village on the morning of the 24th, travelling through a highly cultivated country, the scenery bearing a greater resemblance to that of England than he had expected to find in the middle of Africa.

The people were everywhere employed in collecting the fruit of the shea trees, from which they prepared vegetable butter. In the evening he reached the large town of Sansanding, the resort of numerous Moorish caravans from the shores of the Mediterranean. In the harbour he observed twenty large canoes, and others arrived while he was there. He was received into the house of the dooty, Counti Mamadi. Scarcely had he arrived when hundreds of people surrounded him, all speaking different dialects, several of them declaring that they had seen him in various parts of the continent. It was evident that they mistook him for somebody else. One of them, a shereef, from Suat, declared that if he refused to go to the mosque he would carry him there. He had little doubt that the Moor would have put his threat into execution had not his host interposed in his behalf. The latter said that, if he would let his guest alone for the night, in the morning he should be sent about his business. This somewhat appeased them, but even after he had retired to his hut the people climbed over the pailings to look at him.

At midnight, when the Moors had retired, Mamadi paid him a visit and earnestly desired him to write a saphie, or charm, observing, “If a Moor’s saphie is good, a white man’s must needs be better.” Park readily furnished him with one, which was in reality the Lord’s Prayer, a reed serving for a pen, charcoal and gum-water for ink and a thin board for paper.

Allowed to proceed, as he and his guide were crossing an open plain with a few scattered bushes, the guide wheeled his horse round, called loudly to him and, warning him that a lion was at hand, made signs that he should ride away. His horse was too much fatigued to do this, so they rode slowly past the bush, and he, not seeing anything himself, thought the guide had been mistaken. Suddenly the Foulah put his hand to his mouth exclaiming, “God preserve us!” To his great surprise he then perceived a large red lion a short distance from the bush, his head couched between his fore paws. Park expected that the creature would instantly spring upon him, and instinctively pulled his foot from the stirrups to throw himself on the ground, that his horse might become the victim rather than himself; but probably the lion was not hungry, for he quietly allowed the traveller to pass though fairly within his reach.

The next day his horse completely broke down, and the united strength of himself and his guide could not place the animal again upon his legs. He sat down for some time beside the worn-out associate of his adventures; but, finding him still unable to rise, he took off the saddle and bridle and placed a quantity of grass before him. While he surveyed his poor steed as he lay panting on the ground, he could not suppress the sad apprehension that he should himself in a short time lie down and perish in the same manner from fatigue and hunger. With this foreboding he left his horse, and with great reluctance followed his guide on foot along the banks of the river until he reached the small village of Kea.

Here he parted from his Foulah guide, whom he requested to look after his horse on his return, which he promised to do.

From Kea he went down the river in a canoe, and thence to Moorzan, a fishing town on the northern bank, and was then conveyed across the stream to Silla, a large town. Here, after much entreaty, the dooty allowed him to enter his house to avoid the rain, but the place was damp and he had a smart attack of fever. Worn down by sickness, exhausted with hunger, and fatigued, half-naked, without any article of value by which he could procure provisions, clothes, or lodgings, he began to reflect seriously on his situation, and was convinced by painful experience that the obstacles to his further progress were insurmountable. The dooty approved of the resolution he had arrived at of returning, and procured a fisherman to carry him across to Moorzan, whence he got back to Kea. The brother of the dooty was starting for Modiboo. He took his saddle, which he had left at Kea, intending to present it to the king of Bambarra.

Travelling along the banks of the river, the footprints of a lion quite fresh in the mud were seen. His companion, therefore, proceeded with great circumspection, insisting that Park should walk before him. This he declined doing, when his guide threw down the saddle and left him alone. He therefore continued his course along the bank, and believing that the lion was at no great distance, he became much alarmed, and took a long circuit through the bushes.

He at last arrived at Modiboo. While conversing with the dooty of the place he heard a horse neigh in one of the huts. The dooty inquired with a smile if he knew who was speaking to him. He explained himself by telling Park that his horse was still alive and somewhat recovered from his fatigue, and that he must take the animal with him.

Though tolerably well treated at the villages where he stopped, he in vain endeavoured to obtain a guide. The rains were now falling, and the country, it was supposed, would soon be completely flooded. He heard that a report had been abroad that he had come to Bambarra as a spy and that, as Mansong had not admitted him into his presence, the dooties of the different towns might treat him as they pleased.

A little before sunset of the 11th of August he reached Sansanding. Here even Mamadi, who had formerly been so kind to him, scarcely gave him a welcome, and everyone seemed to shun him. Mamadi, however, came privately to him in the evening, and told him that Mansong had despatched a canoe to bring him back, and advised him to set off from Sansanding before daybreak, cautioning him not to stop at any town near Sego. He therefore resumed his journey on the 12th, and in the afternoon reached the neighbourhood of Kabba.

As he approached, one of several people who were standing at the gate ran towards him and, taking his horse by the bridle, led him round the walls of the town and, pointing to the west, told him to go along or it would be the worse for him. He in vain represented the danger of being benighted in the woods, exposed to the inclemency of the weather and the fury of wild beasts. “Go along,” was the only answer he received. He found that these negroes had acted thus from kindness, as the king’s messengers who had come to seize him were inside the town.

Being repulsed from another village, he went on till he reached a small one somewhat out of the road, and sat down under a tree by a well. Two or three women came to draw water and, perceiving the stranger, enquired where he was going. On Park telling them to Sego, one of them went in to acquaint the dooty. In a little time the dooty sent for him, and permitted him to sleep in a large hut.

Next day he again set forward, meeting with the same inhospitable treatment as before, and having for three days to subsist on uncooked corn. He was repulsed in like manner from the gates of Taffara; and at the village of Sooha, which he reached next day, he in vain endeavoured to procure some corn from the dooty, who was sitting by the gate. While Park was speaking to the old man, he called to a slave to bring his paddle along with him, and when he brought it, told him to dig a hole in the ground, pointing to a spot at no great distance. While the slave was thus engaged, the dooty kept muttering the words—“Good-for-nothing! A real plague!” These expressions, coupled with the appearance of the pit the lad had dug, which looked much like a grave, made Park think it prudent to decamp. He had just mounted his horse, when the slave who had gone into the village returned, dragging the corpse of a boy by a leg and arm, which he threw into the pit with savage indifference, and at once began to cover it up with earth.

At sunset Park reached Koohkorro, a considerable town, and the great market for salt. Here he was received into the house of a Bambarran who, once a slave to a Moor, had obtained his freedom and was now a merchant. Finding that his guest was a Christian, he immediately desired him to write a saphie, saying that he would dress him a supper of rice if he would produce one to protect him from wicked men. Park therefore covered the board on both sides, when his landlord, wishing to have the full force of the charm, washed the writing from the board into a calabash with a little water and, having said a few prayers over it, drank the whole draught; after which, lest a single word should escape, he licked the board until it was quite dry. The dooty of the place next sent to have a saphie written—a charm to procure wealth. So highly satisfied was he with his bargain that he presented the traveller with some meal and milk, and promised him in the morning some more milk for his breakfast.

When Park had finished his supper of rice and salt, he lay down upon a bullock’s hide and slept quietly until morning, this being the first good meal and refreshing sleep he had enjoyed for a long time.

After leaving this place, having been misdirected as to his road, he reached a deep creek. Rather than turn back, he went behind his horse and pushed him headlong into the water; then, taking the bridle in his teeth, he swam to the other side. This was the third creek he had crossed in this manner since he had left Sego. His clothes were, indeed, constantly wet from the rain and dew; and the roads being very deep and full of mud, such a washing was sometimes pleasant.

At Bammakoo, which he reached on the evening of the next day, he was received into the house of a negro merchant, of whom there are many wealthy ones in the place, trading chiefly in salt. He was feasted also by a number of Moors, who spoke good Mandingo, and were more civil to him than their countrymen had before been. One of them had travelled to Rio Grande, and spoke highly of the Christians. From this man he received a present of boiled rice and milk. He also met a slave merchant who had resided some years on the Gambia, who informed him about the places which lay in his intended course to the westward. He was told that the road was impassable at this season of the year, and that there was a rapid river to cross. Having, however, no money to maintain himself, Park determined at all risks to push on, and, having obtained a singing man who said he knew the road over the hills, set off the next day. His musical conductor, however, lost the right path and, when among the hills, leaping to the top of a rock as if to look out for the road, suddenly disappeared. Park managed, however, just before sunset, to reach the romantic village of Koomah, the sole property of a Mandingo merchant and surrounded by a high wall. Though seldom visited by strangers, whenever the weary traveller did come to his residence the merchant made him welcome.

Park was soon surrounded by the harmless villagers, who had numberless questions to ask and in return for the information he gave them brought corn and milk for himself and grass for his horse, and kindled a fire in the hut where he was to sleep.

Accompanied by two shepherds as guides, he set out the next day from Koomah. The shepherds, however, walked on ahead, troubling themselves but little about him.

The country was very rough, and the declivity so great that a false step would have caused him and his horse to be dashed to pieces.

As he was riding on, the shepherds being about a quarter of a mile before him, he heard a loud screaming as from a person in great distress. Supposing that a lion had taken off one of the shepherds, he hurried on to ascertain what had happened. The noise had ceased, and in a short time he perceived one of the shepherds lying among the long grass near the road, and concluded that the man was dead; but when he came close to him the shepherd whispered to him to stop, telling him that a party of armed men had seized upon his companion and shot two arrows at him. While considering what to do, he saw at a little distance a man sitting upon the stem of a tree, and also the heads of six or seven more who were crouching down among the grass, with muskets in their hands. It being impossible to escape, he rode forward towards them, hoping that they were elephant hunters. By way of opening the conversation he inquired if they had shot anything; but in answer one of them ordered him to dismount, and then, as if recollecting himself, waved with his hand as a sign that Park might proceed. He had ridden some way when they shouted to him again to stop, and told him that the King of the Foulahs had sent them to carry him to Fooladoo. Without hesitating, Park turned and followed them.

They had reached a dark part of the wood when one of them observed in the Mandingo language, “This place will do,” and immediately snatched his hat from his head. Feeling that resistance was useless, he allowed them to proceed till they had stripped him quite naked. While they were examining their plunder, Park begged them to return his pocket compass; but, on his pointing to it as it lay on the ground, one of the banditti cocked his musket, swearing that he would shoot him if he presumed to take it. After this some of them went away with his horse, and the remainder stood considering whether they should leave him quite naked or allow him something to shelter him from the sun. Humanity at last prevailed, and they returned the worst of his two shirts and a pair of trousers; one of them also threw back his hat, in the crown of which he kept his memorandums—probably the reason why they did not wish to keep it.

Here he was in the midst of a vast wilderness in the depth of the rainy season, naked and alone, and surrounded by savage animals and men still more savage, five hundred miles from the nearest European settlement. His spirits began to fail, but he reflected that no human prudence could possibly have averted his present sufferings, and that, though a stranger in a strange land, he was still under the protecting eye of that Providence who has condescended to call Himself the stranger’s friend. At this moment the extreme beauty of a small moss in fructification caught his eye. Though the whole plant was not much larger than the top of one of his fingers, he could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsules without admiration. “Can that Being,” he thought, “who brought this plant to perfection look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not.” He started up and, disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forward, assured that relief was at hand.

In a short time he overtook the two shepherds who had come with him from Koomah. They were greatly surprised to see him, observing that they never doubted that the Foulahs had murdered him. In their company he arrived at Sibidooloo, the frontier town of the kingdom of Manding. The chief man in the place, called Mansa, received him most kindly, and when Park related how he had been robbed of his horse and apparel, he observed, with an indignant air, “Sit down. You shall have everything restored to you—I have sworn it.” He at once gave directions to his people to search for the robbers. Park was conducted into a hut, where he was provided with food, and a crowd of people assembled, all of whom commiserated his misfortunes and vented imprecations against the Foulahs.

As there was a great scarcity of provisions in the place, Park, after spending two days there, begged Mansa to allow him to depart. He gave him permission to do so, provided he would remain at a town called Wanda for a few days, until he received some account of his horse and goods.

He took his departure accordingly on the morning of the 28th, and reached Wanda about noon of the 30th.

The head man of the place, who was a Mahommedan, acted not only as chief magistrate, but as schoolmaster. He kept his school in an open shed, where the traveller was desired to take up his lodgings. Park was very anxious for his clothes, as those he had on were completely worn-out, his shirt being like a piece of muslin and dirty in the extreme.

He here spent nine days suffering much from fever. On the 6th two people arrived from Sibidooloo, bringing his horse and clothes, but his pocket compass, greatly to his vexation, was broken to pieces.

Every day he observed several women come to the house to receive a certain quantity of corn. Knowing how valuable this article was at the present juncture, he enquired of his host whether he maintained these poor women from pure bounty or expected a return when the harvest should be gathered in.

“Observe that boy,” said he, pointing to a fine child about five years of age. “His mother has sold him to me for forty days’ provisions for herself and the rest of her family. I have bought another boy in the same manner.”

Sick as he was, Park thought it necessary to take his leave of his hospitable landlord, to whom he presented his horse as the only recompense he could make, desiring him to convey his saddle and bridle as a present to Mansa of Sibidooloo. As he was about to set out, his host begged him to accept his spear as a token of remembrance and a leather bag to contain his clothes. Having converted his half-boots into sandals, he travelled with more ease.

Although the people were suffering great distress from the failure of the crops, he was in general most hospitably treated. His landlord at Kinyeto, observing that he had hurt his ankle, insisted on his remaining several days till he could walk with the help of a staff.

Notwithstanding suffering from fever and exposed to constant rain, he continued his journey, narrowly escaping being detained at the town of Mansia by the inhospitable chief, who insisted on being paid for the small amount of food he had provided.

On September 16th he reached the town of Kamalia. He was here conducted to the house of a Bushreen, Kafa Taura. He was collecting a caravan of slaves to convey to the European settlements on the Gambia, as soon as the rains should be over. He found Kafa seated in his house surrounded by several slatees who proposed joining the caravan. He was reading to them from an Arabic book, and enquired if his guest understood it. On being answered in the negative, he desired one of the slatees to fetch a curious little book which had been brought from the west country. It proved to be a book of Common Prayer, and Kafa expressed great joy on hearing that Park could read it, for some of the slatees, observing the colour of his skin, now become yellow from sickness, suspected that he was an Arab in disguise. Kafa, however, had now no doubt concerning him, and kindly promised him every assistance in his power.

Park was here laid up completely by fever, but Kafa, who had provided a quiet hut for his accomodation, advised him to remain within it, assuring him that if he did not walk out in the wet he would soon be well.

He passed five weeks in a gloomy and solitary manner, seldom visited by any person except his benevolent landlord, who came daily to enquire about his health.

When the rains became less frequent the country began to grow dry and the fever left him, but in so debilitated condition that it was with difficulty he could crawl with his mat to the shade of a tamarind tree at a short distance, there to enjoy the refreshing smell of the corn-fields. The benevolent and simple manners of the negroes, and the perusal of Kafa’s little volume greatly contributed to his restoration.

In the beginning of December, Kafa began to make arrangements for his journey, and to complete the purchase of his slaves.

As he had to be absent about his affairs for a month, Park was left during the time to the care of a good old Bushreen, who acted as schoolmaster to the younger people of Kamalia.

The long-wished-for day of the departure of the caravan, the 19th of April, at length arrived, and the irons being removed from the slaves, the slatees assembled at the door of Kafa’s house, where the bundles were all tied up, and everyone had his load assigned him.

Kafa had twenty-seven slaves for sale, but eight others afterwards joined them, making in all thirty-five. The schoolmaster who was on his return to Woradoo, the place of his nativity, took with him eight of his scholars. Altogether, the come numbered seventy-three persons.

The caravan was followed for about half a mile by most of the inhabitants of Kamalia; and when they had arrived at the top of a hill, from whence they had a view of the town, they were all ordered to sit down—those belonging to the coffle with their faces towards the west, and the townspeople with theirs towards Kamalia. The schoolmaster, with two of the principal slatees, having taken their places between the two parties, pronounced a solemn prayer, after which they walked three times round the coffle, making impressions in the ground with the ends of their spears, and muttering something by way of a charm. When this ceremony was ended, all the people belonging to the coffle sprang up and, without taking a formal farewell of their friends, set forward.

Another ceremony was performed when the party stopped to dine on the road. Before commencing the meal, when each person was seated with their quotas arranged before him in small gourd shells, the schoolmaster offered up a short prayer that God and the holy prophet might preserve them from robbers and all bad people, that their provisions might never fail nor their limbs become fatigued.

After stopping at the town of Kenytakooro till the 22nd of April, the coffle commenced the journey through the Jallonka wilderness. The country was very beautiful and abounded with birds and deer; but so anxious were they to push on, that they made fully thirty miles that day. Fatigued as they were, they were frequently disturbed in the night by the howling of wild beasts and the bites of ants.

On setting out in the morning Nealee, one of Kafa’s female slaves refused to drink the gruel offered her. The country was extremely wild and rocky, and Park began to fear that he should be unable to keep up with the party. Others, however, suffered more than he did. The poor female slave began to lag behind; and, complaining dreadfully of pains in her legs, her load was taken from her and given to another, and she was ordered to keep in front of the coffle.

As the party were resting near a rivulet a hive of bees was discovered in a hollow tree, and some of the people were proceeding to obtain the honey, when an enormous swarm flew out, and, attacking every one, made them fly in every direction. Park being the first to take alarm, was the only person who escaped with impunity. The slaves had, however, left their bundles behind them, and to obtain them it was necessary to set the grass on fire to the east of the hive, when the wind driving the flames along, the men pushed through the smoke and recovered their bundles. They also brought with them poor Nealee, whom they found lying by the rivulet stung in the most dreadful manner. On her refusing to proceed further, she was cruelly beaten with a whip, when, suddenly starting up, she walked for four or five hours; she then made an attempt to run away, but, from weakness, fell to the ground. Though unable to rise, the whip was a second time applied, when Kafa ordered that she should be placed on an ass. Unable to sit on it, she was carried afterwards on a litter by two slaves.

The unfortunate slaves, who had travelled all day in the hot sun with loads on their heads, were dreadfully fatigued; and some of them began to snap their fingers—a sure sign, among negroes, of desperation. They were, therefore, put in irons, and kept apart from each other. Next day poor Nealee was again placed on the ass; but unable to hold herself on, frequently fell to the ground. At length the cry arose of—“Kang-tegi!” (“Cut her throat!”) As Park did not wish to see this horrible operation performed, he went on ahead; but soon afterwards he was overtaken by one of Kafa’s domestic slaves with poor Nealee’s garment on the end of a bow. On making inquiries of the man, he replied that Kafa and the schoolmaster would not consent to her being killed, but had left her on the road, where probably she was soon devoured by wild animals.

Such is one example of the cruel treatment received by the unhappy slaves. The old schoolmaster, however, was so affected, that he fasted the whole of the ensuing day.

The party now travelled on rapidly, everyone being apprehensive that he might otherwise meet with the fate of poor Nealee.

The coffle had still many dangers to encounter. Receiving information that two hundred Jallonkas were lying in wait to plunder them, they altered their course and travelled with great secrecy until midnight, when they entered the town of Koba. Here they remained some days to escape the Jallonkas.

The next town they reached, Malacotta, was the birthplace of the schoolmaster, whose brother came out to meet him. The interview was very natural and affecting. They fell on each other’s neck, and it was some time before either of them could speak. The schoolmaster then turning, pointed to Kafa, saying, “This is the man who has been my father in Manding. I would have pointed him out sooner to you, but my heart was too full.”

They were now in the country of friends, and were well received at each of the towns they entered.

Park, however, witnessed numerous instances of the sad effects of the slave trade. A singing man, the master of one of the slaves who had travelled for some time with great difficulty, and was found unable to proceed further, proposed to exchange him for a young slave girl belonging to one of the townspeople. The poor girl was ignorant of her fate until the bundles were all laid up in the morning, and the coffle ready to depart, when, coming with some of the other young women to see the coffle set out, her master took her by the hand and delivered her to the singing man. Never was a face of serenity more suddenly changed into one of the deepest distress; the terror she manifested on having the load put on her head and the rope round her neck, and the sorrow with which she bid adieu to her companions, were truly affecting. Notwithstanding the treatment which the slaves received, they had hearts which could feel for the white stranger amidst their infinitely greater sufferings, and they frequently of their own accord brought water to quench his thirst, and at night collected branches and leaves for his bed, during that weary journey of more than five hundred British miles.

Knowing that the greater number were doomed to a life of slavery in a foreign land, he could not part from them without feeling much emotion.

At last Pisania was reached, and Park was warmly welcomed as one risen from the dead by the Mr Ainsleys and Dr Laidley. They had heard that the Moors had murdered him as they had murdered Major Haughton. He learned with great sorrow that neither of his two attendants, Johnson and Demba, had returned, and that nothing was known of them. Park gave double the amount he had promised to Kafa, and sent a present also to the good old schoolmaster at Malacotta. Kafa, who had never before heard English spoken, listened with great attention to Park, when conversing with his friends. His astonishment at the various articles of furniture in the houses was very great; but it was still greater when he saw Mr Ainsley’s schooner lying in the river. He could not comprehend the use of the masts and sails, or conceive how so large a body could be moved by the wind. He was frequently heard to exclaim, with a sigh: “Ah! black men are nothing.”

After waiting at Pisania some time, finding no vessel likely to sail direct for England, he took his passage on board a slave vessel bound for South Carolina. She, however, meeting with bad weather, put into Antigua, and from thence he sailed in an English packet, and arrived at Falmouth on the 22nd of December, having been from England about two years and seven months.

Chapter Four.

Park’s second journey.

Marries—Prepares for another journey—Accompanied by Messrs Anderson and Scott, Lieutenant Martyn and thirty-five soldiers, proceeds to Pisania by way of Goree—Engages Isaaco as guide—Numerous asses—Journey commenced—Three soldiers die—Attacked by bees—Sickness among the men increases—Annoyed by lions—Messrs Anderson and Scott ill of fever—Several men left behind—Isaaco seized by a crocodile—Natives attempt to rob them—A bridge built—Reach Bangassi—Scott left behind, sick—The corporal and more men die—Mr Anderson’s illness increases—Followed by lions—Heavy rains—Meets Kafa Taura—The Niger reached—Descends the Niger in a canoe—Isaaco takes his leave—Alarming reports—Receives envoys from Mansong—Continues voyage in canoes—Receives news of Scott’s death—Mr Anderson dies—A vessel built—Commences voyage in her with Lieutenant Martyn, two white men and some slaves—Attacked by natives—Continues voyage—Again attacked—Park and Marlyn drowned, others killed—One slave escapes, who gives an account of the tragedy.

Soon after his return to England Park married the daughter of Mr Anderson, with whom he had served his apprenticeship, and resided a couple of years with his mother and one of his brothers on the farm that his father had occupied at Fowlshiels, in Scotland. After this he practised his profession for some time at Peebles. But this sort of life not satisfying his ardent temperament, on hearing from Sir Joseph Banks that another expedition into Africa to explore the Niger was proposed, he at once offered his services.

Nothing, however, was settled till the year 1803, when, being directed to hold himself in readiness to proceed to Africa, he engaged a native of Mogadore, named Sidi Omback Boubi, then residing in London, to accompany him to Scotland for the purpose of instructing him in Arabic.

Nearly another year passed before all arrangements were concluded. It was finally determined that the expedition should consist of Park himself, his brother-in-law (Mr Anderson), and Mr George Scott, who was to act as draughtsman, together with a few boat-builders and artificers. They were to be joined at Goree by a party of soldiers of the African corps stationed in that garrison.

Three months after this elapsed ere they set sail on board the “Crescent” transport on the 30th of January, 1805; and, after touching at Saint Jago to obtain asses for the journey, they reached Goree on the 28th of March.

There was no lack of volunteers, the whole garrison offering their services. Thirty-five soldiers under the command of Lieutenant Martyn of the Royal Artillery Corps were selected, as well as two sailors from the “Squirrel” frigate.

They left Goree on the 6th of April, the men jumping into the boats in the highest spirits, and bidding adieu to their friends with repeated huzzas.

Landing at Kayee on the northern bank of the Gambia, they commenced their overland journey to Pisania on the 27th of April. The weather was intensely hot, and the asses, unaccustomed to carry loads, made their march very fatiguing and troublesome, three of the animals sticking fast in a muddy rice field soon after they started.

So many delays had occurred that the rainy season was already approaching, and it would have been more prudent had the expedition remained at Goree or Pisania till the country had become again suitable for travelling. It was just possible, however, that they might reach the Niger before the middle of June, when the rainy season usually commences, and that river could then have been navigated without much exposure or toil. So eager, however, was Mr Park to proceed, that he disregarded the warnings of his friends, and determined to set forth on his journey.

Several days were lost at Pisania in arranging the burdens of the asses and in purchasing more animals, as those they possessed were not sufficient for carrying all the loads.

He here engaged a Mandingo priest named Isaaco, who was also a travelling merchant, to serve as a guide, and, on the 4th of May, all being ready, the caravan set forth from Pisania, whence nearly ten years before Park had commenced his adventurous journey into the interior.

The arrangements for the march were well devised. The animals as well as their loads were marked and numbered with red paint, and a certain number allotted to the care of each of the six messes into which the soldiers were divided. Mr Scott and Isaaco generally led, Lieutenant Martyn marched in the centre, and Anderson and Park brought up the rear.

All their forethought, however, could not guard them against the deadly attacks of the climate. The asses from the first gave them a great deal of trouble—many, from being overloaded, lying down in the road, while others kicked off their bundles—so that the caravan made but slow progress.

They had not gone far when two of the soldiers died, and, a few days afterwards, another lost his life.

At most of the places through which they passed they were well received; but at the town of Bady the chief man demanded enormously high duties, and sent a large band of armed followers to collect them. When Isaaco was sent over to Bady to enquire the reason of this conduct, he was seized, his weapons taken from him, and he was tied to a tree and flogged. It was proposed to attack the place; but early the next day the guide was sent back, and the matter was settled by payment of a portion of the duties demanded.

While halting at a creek, the asses being unloaded, some of the men went in search of honey. Unfortunately they disturbed a large swarm of bees, which, rushing out, attacked both men and beasts. The asses, being loose, galloped off, but the horses and people were fearfully stung.

A fire, which had been kindled for cooking, being deserted, spread in all directions, setting the bamboos in flames and very nearly destroying their luggage. Two of the asses died here, and others were missing.

Several of the soldiers now fell sick, and were mounted on the horses and spare asses.

At Toombin, which the caravan reached on the 16th of June, in the neighbourhood of Malacotta, the good old schoolmaster, Park’s former friend, arrived just as the baggage had started, having travelled all night to visit him. Park invited him to go forward to the next place where they should halt, that he might reward him for his former kindness.

After leaving the village he found Hinton, one of the party, to whom Mr Anderson had lent his horse, lying under a tree, and the horse grazing at a little distance. Park put the sick man on the horse and drove it before him, but was at length compelled to leave him. A mile further on he came to two others lying in the shade of a tree, whom he placed on his own and Mr Anderson’s horses, and carried on to the next village. Hence he sent back for poor Hinton, and left the three in charge of the dooty, giving him beads to purchase provisions for them should they live, and to bury them if they died.

On the 22nd one of the carpenters was also left behind at his own request. A soldier, Bloore, lost his way in the woods while looking for an ass which had strayed, and in the search another sick man, Walter, was found. He had laid himself down among the bushes. He died soon after being taken up, and Park with his sword, and two of the soldiers with their bayonets, dug his grave in the desert, covering it over with a few branches.

Thus, one by one, in rapid succession, Park’s companions, attacked by fever, either sank on the road or were left behind, too probably to perish.

On the 30th of June both Mr Anderson and Mr Scott were attacked by the fever.

While encamped during a violent tornado, when it was necessary to put out the watch-fires, a peculiar roaring and growling was heard. Supposing the sound to be that of wild boars, Park and Lieutenant Martyn went in search of them and fired several shots into the bush. The natives on their return told them that they were not boars, but young lions, and that unless a very good look out was kept they would probably kill some of the cattle during the night. About midnight the lions attempted to seize one of the asses, which so alarmed the rest that they broke the ropes and came full gallop in amongst the tents. Two of the lions followed so close that the sentry cut one with his sword, but dared not fire for fear of killing the asses.

Both Anderson and Scott were worse, but Park urged them to proceed. Alston, a seaman, had become so weak that he was unable to sit his horse, and entreated to be left in the woods till the morning. Park gave him a loaded pistol and some cartridges to protect himself.

The next day, the 4th of July, the river Wanda, which they reached, was found to be greatly swollen. There was but one canoe. In this the baggage was carried over, and Isaaco endeavoured to make the asses cross by swimming and pushing them before him. While thus employed, just as he reached the middle of the stream, a crocodile suddenly rose and, seizing him by the left thigh, pulled him under water. With wonderful presence of mind he thrust his finger into the creature’s eye; on which it quitted its hold, and Isaaco attempted to reach the further shore, calling out for a knife. The crocodile returned and seized him by the other thigh, and again pulled him under water. He had recourse to the same expedient, and thrust his finger into its eyes with such violence that it again quitted him and, when it rose, after flouncing about, swam down the stream. Isaaco reached the other side, and as soon as the canoe returned Park went over, and, having dressed his wounds with adhesive plaster, he was carried to the nearest village, fortunately not far off. Park here found himself very ill and unable to stand erect without feeling a tendency to faint, while all the people were so sickly that they could with difficulty carry the loads into the tents, though rain threatened. Greatly to their astonishment, Ashton the sailor arrived, with his fever much abated, but quite naked, having been stripped of his clothes by some natives during the night.

Important as it was to push on, they found it impossible to do so without Isaaco, whose recovery seemed doubtful, though the delay would expose them to the full violence of the rain shortly to be expected. Isaaco, under Park’s care, notwithstanding his fears, rapidly recovered; and on the 10th of July they were able once more to travel forward, taking a west and north-west direction.

They were now exposed to the thieving propensities of the natives, who took every opportunity of carrying off whatever they could lay their hands on. Among the chief robbers were the sons of a potentate called Mansa Mumma, whose town they reached on the 12th. As Park was looking out for an easy ascent over some rocky ground, two of these young princes, approaching, snatched his musket from his hand and ran off with it. He instantly sprang from his saddle and followed the robber with his sword, calling to Mr Anderson to tell some of the people to look after his horse. Anderson got within musket-shot of the man, but, seeing that he was Mumma’s son, had some doubt about shooting him. The thief made his escape, and on Park’s return he found that the other prince had stolen his great coat. An elder brother, who had been engaged as a guide, told him that after what had happened he would be justified in shooting the first who attempted to steal from the loads. The soldiers were accordingly ordered to load their muskets and be ready. Notwithstanding this, a short time afterwards a man made a dash at one of the asses which had strayed a little from the rest, took off the load, and began to cut it open with his knife. The soldiers fired, but did not hit him, and he made his escape, leaving the load behind him. Another seized a soldier’s knapsack and attempted to make off with it. The soldier covered him with his piece, but it flashed in the pan, and the robber escaped. Another robber, however, who had attempted to carry off a great coat from an ass driven by one of the sick men, was wounded, and Mansa’s son insisted that he should be killed, as otherwise they would not fulfil the orders of the king, who had directed that every person be shot who stole from the caravan.

In this way, day after day, they were attacked, and they had little doubt that one of the sick men who had fallen behind had been robbed and murdered by these people.

A deep stream being reached, it was proposed to form a raft; but the Mandingoes insisted that it would be necessary to build a bridge to enable them to cross. It was most ingeniously and rapidly constructed. The people, however, were too sickly to carry the baggage over, and negroes were therefore hired for the purpose, as well as to swim the asses across.

Another of the soldiers here lay down and expired, and, as the sun was very hot, it was impossible to stop and bury him.

As he was riding on, Park found Mr Scott lying by the side of the path, too sick to walk, and, shortly afterwards, Lieutenant Martyn lay down in the same state.

Pushing on to the town of Mareena, Park sent back a party to bring in his sick companions.

Hence they proceeded to Bangassi, six miles distant, the capital of the Chief Serenummo. While encamped outside, one of the sick men, who had been left under the shade of a tree, was nearly being torn to pieces by wolves, which he found, on awakening, smelling at his feet. Ill as he was, he started up and rushed to the camp.

Here the corporal died, and several soldiers, as well as one of the carpenters, insisted on being left behind. Park handed to the dooty’s son a quantity of amber and other articles of trade, that the poor men might be taken care of.

Poor Park’s troubles increased. Mr Scott, who rode his horse, continued very ill, and the soldiers were so weak that, when the loads fell off the asses, they were unable to lift them on again. In the course of one day’s march Park himself had to assist in re-loading thirteen of the animals. The caravan was also followed by wolves, who prowled round them during the night, showing too plainly what would be the fate of any of the sick men who dropped behind. Provisions also became scarce, and thieves likewise dodged their footsteps, taking every opportunity of robbing them.

On the 10th of August, as Park, who was bringing up the rear, reached a stream, he found many of the soldiers sitting on the ground, and Mr Anderson was lying under a bush, apparently dying. He took his brother-in-law on his back, and carried him across the stream, though it took him up to his middle. He had then to carry other loads, and get the animals over, having thus to cross sixteen times. He then put Mr Anderson on his horse and conveyed him to the next village, where, however, a solitary fowl was the only food he could obtain.

During the last two marches four more men had been lost, and, though Mr Scott was somewhat recovered, Mr Anderson was in a very dangerous state. He struggled on, however, for another day, when, after he had passed a number of sick men, Mr Anderson declared that he could ride no further. Park, having turned the horses and ass to feed, sat down in the shade to watch the pulsations of his dying friend. In the evening, there being a fine breeze, Mr Anderson agreed to make another attempt to move on, in the hopes of reaching a town before dark. They had not proceeded above a mile, when they heard a noise very much like the bark of a large mastiff, but ending in a hiss like that of a cat. Mr Anderson was observing: “What a bouncing fellow that must be,” when another bark nearer to them was heard, and presently a third, accompanied by a growl a short distance further. Coming to an opening in the bushes, three enormous lions of a dusky colour were seen bounding over the long grass, abreast of each other, towards them. Fearing that, should they come near, and his piece miss fire, the lions would seize them, Park advanced and shot at the centre one. The animals stopped, looked at each other, and then bounded away, and, though one again stopped while he was loading his piece, they all disappeared. The lions, however, followed him; but Mr Anderson having a boatswain’s call, Park took it and whistled, and made as much noise as possible, so that they did not again molest him. Notwithstanding Mr Anderson’s reduced condition he persevered in travelling, and, being placed in a hammock constructed out of a cloak, was carried along by two men. Mr Scott, however, complaining of sickness, shortly afterwards dropped behind.

On entering Doomblia during heavy rain, greatly to his satisfaction Park met Kafa Taura, the worthy negro merchant who had been so kind to him on his former journey. He had now come a considerable distance to see him.

From hence he sent back to enquire for Mr Scott, but no information could be obtained about him.

On the 19th of August the sad remnant of the expedition ascended the mountainous ridge which separates the Niger from the remote branches of the Senegal. Mr Park hastened on ahead, and, coming to the brow of the hill, once more saw the mighty river making its way in a broad stream through the plain.

Descending from thence towards Bambakoo, the travellers pitched their tents under a tree near that town.

Of the thirty-four soldiers and four carpenters who left the Gambia, only six soldiers and one carpenter reached the Niger, three having died during the previous day’s march.

As the only canoe Park could obtain would carry but two persons besides their goods, he and Mr Anderson embarked in it, leaving Mr Martyn and the men to come down by land with the asses. He himself was suffering greatly from dysentery. In the evening they landed on some flat rocks near the shore, and were cooking their supper, when the rain came down, and continued with great violence all night.

The next day Mr Martyn and the rest of the people overtook them.

On the following day Isaaco, having performed the task he had undertaken, of guiding them to the Niger, received the payment agreed on; and Park likewise gave him several articles, and told him that when the palaver was adjusted at Sego, he should have all the horses and asses for his trouble.

He here also prepared the present he purposed to offer to Mansong, the king of Bambarra, and which he sent forward to Sego by Isaaco.

Every day brought them some unfavourable news or other. At one time it was reported that Mansong had killed Isaaco with his own hand, and threatened to do the same with all the whites who should come into Bambarra. These reports proved to be false, for Isaaco himself arrived in a canoe from Sego, bringing back all the articles sent to Mansong, who had directed that they should be taken up to Samee, and that he would send a person to receive them from Park’s own hands. Mansong had promised that the expedition should pass, but whenever Isaaco mentioned it particularly, or related any incident that had happened on the journey, Mansong began to make squares and triangles in the sand before him with his finger, and continued to do so as long as Isaaco spoke about them. This the superstitious monarch probably did to defend himself against the supposed incantations of the white man.

On the 22nd of September the chief counsellor of Mansong, Modibinne, and four grandees, arrived by a canoe, bringing a fat milk-white bullock as a present. Next morning Modibinne and the grandees came to the camp and desired Park to acquaint them with the motives which had induced him to come into their country. Park explained them, telling them that it was his wish to sail down the Joliba, or Niger, to the place where it mixes with the salt water, and that if the navigation was found open, the white men would send up vessels to trade at Sego, should Mansong wish it. Modibinne replied that the object of the journey was a good one, and prayed that God would prosper it, adding, “Mansong will protect you.”

The presents intended for the king were then spread out, and appeared to give great satisfaction. Two more soldiers died that evening. On the 26th the expedition, in open canoes, left Samee. Park felt himself very unwell, and the heat was intense, sufficient to have roasted a sirloin. Isaaco, however, having formed an awning over the canoe with four sticks and a couple of cloaks, Park found himself better.

On the 2nd two other privates died, the body of one of whom the wolves carried off, the door of the hut having been left open.

Wishing to obtain cowries, Park opened a market at Marroboo to dispose of his goods, and so great was the demand for them that he had to employ three tellers at once to count his cash. In one day he turned 25,756 pieces of money-cowries.

The sad news now reached him of the Mr Scott’s death, and on the 28th of October his brother-in-law, Mr Anderson, breathed his last. “No event,” Park remarks, “which took place during the journey ever threw the smallest gloom over his mind till he laid Mr Anderson in the grave. He then felt himself left a second time lonely and friendless amidst the wilds of Africa.”

Some days before this, Isaaco had returned with a large canoe, but much decayed and patched. Park, therefore, with the assistance of Bolton, one of the surviving soldiers, took out all the rotten pieces, and, by adding on the portion of another canoe, with eighteen days’ hard labour they changed the Bambarra canoe into his Majesty’s schooner “Joliba.” Her length was forty feet, breadth six feet; and, being flat-bottomed, she drew only one foot of water when loaded. In this craft he and his surviving companions embarked on the 16th of November, on which day his journal closes. He intended next morning to commence his adventurous voyage down the Joliba. Besides Park and Lieutenant Martyn, two Europeans only survived. They had purchased three slaves to assist in the navigation of the vessel, and Isaaco had engaged Amadi Fatouma to succeed him as interpreter. This increased their number to nine.

Descending the stream, they passed the Silla and Jenne without molestation; but lower down, in the neighbourhood of Timbuctoo, they were followed by armed canoes, which they beat off, killing several of the natives. They had, indeed, to fight their way down past a number of places, once striking on the rocks, and being nearly overset by a hippopotamus which rose near them.

Having a large stock of provisions, they were able to proceed without going on shore. Amadi was the only person who landed in order to get fresh provisions.

At Yaour Park sent a present to the king by one of the chiefs, but, the chief inquiring whether he intended to return, Park replied that he had no purpose of doing so. This induced the chief to withhold the presents from the king, and who, accordingly, indignant at being thus treated, put Amadi into irons, took all his goods from him, and sent a force to occupy a rock overhanging the river where it narrows greatly. On arriving at this place, Park endeavoured to pass through, when the people began to throw lances and stones at him. He and his companions defended themselves for a long time, till two of his slaves in the stern of the boat were killed.

Finding no hopes of escape, Park took hold of one of the white men and jumped into the water, and Martyn did the same, hoping to reach the shore, but were drowned in the attempt. The only slave remaining in the boat, seeing the natives persist in throwing their weapons, entreated them to stop. On this they took possession of the canoe and the man, and carried them to the king. Amadi, after being kept in irons three months, was liberated, and on finding the slave who had been taken in the canoe, learned from him the manner in which Mr Park and his companions had perished. The only article left in the canoe had been a sword-belt, which Isaaco, who was afterwards despatched to learn particulars of the tragedy, obtained—the sole relic of the expedition.

Park could not have been aware of the numerous rapids and other difficulties he would have had to encounter on descending the upper portion of the Niger. In all probability his frail and ill-constructed vessel would have been wrecked before he had proceeded many miles below the spot where he lost his life. Had he, however, succeeded in passing that dangerous portion, he might have navigated the mighty stream to its mouth.

Although at first the account of Park’s death was not believed in England, subsequent enquiries left no doubt that all the statements were substantially correct.

Thus perished, in the prime of life, that heroic traveller, at the very time when he had good reason to believe that he was about to solve the problem of the Niger’s course.

Chapter Five.

Travels of Denham and Clapperton.

Preceded by Horneman—Roentgen—Tuckey and others—Major Laing’s journey—Lieutenant Clapperton and Dr Oudney, joined by Major Denham, leave Tripoli—Difficulties with the Pacha—Denham sails for England—The Pacha sends after him—Boo-Khaloum appointed conductor—Journey across the Desert—Illness of Clapperton and Oudney—Numberless skeletons of slaves—Arabs’ ill-treatment of the natives—Lake Chad—Empire of Bornou—Reception at Kouka by the Sheikh—Body-guard of the Sheikh—Barca Gana, his General—Visit to the Sultan of Birnie—Elephant and Buffalo hunting—Denham joins an expedition under Baca Gana—Meet the Sultan of Mandara—Attack on the Felatahs—Denham nearly loses his life—Boo-Khaloum killed—Barca Gana’s troops take to flight—The Major kindly treated by a deposed Prince—Returns to Kouka.

Between Park’s two expeditions, several travellers endeavoured to solve some of the many problems connected with the geography of Africa.

The first person sent out by the Association was a young German, Frederick Horneman, in the character of an Arab merchant. He travelled from Alexandria to Cairo, where he was imprisoned by the natives on the news arriving of Bonaparte’s landing in the country. He was, however, liberated by the French, and set out on the 5th of September, 1798, with a caravan destined for Fezzan.

On one occasion, when passing through Siwah, the bigoted Mahommedan inhabitants surrounded the caravan, having heard that two Christians belonged to it, and promising to let it proceed provided these were delivered up to them. Having, however, by his knowledge of the Koran, satisfied them that he was a true Mahommedan, being protected by the other members of the caravan, he was allowed to proceed.

He reached Mourzouk in safety, and there endeavoured to gain information about the states to the south of Timbuctoo. He, however, heard but little, though he found that Houssa was not, as supposed, a city, but a region embracing many kingdoms, the inhabitants of which were said to be superior in civilisation to those of the surrounding people.

He remained here for a considerable time, and then visited Tripoli, after which he returned to Mourzouk, and started thence in April, 1800.

From that time no information was received directly from him; but Major Denham many years afterwards learned that he had penetrated as far as Nyffe on the Niger, where he fell a victim to disease.

Another German, Roentgen, also sent out by the Association in 1809, started from Mogadore and, it is supposed, was murdered by his guides.

Two Americans, one a seaman, named Adams, and the other a supercargo, James, having been wrecked on the west coast at different periods, travelled for a considerable distance through the north-west portion of the continent. Adams was carried to Timbuctoo, where he remained six months in 1810. He found the city chiefly inhabited by negroes; and he describes the few religious ceremonies which took place as pagan. The city had lately been conquered by the king of Bambarra, who had established there a negro government. Even the largest houses were little more than huts, built of timber frames filled in with earth. He was ultimately liberated by the British consul at Mogadore.

Riley, who was wrecked in 1815, was carried as a slave through the country. From a caravan merchant, Sidi Hamet, who purchased him from his first captors, he obtained much information about the country. From the account he received, it appears at that time that Timbuctoo was larger and better built than Adams described it. Sidi Hamet also travelled a considerable distance down the banks of the Niger, which, though at first running due east, afterwards turned to the south-east. Travelling sixty days, he reached Wassanah, a place twice as large as Timbuctoo, the inhabitants being hospitable and kind-hearted. From thence he heard that boats with cargoes of slaves sailed two months, first south and then west, down the river, till they came to the sea, where they met white people in vessels armed with guns. This was the most correct account hitherto received of the course of the Niger. Riley was also rescued by the English consul at Mogadore.

In 1816 the English Government sent out an expedition to proceed up the Congo, under Captain Tuckey, but he and his followers fell victims to the climate.

At the same time another expedition had started under Major Peddie, and Captain Campbell, but they both, with Lieutenant Stokoe, of the navy, died the following year.

In 1821 Major Laing, starting from Sierra Leone, made a journey in search of the source of the Niger, but was compelled to return.

In 1819 Mr Ritchie, with Lieutenant Lyon, of the navy, started from Tripoli, intending to proceed southward to Bornou, in order to trace the downward course of the Niger, but Mr Ritchie died, and Lieutenant Lyon was unable to get further than the southern frontier of Fezzan.

Owing to the judicious conduct of Mr Warrington, the British Consul at Tripoli, the English were held in high estimation at that court, and the pacha, who was looked upon by the wild tribes of the south as the most potent of all monarchs, assured him that any of his countrymen could travel with perfect safety from his territories to Bornou.

The Government, therefore, considering circumstances so favourable, organised a fresh expedition, headed by Lieutenant Clapperton and Dr Oudney, of the Navy. Major Denham having volunteered his services, they were accepted, and he joined his intended companions at Tripoli. He was accompanied by Mr Hillman, a shipwright, who undertook to direct the building of a vessel on the Niger.

After visiting the pacha, and having accompanied him on a hawking party in the desert, Major Denham set out on the 5th of March, 1822, to join his two companions, who had gone forward to the beautiful valley of Memoom.

When near Sockna, they met a kafila, or caravan of slaves, in which were about seventy negroes, who told them that they came from the different regions of Soudan, Begharmi, and Kanem. Those from Soudan had regular features and a pleasing expression of countenance.

On reaching Mourzouk they were disappointed in their expectation of receiving assistance from the sultan, who declared that it was impossible to obtain either camels or horses before the next spring, to enable them to proceed. Finding this, Major Denham determined to return to Tripoli, to represent to the pacha that something besides mere promises must be given.

Attended by his negro servant, Barca, he reached that town on the 12th of June, and the pacha himself showing little inclination to render assistance, he at once started for England, to represent the state of affairs to the Government. He was, however, overtaken at Marseilles by a messenger from the pacha entreating him to return, and assuring him that he had appointed a well-known caravan leader, Boo-Khaloum, with an escort to convey him to Bornou.

On his return to Africa he found Boo-Khaloum and part of the escort already waiting for him at the entrance of the desert. His new friend delighted in pomp and show, and he and his attendants entered Sockna attired in magnificent costumes, their chief himself riding a beautiful Tunisian horse, the saddle and housing richly adorned with scarlet cloth and gold. This African caravan merchant united the character of a warlike chief and trader, his followers being trained not only to fight in defence of his property, but to attack towns and carry off the hapless inhabitants as slaves. Yet Book-Haloum was superior to most of his age; he possessed an enlarged and liberal mind, and was considered an honourable and humane man, while so great was his generosity that he was adored by his people.

On the 30th of October the caravan entered Mourzouk with all the parade and pomp they could muster. Boo-Khaloum’s liberality had made him so popular that a large portion of the inhabitants of the town came out to welcome him.

Major Denham was greatly disappointed at not seeing his friends among the crowd. He found that Dr Oudney was suffering from a complaint in his chest, and that Clapperton was confined to his bed; indeed the climate of Mourzouk is evidently very unhealthy.

The arrangements for starting were not completed until the 29th of November. In the meantime the other members of the expedition had somewhat recovered. Major Denham had engaged a native of the Island of Saint Vincent, of the name of Simpkins, but who, having traversed half the world over, had acquired that of Columbus. He spoke Arabic perfectly, and three European languages. Three negroes were also hired, and a Gibraltar Jew, Jacob, who acted as store-keeper. These, with four men to look after their camels, Mr Hillman and themselves, made up their household to thirteen persons. Several merchants also joined their party. Besides these, the caravan comprised one hundred and ten Arabs, marshalled in tens and twenties under their different chiefs.

The Arabs in the service of the pacha, who were to escort them to Bornou, behaved admirably, and enlivened them greatly on their dreary desert road by their wit and sagacity, as well as by their poetry, extemporary and traditional.

The camels and tents having been sent on before, the party started on horseback on the evening of the day mentioned. Dr Oudney was suffering from his cough, and neither Clapperton nor Hillman had got over their ague, a bad condition in which to commence their arduous journey.

The heat when crossing the desert was great; not a bird nor an insect was to be seen moving through the air; but the nights were beautiful and perfectly still, gentle breezes cooling the air. By digging a few inches into the hot, loose soil, a cool and soft bed was obtained. Through wide districts the surface was covered with salt, and from the sides of hollows where it was broken, hung beautiful crystals like the finest frost-work.

Before proceeding far, objects sufficient to create the deepest horror in their minds were met with. In all directions the ground was covered with the skeletons of those who had perished in attempting to cross the wilderness. At first only one or two were seen, but afterwards as many as fifty or sixty were passed in a day. At one place a hundred were found together, and near the wells of El Hammar they were lying too thickly to be counted. One morning as Denham, dozing on his horse, was riding, he was startled by a peculiar sound of something crashing under the animal’s feet, and, on looking down, he found that he was trampling over two human skeletons, one of the horse’s feet having driven a skull before him like a ball. To some of the bones portions of the flesh and hair still adhered, and the features of others were distinguishable. Two skeletons of females lay close together, who had evidently died in each other’s arms.

The Arabs, accustomed to such scenes, laughed at the sympathy exhibited by the English, observing, with a curse on their fathers, that they were only blacks. There can be no doubt that the larger group consisted of a number of slaves captured by the Sultan of Fezzan, during a late expedition he had made into Soudan. His troops, having left Bornou with an insufficient supply of provisions, allowed their unhappy captives to perish, while they made their escape with the food intended to support them.

One evening the major exhibited a book of drawings made by Captain Lyon, to Boo-Khaloum. The portraits he understood, but he could not comprehend the landscapes, and would look at one upside down. On seeing a beautiful print of sand-wind in the desert, though it was twice reversed, he exclaimed: “Why, it is all the same!” Probably a European, even, who had never before cast his eye on the representation of a landscape, would be long before he could appreciate the beauties of the picture. One beautiful moonlight evening Denham exhibited his telescope. An old hadji, after he had been helped to fix the glass on the moon, uttering an exclamation of wonder, walked off as fast as he could, repeating words from the Koran.

Few adventures were met with; but one whole day the travellers were annoyed by a strong east wind, and the next day the wind and drifting sand were so violent that they were compelled to keep their tents. They had to sit in their shirts, as the sand could thus be shaken off as soon as it made a lodgment, which with any other articles of dress could not be done. Denham found the greatest relief by rubbing the neck and shoulders with oil, and being shampooed by his servant, Barca’s wife, who, when a slave in the palace of the pacha, had learned the art.

The Tibboos, a tribe who had for some time accompanied them, went off to obtain some sheep, an ox, honey, milk and fat. On their return the milk turned out sour camels’ milk, full of sand, and the fat very rancid, while a single lean sheep was purchased for two dollars.

Some of their horses were very handsome and extremely fat, which arose from being fed entirely on camels’ milk, corn being too scarce for the Tibboos to spare them.

The girls of this tribe were pretty, but the men extremely ugly.

Their Arabs, who were sent as an escort to oppose banditti, after a time became dissatisfied at having nothing to do, and were evidently contemplating inroads on the inhabitants.

Denham, with Boo-Khaloum and a dozen horsemen, each having a footman behind him, started off towards a spot where some Tibboo tents had been seen. On their arrival they found that the shepherds had moved off, knowing well how they should be treated by the white people, as they called the Arabs. Their caution was made the excuse for plundering them. “What! not stay to sell their sheep? the rogues!” exclaimed the Arabs.

After a time they came in sight of two hundred head of cattle and about twenty persons—men, women and children—with camels, moving off. The Arabs, slipping from behind their leaders, with a shout, rushed down the hill, part running towards the cattle to prevent their escape. The unfortunate people were rapidly plundered, the camels were brought to the ground and the whole of their loads rifled. The poor women and girls lifted up their hands, stripped as they were to the skin, but Denham felt that he could do nothing for them beyond saving their lives.

When Boo-Khaloum came up, however, he seemed ashamed of the paltry booty his followers had obtained, and Denham seized the favourable moment to advise that the Arabs should give everything back, and have a few sheep and an ox for a feast. He gave the order, and the property was restored, with the exception of ten sheep and a fat bullock.

An old maraboot assured Denham that to plunder those who left their tents, instead of supplying travellers, was quite lawful. Too often the natives are not only plundered, but murdered, by the armed attendants of caravans as they make their way across the desert.

The natives, as may be supposed, retaliate. Should any animal straggle from the main body, it is certain to be carried off. Major Denham lost a favourite dog, which was captured and eaten.

On reaching Lara, a small town of conical-topped rush huts, to the delight of the travellers they saw before them, from a rising ground, the boundless expanse of Lake Chad, glowing with the golden rays of the sun. They hastened down to the shores of this large inland sea, which was darkened with numberless birds of varied plumage—ducks, geese, pelicans and cranes four or five feet high, immense spoonbills of snowy whiteness, yellow-legged plovers—all quietly feeding at half pistol-shot. A large basket to supply their larder was soon filled.

Moving along the shores of the lake, the caravan arrived at Woodie, a negro town of considerable size. It was here arranged that the caravan should wait till an embassy could be sent to the Sheikh of Bornou, to obtain permission for presenting themselves before him.

The empire of Bornou had, some twenty years before, been overrun and subjected by the Felatahs, a powerful people to the west. The present sheikh, a native of Kanem, though of humble birth, had by his superior talents and energy rallied round him a band of warriors, and, pretending that he had received a command from the prophet, hoisted the green flag, and had in a few months driven the invaders out of the country, which they had never since been able to occupy, though frequently attacking his borders.

While waiting for the sheikh’s reply, Major Denham rode out early one morning in search of a herd of a hundred and fifty elephants, which had been seen the day before. He found them about six miles from the town, on ground annually overflowed by the waters of the lake. They seemed to cover the whole face of the country, and exceeded the number he expected to see. Often, when forced by hunger, they approach the towns and spread devastation throughout their march, whole plantations being destroyed in a single night. Some antelopes were also seen, but they never allowed the party to get near enough to hazard a shot.

The country for the last eighteen days of their journey had been covered with a grass which produces a calyx full of prickles. These adhere to the dress and penetrate to the skin, to which they fasten themselves like grappling-irons. They got between the toes of the poor dog Niger, and into every part of his long silken hair, so as to make him unable to walk.

At the next camping-place hyaenas came close to their tents and killed a camel, on the carcase of which a lion, when he had driven them away, banqueted, when they returned and devoured what he had left.

Several days’ journey took the caravan into the neighbourhood of Kouka. They had been told that the sheikh’s soldiers were a few ragged negroes, armed with spears, who lived upon the plunder of the black Kaffir countries. Greatly to their astonishment, as they approached the town they beheld a body of several thousand cavalry, drawn up in line and extending right and left as far as they could see.

As the Arabs approached, a yell was given by the sheikhs people, which rent the air; and a blast being blown from their rude instruments, they moved on to meet Boo-Khaloum and his Arabs. Small bodies kept charging rapidly towards them, to within a few feet of their horses’ heads, without checking the speed of their own until the moment of their halting; then they wheeled at their utmost speed with great precision, shaking their spears over their heads, exclaiming, “Baka baka!” (“Blessing! blessing!”) They quickly, however, surrounded the caravan so as to prevent it moving on, which greatly enraged Boo-Khaloum, but to no purpose, as he was only answered by shrieks of welcome, and spears unpleasantly rattled over the traveller’s heads. In a short time, Barca Gana, the sheikh’s first general—a negro of noble aspect, clothed in a figured silk tobe, mounted on a beautiful Mandara horse—made his appearance, and cleared away those who had pressed upon them, when the party moved on slowly towards the city.

Arrived at the gates, Boo-Khaloum, with the English and about a dozen of his followers, alone were allowed to enter. They proceeded along a wide street completely lined with spearmen on foot, with cavalry in front of them, to the door of the sheikh’s residence. Here the horsemen were formed up three deep, and the party halted while some of the chief’s attendants came out and, after a great many “Baka’s! baka’s!” retired, when others performed the same ceremony. On this, Boo-Khaloum again lost patience, and swore by the pacha’s head that he would return to his tents, if he was not immediately admitted. Denham advised him to submit, and Barca Gana, appearing, invited him to dismount. The English were about to do the same, when an officer intimated that the Arab alone was to be admitted.

Another half-hour, and the gates were again opened, and the four Englishmen were called for. The strictest etiquette appeared to be kept up at the sheikh’s court; but the major and his companions declined doing more in the way of reverence than bending their heads and laying their right-hands on their hearts. They found the sheikh sitting on a carpet, in a small, dark room. He was plainly dressed in a blue tobe of Soudan and a small turban, with armed negroes on either side of him, and weapons hung up on the walls. His personal appearance was prepossessing, and he had an expressive countenance and a benevolent smile.

After he had received the letter from the pacha, he enquired what was their object in coming. They answered, to see the country and to give an account of its inhabitants, produce and appearance, as their sultan was desirous of knowing every part of the globe. His reply was that they were welcome, and whatever he could show them would give him pleasure.

Huts had been built for them and an abundance of provisions was provided, though the number of their visitors gave them not a moment’s peace, while the heat was insufferable.

Next day they had another audience, to deliver their presents. With the firearms, especially, the sheikh was highly delighted, and he showed evident satisfaction on their assuring him that the king of England had heard of Bornou and himself. Immediately turning to his councillors, he observed: “This is in consequence of our defeating the Begharmis.” Upon this the chief who had most distinguished himself in this memorable battle, Bagah Furby, demanded: “Did he ever hear of me?” The reply of “Certainly!” did wonders for their cause. “Ah, then your king must be a great man!” was re-echoed from every side.

Every morning, besides presents of bullocks, camel-loads of wheat and rice, leather skins of butter, jars of honey, and wooden bowls containing rice with meat, and paste made of barley flour—savoury, but very greasy—were sent to them.

In a short time—by the exhibition of rockets, a musical box, and other wonders—Denham appeared to have entirely won the sheikh’s confidence. Reports, however, had been going about that the English had come to spy out the land, and intended to build ships on Lake Chad, in which they would sail about and conquer the surrounding country. Reports were now received that the Begharmis were approaching Bornou, and it was said that the sheikh would immediately send a force into their country, in order to punish their sultan for even thinking of revenge.

The sheikh, in the meantime, had given them leave to visit all the towns in his dominions, but on no account to go beyond them. He asked many questions about the English manner of attacking a walled town; and, on hearing that they had guns which carried ball of thirty-two pounds’ weight, with which the walls were breached, and that then the place was taken by assault, his large dark eyes sparkled again, as he exclaimed: “Wonderful! wonderful!”

Although the sheikh was the real ruler of the country, he allowed the existence of the hereditary sultan, a mere puppet, who resided at Birnie. Boo-Khaloum advised that they should pay their respects to this sovereign; and they accordingly set out for the place, which contained about ten thousand inhabitants. They were first conducted to the gate of the sultan’s mud edifice, where a few of the court were assembled to receive them. One, a sort of chamberlain, habited in eight or ten tobes, or shirts, of different colours, carried an immense staff, and on his head was a turban of prodigious size, though but a trifling one compared to those they were destined to see at the audience on the following morning. A large marquee was pitched for their reception, which they found luxuriously cool. In the evening a plentiful repast was brought them, consisting of seventy dishes, each of which would have dined half-a-dozen persons with moderate appetites; and for fear the English should not eat like the Bornouy, a slave or two arrived loaded with live fowls for their dinner.

Soon after daylight the next morning they were summoned to attend the sultan. He received them in an open space in front of the royal residence. They were compelled to stop at a considerable distance from him, while his own people approached to within about a hundred yards, passing first on horseback, and, after dismounting and prostrating themselves before him, they took their places on the ground in front, but with their backs to the royal person. He was seated in a sort of cage made of cane, on a throne which appeared to be covered with silk or satin. Nothing could be more absurd and grotesque than the figures who formed his court. The sheikh, to make himself popular with all parties, allowed the sultan to be amused by indulging in all the folly and bigotry of the ancient negro sovereigns. Large bellies and large heads are considered the proper attributes of the courtiers, and those who do not possess the former by nature, make up the deficiency of protuberance by a wadding, which, as they sit on horseback, gives them a most extraordinary appearance, while the head is enveloped in folds of muslin or linen of various colours, of such size as to make the head appear completely on one side. The turbans are, besides, hung all-over with charms enclosed in little red leather bags. The horse is also adorned in the same manner.

When the courtiers had taken their seats, the visitors were desired to sit down. On this, the ugliest black that can be imagined, the only person who approached the sultan’s seat, asked for the presents. Boo-Khaloum produced them, enclosed in a large shawl, and they were carried unopened into the presence of the sultan. The English, by some omission, had brought no presents.

A little to their left was an extemporary declaimer, shouting forth the praises of his master, with his pedigree, and near him stood a man with a long, wooden trumpet, on which he ever and anon blew a blast.

Nothing could be more ridiculous than the appearance of these people, squatting down in their places, tottering under the weight and magnitude of their turbans and their bellies, while the thin legs that appeared underneath but ill accorded with the bulk of the other part.

Immediately after the ceremony the travellers took their departure for Angornou, a town containing at least thirty thousand inhabitants. The market-place was crowded with people, and there were a number of beggars. Linen was so cheap that all the men wore shirts and trousers; but the beggars were seen holding up the arms of an old pair of the latter, touching the shirt at the same time, and exclaiming: “But breeches there are none; but breeches there are none.” This novel mode of drawing the attention of the passers-by so amused Denham that he could not help laughing outright.

He was, however, anxious to visit a large river to the southward of Kouka, called the Shary; but was delayed by Dr Oudney’s serious illness, and the unsettled state of Book-Haloum’s affairs with the Arabs; indeed, so mutinous had some of these become, that he was at last compelled to send thirty of them back again to Fezzan.

Hillman had greatly pleased the sheikh by manufacturing a couple of chests, and he was now requested to make a sort of litter, such as the sheikh had heard were used by the sultans of Fezzan.

Among other presents, the sheikh sent them a young lion about three months old. It was a tame, good-natured creature, but as Denham was under the necessity of refusing the animal a corner of his hut, it was immediately in consequence killed.

During the illness of his companions Major Denham made an excursion to the shores of Lake Chad, accompanied by Maraymy, an intelligent black, to whose charge he had been committed by the sheikh, where numerous elephants and some beautiful antelopes were seen. The sheikh’s people, as they came near the elephants, began screeching violently. The animals, though moving a little away, erected their ears, and gave a roar that shook the ground under them. One was an immense fellow. The party wheeled swiftly round him, and Maraymy casting a spear at him, which struck him just under the tail, the huge brute threw up his proboscis in the air with a loud roar, and from it cast such a volume of sand as nearly to blind the major, who was approaching at the time.

The elephant rarely if ever attacks, but, when irritated, he will sometimes rush upon a man on horseback, and, after choking him with dust, destroy him in a moment.

Pursued by the horsemen, the animal made off at a clumsy, rolling walk, but sufficient to keep the steeds at a full gallop. The major fired twice at fifty yards’ distance. The first shot which struck the animal failed to make the least impression, and the second, though wounding him in the ear, seemed to give him a moment’s uneasiness only. After another spear had been darted at him, which flew off his rough hide without exciting the least sensation, the elephant made his escape.

The Shooas, the original inhabitants of the country, are great hunters. Mounted on horseback, a Shooa hunter seeks the buffalo in the swampy regions near the lake, and, driving the animal he has selected to the firm ground, rides on till he gets close alongside, when, springing up, he stands with one foot on his horse and the other on the back of the buffalo, through which he plunges his spear, driving it with tremendous force into its heart.

Denham heard of people called Kerdies, who inhabited islands far away in the eastern part of the lake. They frequently make plundering excursions even close up to Angornou, and carry off cattle and people in their canoes, no means being taken to oppose them.

The sheikh was very unwilling that his white visitor should cross the Shary, for fear of the danger he would run.

At length an opportunity occurred of seeing the country, which Denham determined not to let slip. Boo-Khaloum, though sorely against his will, had been induced by his Arabs to plan an expedition against the pagan inhabitants of some villages in the mountains of Mandara, in order to carry them off as slaves to Fezzan. He, wishing rather to visit the commercial regions of Soudan, long held out against these nefarious proposals. The sheikh, who wished to punish the people who were constantly in arms against him, instigated the Arabs to induce Boo-Khaloum to undertake the expedition, and at length, believing that by no other means could he hope to make a profitable journey, he was induced to comply. The sheikh, however, was unwilling that Major Denham should be exposed to the dangers he would meet with, but, as he had determined to go, at last gave his consent, appointing Maraymy to attend him, and to be answerable for his safety.

Boo-Khaloum and his Arabs, with the sheikh’s forces under his general, Barca Gana, had already got some distance ahead. Accompanied by Maraymy, Denham overtook them when several miles from the city, and was received with great civility by Barca Gana in his tent. He had been kept some minutes outside while the general consulted his charm writer, and his remark as he entered was: “If it was the will of God, the stranger should come to no harm, and that he would do all in his power for his convenience.”

Barca Gana had about two thousand of the sheikh’s soldiers under his command. He was himself, however, only a slave, but from his bravery had been raised by his master to the rank of Governor of Angala and all the towns on the Shary, as well as that of commander-in-chief of his troops. He was accompanied by several guards of horse and foot, and a band of five men, three of whom carried a sort of drum, who sang extemporary songs while they beat time; another carried a pipe made of a reed, and a fifth blew on a buffalo’s horn loud and deep-toned blasts. As he advanced through the forest he was preceded by twelve pioneers, who carried long forked poles, with which they kept back the branches as the party moved forward; at the same time they pointed out any dangers in the road.

The heat was intense. Into a lake at which they arrived the horses rushed by hundreds, making the water as thick as pea-soup. As the major’s camel had not come up, he could not pitch his tent, and he was compelled to lie down in the best shade he could find, and cover himself completely with a cloth and a thick woollen bournous, to keep up a little moisture, by excluding all external air.

After several days’ march they arrived near the capital of Mandara, whose sultan sent out several of his chiefs to meet them. Near the town of Delow the sultan himself appeared, surrounded by about five hundred horsemen. Different parties of these troops charged up to the front of Barca Gana’s forces, and, wheeling suddenly round, galloped back again. They were handsomely dressed in Soudan tobes of different colours—dark blue and striped with yellow and red; bournouses of coarse scarlet cloth, with large turbans of white or dark-coloured cotton. Their horses were really beautiful—larger and more powerful than any seen in Bornou. They managed them with great skill.

A parley was now carried on. This sultan was an ally of the sheikh, but the people who were to be attacked were his own subjects, though, as they were pagans, that mattered nothing.

Boo-Khaloum was, as usual, very sanguine of success. He said he should make the sultan handsome presents, and that he was quite sure a Kerdie or pagan town full of people would be given him to plunder.

The Arabs eyed the Kerdie huts, now visible on the sides of the mountains, with longing eyes, and, contrasting their own ragged condition with the appearance of the Sultan of Mandara’s people in their rich tobes, observed to Book-Haloum that what they saw pleased them; they would go no further; this would do. They trusted for victory to their guns—though many were wretched weapons, and their powder was bad—declaring that arrows were nothing, and ten thousand spears of no importance. “We have guns! we have guns!” they shouted. They were soon to find that they made a fearful mistake.

The Sultan of Mandara had assisted the Sheikh Kanemy in driving out the Felatahs, and, since then, supported by his powerful ally, had risen greatly in power. The Felatahs, indeed, were his principal enemies in the neighbourhood, and he was only waiting for such an expedition as now joined him to attack them.

The unfortunate Kerdies, who believed that they themselves were the objects of the raid, beheld with dread the army of Barca Gana bivouacking in the valley. The fires, which were visible in the different nests of the hapless mountaineers, threw a glare on the bold peaks and bluff promontories of granite rock by which they were surrounded, and produced a picturesque and somewhat awful appearance. Denham could distinguish many of them through his telescope, making off into the mountains, while others came down bearing leopard-skins, honey, and slaves as peace offerings, as also asses and goats, with which the mountains abound. They, however, on this occasion, were not destined to suffer. The people of Musgu, whose country it had been reported that the Arabs were to plunder, sent two hundred slaves and other presents to the sultan. As they entered and left the palace they threw themselves on the ground, pouring sand on their heads, and uttering the most piteous cries.

The sultan all this time had not informed Boo-Khaloum what district he would allow him to attack, but observed that the Kerdie nations, being extremely tractable, were becoming Mussulmans without force.

Major Denham had several interviews with this intelligent but bigoted sultan, when he was greatly annoyed by the chief doctor of the court, or fighi, Malem Chadily, who, because he was a Christian, endeavoured to prejudice the mind of the sultan against him; indeed, the bigotry of this court far surpassed that usually found among black tribes who have become Mahommedans. The major had been drawing with a lead pencil, when he was carried into the presence of the sultan. Malem Chadily on this occasion pretended to treat him with great complaisance.

The courtiers were much astonished at seeing the effect produced by the pencils, and the ease with which their traces were effaced by india-rubber. Several words were written by the doctor and others, which were quickly rubbed out by the major. At last, the doctor wrote: “Bismillah arachmani arachemi” (“In the name of the great and most merciful God”) in large Koran characters. He made so deep an impression on the paper, that after using the india-rubber the words still appeared legible, the fighi remarking: “They are the words of God, delivered to our prophet: I defy you to erase them.” The sultan and all around him gazed at the paper with intense satisfaction, exclaiming that a miracle had been wrought, and Denham was well pleased to take his departure. Even Barca Gana afterwards, when Denham visited him in his tent, exclaimed, “Wonderful! wonderful!” And the fighi, or doctor, added, “I will show you hundreds of miracles performed alone by the words of the wonderful book.” He then urged the major to turn Mahommedan. “Paradise will then be opened to you,” he remarked. “Without this, what can save you from eternal fire. I shall then see you, while sitting in the third heaven, in the midst of the flames, crying out to your friend Barca Gana and myself, ‘Give me a drop of water!’ but the gulf will be between us and then it will be too late.” Malem’s tears flowed in abundance during this harangue, and everybody appeared affected by his eloquence.

Poor Boo-Khaloum all this time was ill, from vexation more than sickness. At last he had another interview with the sultan, but returned much irritated, and told the major, as he passed, that they should move in the evening, and to the question if everything went well, he answered: “Please God.” The Arabs, from whom he kept his destination a secret, received him with cheers. Whom they were going against they cared little, so long as there was a prospect of plunder, and the whole camp became a busy scene of preparation. Two hours after noon the march was commenced towards the mountains, which rose up in rugged magnificence on either side.

As the morning of the 28th of April broke, an interesting scene presented itself. The Sultan of Mandara, mounted on a beautiful, cream-coloured horse, and followed by a number of persons handsomely dressed, was on one side. Barca Gana’s people, who were on the other, wore their red scarves or bournouses over their steel jackets. The major took up a position at the general’s right-hand, when the troops, entering a thick wood in two columns, were told that at the end of it they should find the enemy. Maraymy kept closer to the major’s side, as danger was approaching.

As they were riding along, several leopards ran swiftly from them, twisting their long tails in the air. A large one was seen, which Maraymy remarked was so satiated with the blood of a negro it had just before killed, that it would be easily destroyed. The Shooa soon planted a spear, which passed through the animal’s neck. It rolled over, breaking the spear, and bounded off with the lower half in its body. Another Shooa attacking it, the animal, with a howl, was in the act of springing on the pursuer, when an Arab shot it through the head.

On emerging from the wood, the large Felatah town of Durkulla was perceived, and the Arabs were formed in front, headed by Boo-Khaloum. They were flanked on each side by a large body of cavalry, who, as they moved on, shouted the Arab war-cry. Denham thought he could perceive a smile pass between Barca Gana and his chief, at poor Boo-Khaloum’s expense.

Durkulla was quickly burned, and another small town near it. The few inhabitants found in them, being infants or aged persons, unable to escape, were put to death or thrown into the flames. A third town, called Musfeia, built on a rising ground, and capable of being defended against assailants ten times as numerous as the besiegers, was next reached. A strong fence of palisades, well pointed, and fastened together with thongs of raw hide, six feet in height, had been carried from one hill to the other. Felatah bowmen were placed behind the palisades and on the rising ground, with a wady before them, while their horses were all under cover of the hills. This was a strong position. The Arabs, however, moved on with great gallantry, without any support from the Bornou or Mandara troops, and, notwithstanding the showers of arrows, some poisoned, which were poured on them from behind the palisades, Boo-Khaloum carried them in about half an hour, and dashed on, driving the Felatahs up the sides of the hills. The women were everywhere seen supplying their protectors with fresh arrows, till they retreated, still shooting on their pursuers. The women also rolled down huge masses of rock, killing several Arabs. Barca Gana, with his spearmen, at length advanced to the support of Boo-Khaloum, and pierced through and through some fifty unfortunates, who were left wounded near the stakes. The major rode by his side into the town, where a desperate skirmish took place, but Barca Gana with his muscular arm threw eight spears, some at a distance of thirty yards or more, which all told. Had either the Mandara or the sheikh’s troops now moved up boldly, they must have carried the town and the heights above it. Instead of this, they kept on the other side of the wady, out of reach of the arrows. The Felatahs, seeing their backwardness, made so desperate an attack that the Arabs gave way. The Felatah horse came on. Had not Barca Gana and Boo-Khaloum, with his few mounted Arabs, given them a very spirited check, not one of their band would have lived to see the following day. As it was, Barca Gana had three horses hit under him, two of which died almost immediately, while poor Boo-Khaloum and his horse were both wounded. The major’s horse was also wounded in the neck, shoulder, and hind leg, and an arrow struck him in the face, merely drawing blood as it passed. He had two sticking in his bournous. The Arabs suffered terribly: most of them had two or three wounds; one dropped with five arrows sticking in his head, and two of Boo-Khaloum’s slaves were killed near him.

No sooner did the Mandara and Bornou troops see the defeat of the Arabs than they, one and all, took to flight in the most dastardly manner and the greatest confusion. The sultan led the way, having been prepared to take advantage of whatever plunder the success of the Arabs might throw into his hands; but no less determined to leave the field the moment the fortune of the day appeared to be against them.

Major Denham had reason to regret his folly in exposing himself, badly prepared as he was for accident. By flight only could he save himself. The whole army, which had now become a flying mass, plunged in the greatest disorder into the wood which had lately been left.

He had got to the westward of Barca Gana in the confusion, when he saw upwards of a hundred of the Bornou troops speared by the Felatahs, and was following the steps of one of the Mandara officers, when the cries behind, of the Felatah horse pursuing, made both quicken their pace. His wounded horse at this juncture stumbled and fell. Almost before he was on his legs the Felatahs were upon him. He had, however, kept hold of the bridle, and, seizing a pistol from the holster, presented it at two of the savages who were pressing him with their spears. They instantly went off; but another, who came on more boldly just as he was endeavouring to mount, received the contents in his shoulder, and he was enabled to place his foot in the stirrup. Remounting, he again retreated, but had not proceeded many hundred yards when his horse once more came down, with such violence as to throw him against a tree at a considerable distance. At this juncture, alarmed by the horses behind him, the animal got up and escaped, leaving the major on foot and unarmed.

The Mandara officer and his followers were butchered and stripped within a few yards of him. Their cries were dreadful. His hopes of life were too faint to deserve the name. He was almost instantly surrounded, and speedily stripped, his pursuers making several thrusts at him with their spears, wounding his hands severely, and his body slightly. In the first instance they had been prevented from murdering him by the fear of injuring the value of his clothes, which appeared to them a rich booty. His shirt was now torn off his back. When his plunderers began to quarrel for the spoil, the idea of escape came across his mind. Creeping under the belly of the horse nearest him, he started as fast as his legs would carry him, to the thickest part of the wood. Two of the Felatahs followed. He ran in the direction the stragglers of his own party had taken. His pursuers gained on him, for the prickly underwood tore his flesh and impeded his progress. Just then he saw a mountain stream gliding along at the bottom of a deep ravine. His strength had almost failed him, when, seizing the long branches of a tree overhanging the water, he let himself down into it. What was his horror to observe a large liffa, the most venomous of serpents, rise from its coil as if in the very act of striking! His senses left him, the branch slipped from his hand, and he tumbled headlong into the water. The shock, however, revived him, and with three strokes of his arms he reached the opposite bank, which with great difficulty he crawled up. He, at length, felt that he was safe from his pursuers. Still, the forlorn situation in which he was placed, without even a rag to cover his body, almost overwhelmed him. Yet, fully alive to the danger to which he was exposed, he had began to plan how he could best rest on the top of a tamarind tree, in order to escape from panthers, when the idea of liffas, almost as numerous, excited a shudder of despair. While trying to make his way through the woods, he observed two horsemen between the trees, and, still further to the east, with feelings of gratitude, he recognised Barca Gana and Boo-Khaloum, with about six Arabs. Although they were pressed closely by a party of Felatahs, the guns and pistols of the Arabs kept the latter in check. His shouts were drowned by the cries of those who were falling under the Felatahs’ spears and the cheers of the Arabs rallying; but, happily, Maraymy distinguished him at a distance. Riding up, the faithful black assisted the major to mount behind him, and, while the arrows whistled over their heads, they galloped off to the rear as fast as the black’s wounded horse could carry them. After they had gone a mile or two, Boo-Khaloum rode up and desired one of the Arabs to cover the major with a houmous. This was the last act of Denham’s unfortunate friend. Directly afterwards Maraymy exclaimed: “Look, Boo-Khaloum is dead!” The major turned his head, and saw the caravan leader drop from his horse into the arms of a favourite Arab. A poisoned arrow in his wounded foot had proved fatal. The Arabs believed he had only swooned; but there was no water to revive him, and before it could be obtained he was past the reach of stimulants. At the same time, Barca Gana offered the major a horse; but Maraymy exclaimed: “Do not mount him; he will die!” He therefore remained with the black. Two Arabs, however, mounted the animal, and in less than an hour he fell to rise no more; and, before they could recover themselves, both the Arabs were butchered by the Felatahs.

At last a stream was reached. The horses, with the blood gushing from their noses, rushed into the water, and the major, letting himself down, knelt amongst them, and seemed to imbibe new life from the copious draughts of the muddy beverage he swallowed. He then lost all consciousness; but Maraymy told him that he had staggered across the stream and fallen down at the foot of a tree. Here a quarter of an hour’s halt was made, to place Boo-Khaloum’s body on a horse and to collect stragglers, during which Maraymy had asked Barca Gana for another horse, in order to carry the major on, when the chief, irritated by his defeat, as well as by having had his horse refused, by which means he said it had come by its death, replied: “Then leave him behind. By the head of the Prophet! believers enough have breathed their last to-day! What is there extraordinary in a Christian’s death?” His old antagonist, Malem Chadily, replied: “No; God has preserved him, let us not forsake him.” Maraymy returned to the tree, awoke the major, and, again mounting, they moved on as before, though with less speed.

The effect produced on the horses wounded by arrows was extraordinary; immediately after drinking they dropped and instantly died, the blood gushing from their mouths, noses, and ears. More than thirty horses were lost at this spot from the effects of the poison.

After riding forty-five miles, it was past midnight before they halted in the territories of the Sultan of Mandara, the major thoroughly worn-out. The bournous thrown over him by the Arab teemed with vermin, and it was evening the next day before he could get a shirt, when a man gave him one, on the promise of getting a new one at Kouka. Maraymy all the time tended him with the greatest care while he slept for a whole night and day under a tree.

Denham here met with an unexpected act of kindness from Mai Meegamy, a dethroned sultan, now subject to the sheikh. Taking him by the hand, the sultan led him into his own leathern tent, and, disrobing himself of his trousers, insisted that the major should put them on. No act of charity could exceed this. Denham was exceedingly touched by it, but declined the offer. The ex-sultan, however, supposing that he did so under the belief that he had offered the only pair he possessed, seemed much hurt, and immediately called in a slave, whom he stripped of those necessary appendages of a man’s dress, which he put on himself, insisting that Denham should take those he had first offered him. Meegamy was his great friend from that moment, though he had scarcely spoken to him before he had quitted the sheikh’s dominions.

In this unfortunate expedition, besides their chief, forty-five of the Arabs were killed, nearly all were wounded, and they lost everything they possessed, Major Denham having also lost his mule and all his property.

The wounds of many of the people were very severe, and several died soon afterwards, their bodies, as well as poor Boo-Khaloum’s, becoming instantly swollen and black. Sometimes, immediately after death, blood issued from the nose and mouth, which the Bornou people asserted was in consequence of the arrows having been poisoned.

The surviving Arabs, who had now lost all their arrogance, entreated Barca Gana to supply them with corn to save them from starving, for the Sultan of Mandara refused to supply them with food, and even kept Boo-Khaloum’s horse-trappings and clothes.

In six days the expedition arrived at Kouka. The sheikh was excessively annoyed at the defeat; but laid the blame, not without justice, on the Mandara troops, who had evidently behaved treacherously to their allies.

Chapter Six.

Travels of Denham and Clapperton, continued.

Major Denham and Dr Oudney visit old Birnie—Accompany the Sheikh on an expedition against the Munga—Review of troops—Submission of rebels—Barca Gana disgraced—Return—Arrival of Lieutenant Toole—Expedition to the Shary—Pest of flies—Well received by the Sultan of Begharrni—Death of Lieutenant Toole—Returns to Kouka—Arrival of Mr Tyrhwit—Expedition against rebels on shores of Lake Chad—Barca Gana again defeated and wounded—The Sheikh’s severe laws against immorality.

Soon after the return of the unfortunate expedition to Mandara, the sheikh set out on another against a people to the west, called the Munga, who had never hitherto acknowledged his supremacy, and refused to pay tribute. Another complaint against them was, as he explained it, “that they were kaffiring—not saying their prayers—the dogs.” This fault is generally laid to the charge of any nation against whom true Mahommedans wage war, as it gives them the power of making slaves of the heathens. By the laws of Mahomet, one believer must not bind another.

Major Denham and Dr Oudney were anxious to visit Birnie, the old capital of Bornou, and the sheikh left one of his chief slaves, Omar Gana, to act as their guide. Thence they were to proceed to Kabshary, there to await his arrival.

They set out with five camels and four servants, making two marches each day, from ten to fourteen miles, morning and evening.

The country round Kouka is uninteresting and flat, thickly covered with acacias.

The ruins of old Birnie, which they visited, convinced them of the power of its former sultan. The city, though now in ruins, covered a space of five or six square miles. The walls, in many places standing, consisted of large masses of red brickwork, three or four feet in thickness, and six to eight in height. Besides destroying the capital, the Felatahs had razed to the ground upwards of thirty large towns during their inroads.

The whole country which they passed after proceeding some way had become a complete desert, having been abandoned since the Felatahs commenced their inroads, and wild animals of all descriptions abounded in great numbers.

They heard that Kabshary had been attacked by the Munga people and burned; and news came that the Munga horse were reconnoitring all round them, and had murdered some men proceeding to join the sheikh.

One of the means the people had taken to defend themselves against the invaders, had been to dig deep holes, at the bottom of which sharp-pointed stakes were fixed, the pits being then carefully covered over with branches and grass, so as completely to conceal them. Similar pitfalls are used in many parts of Africa for entrapping the giraffe and other wild animals.

The major’s servant, Columbus, and his mule not making their appearance, he was searching for him, when he found that the animal had fallen into one of these pits, the black having by a violent exertion of strength saved himself. The poor mule was found sticking on four stakes, with her knees dreadfully torn by struggling. She was, however, got out alive.

Escaping from various dangers, they joined the sheikh on the banks of a large piece of water called Dummasak. Hearing that a caravan had arrived at Kouka from Fezzan, they were anxious to return to the capital. They sent word to the sheikh, but their communication was not delivered, and, before they could see him, he and his troops had moved off. They were, however, on their way to Kouka, when Omar Gana overtook them, entreating them to return to the sheikh, who, angry at their having gone, had struck him from his horse, and directed him to bring them to the army without delay. They had nothing to do but to obey.

Many of the spots they passed presented much picturesque beauty. In several places were groups of naked warriors resting under the trees on the borders of the lake, with their shields on their arms, while hundreds of others were in the water, spearing fish, which were cooked by their companions on shore. The margin was crowded with horses, drinking or feeding, and men bathing, while, in the centre, hippopotami were constantly throwing up their black muzzles, spouting water.

The march of the Bornou army now commenced; but little order was preserved before coming near the enemy, everyone appearing to know that at a certain point an assembly was to take place. The sheikh took the lead, and close after him came the Sultan of Bornou; who always attended him on these occasions, though he never fought. The sheikh was preceded by five flags with extracts of the Koran on them, and attended by about a hundred of his chiefs and favourite slaves. A negro boy carried his shield, a jacket of mail, and his steel skull-cap, and his arms; another, mounted on a swift mahary, and fantastically dressed with a straw hat and ostrich feathers, carried his timbrel, or drum, which it is the greatest misfortune to lose in action. In the rear followed the harem; but on such occasions the sheikh takes but three wives, who are mounted astride on trained horses, each led by a slave boy, their heads and figures completely enveloped in brown silk bournouses, with an attendant on either side. The sultan has five times as many attendants as his general, and his harem is three times as numerous.

On reaching Kabshary, the sheikh reviewed his favourite forces, the Kanemboo spearmen, nine thousand strong. With the exception of a goat or sheep’s skin, with the hair outwards, round their middles, and a few strips of cloth on their heads, they were nearly naked. Their arms were spear and shield, with a dagger on the left arm, reversed. The shield is made of a peculiarly light wood, weighing only a few pounds. Their leaders were mounted and distinguished merely by a tobe of dark blue, and a turban of the same colour.

The sheikh’s attendants were magnificently dressed, but his own costume was neat and simple, consisting only of two white figured muslin tobes, with a bournous, and a Cashmere shawl for a turban: over all hung the English sword which had been sent him. On the signal being made for his troops to advance, they uttered a fearful shriek, or yell, and advanced by troops of eight hundred to a thousand each. After striking their spears against their shields for some seconds, which had an extremely grand effect, they filed off on either side, again forming and awaiting their companions, who succeeded them in the same way.

There appeared to be a great deal of affection between these troops and the sheikh. He spurred his horse onwards into the midst of some of the troops as they came up, and spoke to them, while the men crowded round him, kissing his feet and stirrups. It was a most pleasing sight, and he seemed to feel how much his present elevation was owing to their exertions; while they displayed a devotion and attachment denoting the greatest confidence. The major assured him that, with these troops, he need fear but little the attempts of the Fezzaners on his territories.

The next day a number of captives—women and children—were brought in: one poor woman accompanied by four children—two in her arms and two on the horse of the father who had been stabbed for defending those he loved. They were uttering the most piteous cries. The sheikh, after looking at them, desired that they might all be released, saying: “God forbid that I should make slaves of the wives and children of any Mussalman! Go back: tell the wicked and powerful chiefs who urged your husbands to rebel and to kafir, that I shall be quickly with them, and will punish them instead of the innocent!”

This message had its effect; for, during the following day, many hundreds of the Munga people came in, bowing to the ground, and throwing sand upon their heads in token of submission. Several towns also sent their chiefs and submitted in this manner, bringing peace offerings, when the sheikh swore solemnly not to molest them further. Their principal leader, Malem Fanaamy, fearing to lose his head, would not come; but offered to pay two thousand slaves, a thousand bullocks, and three hundred horses as the price of peace. The offer was refused; and, compelled by his people, Malem Fanaamy made his appearance, poorly dressed, with an uncovered head. The sheikh received his submission; and, when he really expected to hear the order for his throat to be cut, he was clothed with eight handsome tobes, and his head made as big as six, with turbans from Egypt. This matter being settled, the army returned to the capital.

Major Denham soon after this visited a caravan which had come from Soudan, on its way to Fezzan. The merchants had nearly a hundred slaves, the greater part female, mostly very young—those from Nyffe of a deep copper colour, and beautifully formed; the males were also young, and linked together in couples by iron rings round their legs, yet they laughed and seemed in good condition. It is a common practice with the merchants to induce one slave to persuade his companions that on arriving at Tripoli they will be free and clothed in red—a colour of which negroes are passionately fond. By these promises they are induced to submit quietly until they are too far from their homes to render escape possible.

An extraordinary event occurred here, showing the despotic power of the sheikh. Barca Gana, his general, a governor of six large districts, had offended the sheikh, who sent for him, had him stripped in his presence, and a leathern girdle put round his loins, and, after reproaching him with his ingratitude, ordered that he should be forthwith sold to the Tibboo merchants, for he was still a slave. The other chiefs, however, falling on their knees, petitioned that their favourite general might be forgiven. The culprit at that moment appeared to take his leave. The sheikh, on this, threw himself back on his carpet, wept like a child, and suffered Barca Gana to embrace his knees, and, calling them all his sons, pardoned his penitent slave.

Poor Dr Oudney had never risen since his return from Munga, and Clapperton and Hillman were also dangerously ill.

News now arrived that a caravan was on its way from the north. This was gratifying intelligence, as the expedition hoped to obtain letters and remittances by it.

Hillman had manufactured some carriages for two brass guns, which had been sent to the sheikh from Tripoli. The sheikh was delighted when the major, the only person capable of attending to them, fired them off. He now thought himself able to attack all who might become hostile to him.

On the 14th of December Mr Clapperton and Dr Oudney, having somewhat recovered, set out with a large kafila, bound to Kano in Soudan. Dr Oudney, however, was in a very unfit state to travel, being almost in the last stage of consumption. A few days after they had gone, a kafila arrived from the north, and with it came a young ensign of the 80th Regiment, Mr Toole, who had taken the place of Mr Tyrwhit, detained on account of sickness. Major Denham was much pleased with his appearance and manners—his countenance, indeed, being an irresistible letter of introduction. He had made the long journey from Tripoli to Bornou in three months and fourteen days, arriving with only the loss of five camels. Denham’s spirits revived with the society of so pleasant a friend, and he determined to take the first opportunity of visiting the Shary and Loggun. The sheikh willingly gave them permission, appointing a handsome negro, Belial, to act as their guide and manager. He was altogether a superior person, and was attended by six slaves. These, with themselves and personal attendants, formed their party.

Their journey was commenced on the 23rd of January, 1824. After leaving Angornou, they proceeded east, along the borders of the lake, to Angala, where resided Miram, the divorced wife of the sheikh, El Kanemy, in a fine house—her establishment exceeding sixty persons. She was a very handsome, beautifully-formed negress about thirty-five, and had much of the softness of manner so extremely prepossessing in the sheikh. She received her visitors seated on an earthen throne covered with a Turkey carpet, and surrounded by twenty of her favourite slaves, all dressed alike in fine white shirts which reached to their feet; their necks, ears, and noses thickly ornamented with coral. A negro dwarf, measuring scarcely three feet, the keeper of her keys, sat before her, richly-dressed in Soudan tobes.

The Shary was reached on the 23rd. The travellers were surprised at the magnitude of the stream, which appeared to be fully half a mile in width, running at the rate of two or three miles an hour towards the Chad.

Remaining some days at the town of Showy on the banks of the river, they embarked, accompanied by the kaide, or governor, and eight canoes carrying ten slaves each. After a voyage of nearly eight hours, they reached a spot thirty-five miles from Showy. The scenery was highly interesting: one noble reach succeeded another, alternately varying their courses; the banks thickly scattered with trees, rich in foliage, hung over with creepers bearing variously-coloured and aromatic blossoms. Several crocodiles were seen, which rolled into the stream and disappeared as they approached.

After proceeding further down the river, they returned to Showy, and then made another excursion up the stream.

With much grief Denham perceived symptoms of illness in his companion, who, however, complained but little. While he was suffering they reached a place which is so infested by flies and bees that the inhabitants cannot move out of their houses during the day.

Their houses are literally formed one cell within another, five or six in number, in order to prevent the ingress of the insects. One of their party, who went out, returned with his eyes and head in such a state that he was ill for three days.

Hence they moved on to Zarmawha, an independent sultan, who had twice been in rebellion against the sheikh. Belial was received with scant courtesy; but the sultan was very civil to the white men, to whom he sent a variety of dishes of food, and was highly pleased with the presents he received, observing that the English were a race of sultans.

Mr Toole’s sufferings increased, though they managed to reach Loggun, on the banks of the Shary. As they approached, a person, apparently of consequence, advanced towards them, bending nearly double and joining his hands, followed by his slaves, stooping still lower than himself. He explained that he was deputed by the sultan to welcome the white men, and, preceding their party, conducted them to a habitation which had been prepared for them, consisting of four separate huts, well-built within an outer wall, with a large entrance-hall for their servants.

Next morning Denham was sent for to appear before the sultan, when he was preceded through the streets by ten immense negroes of high birth, with grey beards, bare heads, and carrying large clubs. After passing through several dark rooms, he was conducted to a large square court, where some hundred persons were assembled, seated on the ground. In the middle was a vacant space to which he was led, and desired to sit down. Two slaves in striped cotton tabes, who were fanning the air through a lattice work of cane, pointed out the retirement of the sultan. This shade was removed, and something alive was discovered on a carpet, wrapped up in silk tobes, with the head enveloped in shawls, and nothing but the eyes visible. The whole court prostrated themselves and poured sand on their heads, while eight frum-frums and as many horns blew a loud and very harsh-sounding salute.

This great man, however, was not above doing a stroke of business, for, after enquiring whether the major wished to buy female slaves, he observed: “If you do, go no further; I have some hundreds, and will sell them to you as cheap as anyone.”

Though a much handsomer race than the Bornouese, the Loggun people are thieves, and, judging from their chiefs, great rascals. It appeared that there were two sultans, father and son, both of whom applied to the major for poison that would not lie, to be used against each other, the younger one offering him three female slaves as a bribe.

The province of which Loggun is the capital, is called Begharmi. The people are in many respects similar to the Bornouese, with whom they are constantly at war. They possess a strong force of cavalry, clothed in suits of thick quilted armour, with helmets of the same material, easily penetrated however by bullets, though impervious to arrows. Their horses are also covered in the manner of their riders. So unwieldy are these warriors, that they require to be assisted when mounting their steeds. Their weapons are long, double-headed spears, something like pitchforks with flattened prongs.

Shortly after this a large body of them, five thousand strong, with two hundred chiefs were defeated by the Bornouese, when all the chiefs and a considerable number of the men were slain.

The Loggunese, however, have made considerable progress in the arts of peace. The clothes woven by them are superior to those of Bornou, being beautifully glazed, and finely dyed with indigo; and they make use even of a current coin of iron, somewhat in the form of a horse-shoe, which none of the neighbouring nations possess. Their country abounds in grain and cattle, and is diversified with forests of acacias and other beautiful trees.

As they proceeded on their journey, poor Mr Toole grew worse.

Escaping several dangers, they returned to Angala, where at first the major hoped his poor friend might recover, but on the 26th of February a cold shiver seized him, and just before noon he expired, completely worn-out and exhausted. He had scarcely completed his 22nd year, and was in every sense an amiable and promising young officer.

On Denham’s return to Kouka, he found the sheikh with a large army collected to attack the Begharmis, who were scouring the country. As, however, he was suffering from fever, he went on to Kouka, where he heard of the death of Dr Oudney at a place called Murmur. The sheikh’s expedition was successful, and the people were highly delighted with the plunder which had been obtained.

Sickness, however, was at work in the city. Omar, an Arab, who had arrived with Mr Toole, died, and Columbus caught the fever, and had to take to his bed. The major, however, was cheered by the arrival of Mr Tyrhwit, who had been sent out by the British Government to strengthen the party. He brought a present of two swords, two brace of pistols, a dagger, and two gold watches, which were received by El Kanemy with great delight. On hearing that some rockets had also been forwarded, he exclaimed: “What besides all these riches! There are no friends like these; they are all true; and I see by the book that, if the prophet had lived only a short time longer, they would have become Moslem.”

On the termination of the Rhamadan, June 1st, the sheikh again took the field, proceeding eastward along the shores of the Chad, against a powerful Biddomah chief, called Amanook, who held a strong position on some islands near the shores of the lake. The object of the expedition had been kept a great secret till the neighbourhood of the country to be attacked was reached. The army marched through the country of the Shooas, a people who live entirely in tents of leather and huts of rushes, changing but from necessity, on the approach of an enemy or want of pasturage for their numerous flocks. They seldom fight, except in their own defence. Their principal food is the milk of camels, in which they are rich, and also that of cows and sheep; often they take no other nourishment for months together. They have the greatest contempt for and hatred of the negro nations, and yet are always tributary either to one black sultan or another. There is no example of their ever having peopled a town or established themselves in a permanent home.

The sheikh having halted the main body of his army, Barca Gana advanced with a thousand men, being joined also by four hundred Dugganahs. They found the chief, Amanook, posted, with all his cattle and people, on a narrow pass between two lakes, having in front of him a lake which was neither deep nor wide, but full of holes, with a deceitful, muddy bottom.

The sheikh’s troops had long been without food, and the sight of the bleating flocks and lowing herds was too much for them. Barca Gana, however, seeing the strength of the enemy’s position, wished to halt, and to send over spearmen on foot, with shields, who would lead the attack. The younger chiefs however exclaimed: “What! be so near them as this, and not eat them? No, let us on: this night their flocks and women will be ours!” In this cry the Shooas also joined. The general yielded, and the attack commenced. The Arabs led the way with the Dugganahs. On arriving in the middle of the lake the horses sunk up to their saddle-bows; most of them were out of their depth, and others floundering in the mud; the ammunition of the riders became wet, their guns useless. As they neared the shore, Amanook’s men hurled at them with unerring aim a volley of their light spears, charging with their strongest and best horses, trained and accustomed to the water, while at the same time another body, having crossed the lake higher up, came by the narrow pass and cut off the retreat of all those who had advanced into the lake. The sheikh’s people now fell thickly. Barca Gana, although attacking against his own judgment, was among the foremost, and received a severe spear-wound in his back, which pierced through four tobes and his iron chain armour, while attacked by five chiefs, who seemed determined on finishing him. One of these he thrust through with his long spear, and his own people coming to his rescue with a fresh horse, he was saved, though thirty of his followers were either killed or captured by Amanook’s people.

It was expected that Amanook would attack the camp, but, instead of so doing, he sent word that he would treat with the sheikh, and that he wished for peace. If peace was not to be obtained, however, he swore by the Prophet that he would turn fish, and fly to the centre of the water; and, should even the sheikh himself come, he would bring the wady against him.

The major and his companions visited the general, whom they found suffering much from his wound, but Denham acting as surgeon, it in a short time healed. Barca Gana then strongly advised him to return to Kouka, showing that his hopes of getting to the east would certainly be disappointed.

A little sheikh, who had arrived from Fezzan, endeavoured to poison the mind of El Kanemy against the English, telling him that they had conquered India and probably fully intended to attack Bornou.

On the major’s return to Kouka he found that Captain Clapperton had just returned from Soudan. On going to the hut where he was lodged, Denham did not know his friend as he lay extended on the floor, so great was the alteration in him; and he was about to leave the place, when Clapperton called out his name. Notwithstanding this, so great were Clapperton’s spirits, that he spoke of returning to Soudan after the rains. He had performed a very interesting journey, the particulars of which will shortly be narrated.

The sheikh had just before made himself very unpopular with the female portion of his subjects, having, in consequence of his determination to improve the morality of his people, issued an order such as the most savage of despots have never ventured to enact. One morning the gates of the city were kept closed at daylight, and sixty women who had a bad reputation were brought before him. Five were sentenced to be hanged in the public market, and four flogged. Two of the latter expired under the lash, while the former were dragged, with their heads shaved, through the market, with ropes round their necks, and were then strangled and thrown by twos into a hole previously prepared.

The effect on the people was such that a hundred families quitted Kouka to take up their abode in other towns, where this rigour did not exist.

Chapter Seven.

Clapperton’s journey to Soudan.

Expedition of Clapperton and Oudney to Soudan—Beauty of the women—Cruelty of the Arabs—Dr Oudney prescribes for the sick—Reach Katagum—Slaves offered as presents—Death of Dr Oudney—Clapperton arrives at Kano—City described—Haussa boxers—Sackatoo reached—Reception by Sultan Bello—Great intelligence of the Sultan—Wonder at English customs—Desires that a consul and doctor may be sent to him—Clapperton leaves Sackatoo—Sufferings from thirst—Dangerous journey—Returns to Kouka—Visit to Lake Chad—Journey across the Desert to Tripoli.

It will be remembered that Captain Clapperton, accompanied by Dr Oudney, set out from Kouka on the 14th of December, 1823, for the purpose of exploring Soudan. Their party consisted of Jacob, a Jew, two servants, and three men of Fezzan. They had three saddle-horses and four sumpter mules. They travelled in company with a kafila in which were twenty-seven Arab merchants and about fifty natives of Bornou. Most of the Arabs rode on horseback, some having, besides, a led horse, but all the rest of the party were on foot.

Doctor Oudney was of great service to the hadji, who had injured his hand by the bursting of a gun. He invariably pitched his tent close to that of the doctor, who regularly dressed it for him.

Passing old Birnie, they had after two days to pass through an undulating country, frequently wading across hollows filled with water. Having to cross a river, the hadji had provided himself with a large raft, on which his own and his friends’ baggage was carried across; but the Arabs, who passed lower down the river, were dreadfully frightened. The greatest difficulty was with the camels and female slaves, the women screaming and squalling loudly. The camels were towed across, one man swimming before with a halter in his teeth, while another kept beating the animal behind with a stick, while it every now and then attempted to turn back, or bobbed its head under water.

The next day they were exposed to another danger. The grass having been set on fire, the flames advanced rapidly, and must have put them all to flight, had they not sought shelter within the ruined walls of old Birnie.

They passed through numerous towns and villages, the people belonging to a tribe of Shooa Arabs. The women were really beautiful. They wore their hair in a form which at a distance might be mistaken for a helmet, a large braid at the crown having some resemblance to a crest.

They had now to pass through a country inhabited by Bedites, who had not embraced Islamism. Protected by the natural fastnesses of their country, they were held in dread and abhorrence by all the faithful. The road lay over very elevated ground, and so low was the temperature in the morning, that the water in their shallow vessels was crusted with thin flakes of ice, and the water-skins themselves were frozen as hard as a board. The horses and camels stood shivering with cold. Dr Oudney also became extremely ill, probably from the low temperature.

They had just entered the country of the Bedites when two men were met, who were immediately seized by the Arabs; one was a Shooa and the other a negro. One of the Bornouese had inflicted a dreadful cut under the left ear of the negro, and, notwithstanding his wound, they led the poor fellow by a rope fastened round his neck. Clapperton could not refrain from beating the merciless Bornouese and at the same time threatening to lodge the contents of his gun in his head if he repeated his cruelties. He took occasion to impress on the minds of the Arabs how unworthy it was of brave men to behave so cruelly to their prisoners, and he thoroughly shamed them into good behaviour.

Having crossed the river You, they reached the city of Katagum, when a servant of the governor met them with a present, and, accompanied by a band of horsemen with drummers drumming and two bards singing the praises of their master, they entered the city. Here they remained, while the caravan pursued its course.

This was the most eastern of the Felatah towns. They were here visited by a Tripolitan merchant who was very rich, possessing no less than five hundred slaves and a vast number of horses.

Through all the towns and villages which they had passed, the sick were brought to be cured, while numbers came for remedies against all sorts of fancied diseases.

The governor received them in the most simple way. They found him seated under a rude canopy, on a low bank of earth, with three old men attending on him. They shook hands and then sat down on the floor. He was highly pleased with the presents he received, and offered anything they might wish for, especially slaves. Clapperton told them that a slave was unknown in England, and that the moment one set foot on British ground he was instantly free. When he heard that their only object was to see the world, he told them that they must go to the Sultan Bello, who was a learned man and would, be glad to meet people who had seen so much.

A lucky omen, as the natives supposed it, occurred. Among the presents offered by the king was ajar of honey; this one of the servants upset without breaking the pot. Had it been broken, the omen would have been unfortunate; as it was, the governor was highly pleased, and ordered the poor to be called in to lick up the honey. They rushed in, squabbling among themselves. One old man, having a long beard, came off with a double allowance, for he let it sweep up the honey and then sucked it clean.

Dr Oudney soon after this became too weak to sit his horse, but still he begged to be carried on. They therefore travelled forward to the town of Murmur. Here they were compelled to stop, though the doctor the next morning, after drinking a cup of coffee, with the assistance of his companions dressed. It was soon evident that he would be unable to proceed. He was carried back into his tent, where in a short time Captain Clapperton, with unspeakable grief, witnessed his death without a struggle or a groan. He was but thirty-two years of age. His friend had a deep grave dug, and enclosed it with a wall of clay to keep off the beasts of prey. He had also two sheep killed and distributed among the poor.

Ill as Captain Clapperton himself was, and now left alone among strange people, the loss to him was severe and afflicting. Still, his ardent spirit triumphing over sorrow and trouble, he pursued his journey, and on the 20th of January he entered Kano, the great emporium of the kingdom of Haussa. He dressed himself in his naval uniform to make an impression on the inhabitants of the city, which, from the description of the Arabs, he expected to see of surprising grandeur. His disappointment was therefore great, when he traversed the place. He found the houses nearly a quarter of a mile from the walls, and in many parts scattered into detached groups between large stagnant pools of water. Not an individual turned his head round to gaze at him, all being intent on their own business. The market-place was bordered to the east and west by an extensive swamp, covered with weeds and water and frequented by wild ducks, cranes, and vultures. The house which had been provided for him was close to a morass, the pestilential exhalations of which were increased by the sewers of the houses all opening into the street.

Fatigued and sick, he lay down on a mat which the owner had spread for him. His mansion had six chambers above, extremely dark, and five rooms below, with a dismal-looking entrance, a back court, draw-well, and other conveniences. Little holes, or windows, admitted a glimmering light into the apartments. Nevertheless, this was thought a handsome mansion.

All the Arab merchants, not prevented by sickness, who had travelled with him from Kouka, came to see him, looking more like ghosts than men, as almost all strangers at the time were suffering from intermittent fever.

The governor gave him a private audience, and seemed highly pleased with the presents he received, promising to forward them on to his master, the Sultan Bello, at Sackatoo, after his own return from an expedition which would occupy him fifteen days.

During the interval Captain Clapperton suffered greatly from fever.

The newspapers which he here received from Major Denham apprised him of Belzoni’s attempt to penetrate to Timbuctoo by the way of Fez.

On returning from a ride he met two large bodies of troops, who were to accompany the governor, each consisting of five hundred horse and foot. The latter were armed with bows and arrows, the cavalry with shields, swords, and spears, and sumptuously accoutred. The swords were broad, straight, and long, and were indeed the very blades formerly wielded by the knights of Malta, having been sent from that island to Tripoli, where they were exchanged for bullocks and carried across the desert to Bornou, thence to Haussa, and, at last, re-mounted at Kano for the use of the inhabitants of almost all central Africa. The shields were covered with hides of animals, and were generally round; but there were some of an oval shape, in the centre of which was scored a perfect Maltese cross. He observed crosses of other forms cut in the doors of the houses.

Several camels, loaded with quilted cotton armour, both for men and horses, were in attendance. This armour was arrow proof; but it is seldom worn, except in actual combat. The saddles had high peaks before and behind, and the stirrup-irons were in the shape of a fire-shovel.

A nephew of the Sultan Bello paid him a visit the next morning and told him, after taking a cup of tea, which he liked very much, that he had hitherto looked upon a Christian as little better than a monster, though he now confessed that he liked the traveller. Another nephew came also, a most intelligent young man, who read and spoke Arabic with fluency, and was very anxious to see everything, and to hear all about England.

He found the market well supplied with every necessary and luxury in request among the people of the interior. The sheikh, who superintended it, however, fixed the prices of all wares, for which he was entitled to a commission; and, after every bargain, the seller returned to the buyer a stated part of the price by way of a blessing, or a “luck-penny” as it would be called in England. Cowries were here used as coins, though somewhat cumbersome, as twenty were worth only a halfpenny; thus, in paying a pound sterling, nine thousand six hundred shells had to be counted out. As he remarks: “The great advantage of the use of the cowrie is that forgery is excluded, as it cannot possibly be imitated.” The natives show also great dexterity in counting out even the largest sums.

The butchers were numerous, and understood showing off animals to the best advantage. Sometimes they even stuck a little sheep’s wool on a leg of goat’s flesh, to make it pass for mutton. When a fat bull was brought to the market to be killed, its horns were dyed red with henna, the drummers attended, a mob soon collected, the news of the animal’s size and fatness spread, and all ran to buy. Near at hand were small wood fires stuck round with wooden skewers, on which small bits of fat and lean meat, the size of a penny-piece, were roasting, superintended by a woman with a mat dish placed on her knees, from which she served her guests, who were squatted round her. Indeed, the market was as busy a one as can be seen in any country. Jugglers also, like those of India, were practising their tricks with snakes, having extracted the venomous fangs.

Haussa is celebrated for its boxers, the most expert of whom are found among the butchers. Clapperton having intimated his willingness to pay for a performance, a number of combatants arrived, attended by two drummers and the whole body of butchers. A ring was soon formed, by the master of the ceremonies throwing dust on the spectators to make them stand back. The drummers entered the ring, followed by one of the boxers, who was quite naked with the exception of a skin round his middle. Placing himself in an attitude as if to oppose an antagonist, he wrought his muscles into action, and then went round the ring showing his arms to the bystanders and exclaiming: “I am a hyaena! I am a Hon! I am able to kill all that oppose me!” To which the spectators replied, “The blessing of God be upon thee!—Thou art a hyaena: thou art a lion.”

A number of fighters then came forward, when they were next ranged in pairs. If they happened to be friends, they laid their left breast together twice, and exclaimed: “We are lions! we are friends!” Then one left the ring, and another was brought forward. If the two did not recognise one another as friends, the combat immediately commenced. They parried with the left hand open, and struck as opportunity offered with the right, generally aiming at the pit of the stomach and under the ribs. Occasionally they closed with one another, when one seized the other’s head under his arm and beat it with his fist, at the same time striking with the knee between his antagonist’s thighs. Indeed, much the same brutality was exhibited as in English prize-fights. Clapperton, hearing that they sometimes gouged out each other’s eyes, and that such combats seldom terminated without one or more being killed, having satisfied his curiosity, ordered the battle to cease, and gave the promised reward.

The custom in this place is to bury the people in their own houses, which are occupied as usual by the poorer classes; but when a great man is buried, the house is for ever after abandoned. A corpse being prepared for interment, the first chapter of the Koran is read over it. The funeral takes place the same day. The bodies of slaves are dragged out of the town and left a prey to vultures and wild beasts in most places; but in Kano they are thrown into the morass or nearest pool of water.

On the 22nd of February, Clapperton commenced his journey towards Sackatoo, in company with an Arab merchant, Mahomet Jolly, having left his Jew servant, Jacob, to return in case of his death, with his effects to Bornou.

At the towns where he stopped he was generally taken for a fighi, or teacher, and was pestered to write out charms. One day his washerwoman insisted on being paid with a charm in writing, that would induce people to buy earthenware of her.

After travelling for some days he was met by an escort of one hundred and fifty horsemen with drums and trumpets, sent by Sultan Bello to conduct him to his capital, which he reached on the 16th of March. He, as usual, dressed himself in his naval uniform; and, as he approached the gates, he was met by a messenger from the sultan, to bid him welcome and to acquaint him that his master, who was out on an expedition, would return to Sackatoo in the evening.

Large crowds were out to look at him, and he entered the city amid the hearty welcomes of young and old. He was conducted to the house of the gadado, or vizier, where apartments were provided for him and his servants. The gadado himself arrived in the evening, and was excessively polite, but would not drink tea with him, as he said that he was a stranger in their land, and had not yet eaten of his bread.

Next morning the sultan sent for him. Clapperton found him seated on a small carpet, between two pillars supporting the roof a thatched house. The walls and pillars were painted blue and white in the Moorish taste. Giving him a hearty welcome, the sultan at once entered into conversation. He asked numerous questions about Europe, and seemed perfectly well acquainted with the names of the more ancient sects, inquiring whether his visitor was a Nestorian or a Socinian. Clapperton replied that he was a Protestant, but had to acknowledge that he was not sufficiently versed in religious subtleties to solve all the knotty points on which Bello wished for information. He then ordered some books belonging to Major Denham to be brought, among which was his journal, and they were all in a handsome manner returned. He spoke with great bitterness of Boo-Khaloum for making predatory inroads into his territories, next putting the puzzling question: “What was your friend doing there?” Clapperton replied that Major Denham had no other object than to make a short excursion into the country.

The sultan was a noble-looking man, somewhat portly, with short, curling, black beard, a small mouth, a fine forehead, Grecian nose, and large, black eyes. He was habited in a light-blue cotton tobe, with white muslin turban, the small end of which he wore over the nose and mouth in the Turaick fashion.

This was the first of many visits Clapperton paid him.

He was highly pleased with the various presents which the King of England had sent him. He asked what he could give in return. Clapperton replied that the most acceptable service he could render would be to assist the King of England in putting a stop to the slave trade.

“What!” he asked; “have you no slaves in England? What do you do for servants?”

He was much astonished at hearing that regular wages were paid, and that even soldiers were fed, clothed, and received pay from government.

“You are a beautiful people,” he observed.

The usual question was also put: “What are you come for?” Clapperton replied, “To see the country—its rivers, mountains, and inhabitants, etcetera. My people had hitherto supposed yours devoid of all religion, and not far removed from the condition of wild beasts, whereas I now find them to be civilised, learned, humane, and pious.”

On another occasion Clapperton exhibited a planisphere of the heavenly bodies. The sultan knew all the signs of the zodiac, some of the constellations, and many of the stars by their Arabic names. He was greatly interested with the sextant, or, as he called it, “the looking-glass of the sun.” Clapperton showed him how to obtain an observation with it.

The sultan made minute inquiries as to the conquests of the English in India, and also the reason of their attack on Algiers, evidently suspecting that they contemplated similar proceedings against his country. Clapperton explained that the King of England had a vast number of Moslems who were his willing subjects, and that their object in India was to protect the natives and to give them good laws, not to tyrannise over them; while, with regard to Algiers, the Algerines had been punished because they persisted in making slaves of Europeans.

The sultan, however, as after events proved, was far from satisfied, his fears being increased by the Arabs, who were aware that the chief object of the English was to open up a trade from the west coast with the country, and, should they succeed, they themselves would thus be deprived of their trade across the desert from the north.

At Clapperton’s request the sultan ordered a chart of the Quorra to be drawn by one of his learned men, who asserted that that river entered the sea at Fundah, near a town called Jagra, governed by one of Bello’s subjects.

This made the traveller still more anxious to proceed down that river to the coast, but the sultan, though he at first promised an escort, ultimately declined sending it, declaring that he could not sanction so rash an enterprise, and that his guest could only return home by the way he had come.

From an Arab chief residing here Clapperton obtained much information about Mungo Park and the way in which he had lost his life, which confirmed what had previously been heard.

The sultan made an especial request that an English consul and physician should be sent to reside at Sackatoo, and Clapperton promised that he would represent the matter to his own government, and he had no doubt that his request would be complied with. He also begged that guns and rockets might be sent out by way of Tripoli and Bornou, under the escort of an Arab leader, El Wordee, who had conducted the last caravan. This Clapperton had no doubt was a device of El Wordee’s, to have the opportunity of conducting another English mission and fleecing them as he had done the last. When the Arab found that his plans were opposed by the traveller, he set to work to revenge himself, and by his machinations succeeded in compelling Clapperton to abandon his intended journey to the sea-coast by way of Youri.

Frequent attempts were made to induce the traveller to turn Mahommedan, especially by a famous old maraboo; but after his failure the Moslem appeared to have given up the attempt as hopeless.

At length, on the 4th of May, he was allowed to take his departure from Sackatoo, escorted by one the sultan’s officers, with a party of merchants and their slaves. As the country was in a disturbed state, they pushed on night and day through a dense underwood, which tore their clothes and scratched the legs of the riders. Several of the poor natives on foot, who had taken advantage of the escort to pass through this part of the country, overcome with fatigue and thirst, sank down never to rise. One of Clapperton’s servants also dropped, apparently dead; but his master had him lashed on the camel, when, throwing up a quantity of bile, he soon appeared as fresh as ever. The next day many of the horses died, and all the people were overcome with fatigue and thirst. On the third day no less than nine men and six horses were found to have perished on the road.

Clapperton was taken to the town of Kashna, where an old Arab chief, who had resided there for some years, took compassion on him and sent an elderly black slave woman to nurse him, with two younger attendants. This was the first offer of the kind he had ever received from a Mussulman, and under their care and attendance he soon recovered his health and strength.

After meeting with numerous adventures and exposed to many dangers, on the 8th of July he reached Kouka, when he found that Major Denham was absent on a journey to the east side of the Chad. Hillman, the carpenter, was busily employed in finishing a covered cart, to be used as a carriage for the sheikh’s wives. The workmanship reflected the greatest credit on his ingenuity, though it was neither light nor handsome.

On the 16th of August, soon after Major Denham returned from the eastward, he and Captain Clapperton, accompanied by William Hillman the carpenter, took their departure from Kouka, with the intention of first visiting the shores of Lake Chad and then joining the kafila which was on its way from Soudan to Tripoli. On the morning of their departure they went to take leave of the sheikh, whom they found in his garden. He gave them a letter to the King of England, and a list of requests, and expressed himself very kindly. At parting he offered his hand, which excited an involuntary exclamation from his attendants.

Meeting with no event of any especial interest on their visit to the lake, they joined the caravan on the 14th of September.

Throughout the journey they found that they got on as well, if not better than their companions, who looked to them both for safety and protection, as well as for the direction of the route. They had upwards of fifty miles to cross, over a frightful waste of movable sand-hills, to Zow; many of the poor children, panting with thirst, scarcely able to creep along.

At Bilma they laid in a stock of dates for the next fourteen days, during which man and beast nearly subsisted upon them, the slaves for twenty days together mostly getting no other food.

Then came the stony desert, which the camels, already worn-out by the heavy sand-hills, had to cross for nine days. El Wahr is of surpassing dreariness, the rocks a dark sandstone of the most gloomy and barren appearance; the wind whistles through the narrow fissures, where not a blade of grass finds nourishment, and, as the traveller creeps under the lowering crags to take shelter for the night, he stumbles over the skeleton of some starved human being.

On the day they made El Wahr, and the two following, camels in great numbers dropped down and died, or were quickly killed and the meat brought in by the hungry slaves.

Such are some of the ordinary events of a journey across the desert.

On the 21st of January, 1825, they reached Tripoli, and soon after embarked for Leghorn. Before leaving, however, Major Denham obtained the freedom of a Mandara boy, whose liberation from slavery he had paid for some months before. He now got the pacha to put his seal on the necessary document, the only way in which a Christian can give freedom to a slave in a Mahommedan country.

The travellers were long detained by quarantine at Leghorn, so that the three survivors of the expedition did not teach England till the 1st of June.

Chapter Eight.

Captain Clapperton’s second journey.

Captain Clapperton’s second journey, accompanied by Richard Lander—Joined by Captain Pearce—Messrs Morrison and Dickson—Reaches Benin—Journey of Dickson and Columbus—Their disappearance—Clapperton starts from Badagarry—Joined by Mr Houtson—Expedition reaches Jannah—Attacked by fever—Well received—Fondness of people for dogs—Death of Captain Pearce and Dr Morrison—The King of Eyeo and his wives—Beautiful country—Felatah villages—Enter Youriba—The King’s Court—Entertained with a play—Mr Houtson returns and dies—Clapperton, with Lander and Pasco, proceeds alone—Reaches Wawa, near the Niger—The widow Zuma—Inquiries about Park—Visits the scene of his death—Well treated by King of Wawa—Enters kingdom of Nyffe—Lax Mahommedans—Desolated by warfare—Reaches Kano—Leaves Lander with the baggage, and proceeds to Sackatoo alone—Trying journey—Well received by Bello—Siege of Zeg-zeg—Absurd style of fighting—Bello seizes his property—Lander arrives at Sackatoo—Illness and death of Clapperton—Buried by Lander—Lander sets out with intention of exploring the Niger—Warned not to proceed south—Leaves Kano for the west—Taken to Zaria—Allowed to proceed—Continues journey alone to Badagarry, and arrives in England.

From the favourable report which Clapperton on his return home brought of the Sultan Bello of Sackatoo, and his wish to open up a commercial intercourse with the English, the Government determined at once to send out another expedition, in the hopes that that object might be carried out, and that means might be found for putting a check on the slave trade in that part of Africa.

Clapperton, now raised to the rank of commander, was placed at the head of the expedition. Captain Pearce and a Mr Morrison, a naval surgeon, were appointed to serve under him. He also engaged the services of Mr Dickson, another surgeon, and of a very intelligent young man, Richard Lander, who was to act as his servant.

As Sultan Bello stated that two large towns under his government existed near the coast, called Funda and Raka, and that he would send down messengers, whom his friends would meet on their arrival, it was settled that the expedition should proceed to the Bight of Benin, and thence make their way to Sackatoo. Losing no time, the very year after his return Clapperton sailed from Portsmouth on board HM sloop “Brazen,” and, touching at Sierra Leone, arrived at Benin on the 26th of November.

Mr Dickson, wishing to make his way alone to Sackatoo, was landed at Whidah, taking with him Columbus, Denham’s former servant, and from thence, in company with a Portuguese of the name of De Sousa, he set off for Dahomey. Here he was well received and was sent forward to a place called Shar, seventeen days’ journey from Dahomey. From thence he was known to have set forward with another escort, but from that time nothing whatever was heard of him or his attendant, Columbus.

At Benin Clapperton met an English merchant of the name of Houtson, who advised him not to ascend the river, but to take a route from Badagarry across the country to Katunga, the capital of Youriba.

Under the sanction of the King of Badagarry, the mission set out on its long and perilous journey on the 7th of December, accompanied by Mr Houtson.

At Badagarry Clapperton had engaged an old negro, who had been a sailor, named Pasco, and who, speaking English, was likely to prove useful as an interpreter.

Travelling on sixty miles, the mission entered the town of Jannah. By this time all its members were suffering greatly from the climate; Captain Pearce and Dr Morrison especially were very ill, and Richard Lander was also suffering. Those who were able had ridden on horseback, but the sick were carried in hammocks.

They halted in the palaver-house, an open shed, which was soon surrounded by thousands of people making a great noise. Here they waited till the caboceer, or chief man, made his appearance. He came gorgeously attired in a large yellow silk shirt and red velvet cap, with a silver-mounted whip ornamented with beads in one hand, and a stick covered with bells in the other, which he rattled whenever he spoke. He took his seat on a large leathern cushion, placed on a scarlet cloth. When Captain Clapperton was going to sit down on the cloth, the attendant ladies pulled it from under him; so he took his seat on a mat. The females then sang in chorus very beautifully. The members of the commission then shook hands with the caboceer, who said he was glad to see them, and that whatever they had to say to the King of Eyeo must first be delivered to him. Their reply was that they had nothing to say, except to request that the king would grant them a passage through his country. His answer was that he was glad, that they should see the King of Eyeo’s face, and that he would give them a good path and forward them on without trouble; but that they must ride on horseback, as his people were unaccustomed to carry hammocks. They were then shown to a house, where they remained during their stay.

As Captain Clapperton and Mr Houtson walked through the town, they were followed by an immense crowd, who rushed over the baskets in the market-place, the boys darting under the stalls, the women bawling after those who had scattered their goods; yet not a word of disrespect was uttered to the strangers. They remarked the kind way in which the dogs in this place were treated, their necks ornamented with collars of different colours, and cowries. No great man was without one, which always has a boy to take care of it.

The people, hearing that a Brazilian brig had arrived at Badagarry, were preparing to set out on a slaving expedition to a place to the eastward.

Slave-dealers as the people were, they deserve to be commended for their honesty; for during the whole journey hitherto, although the mission had had ten relays of carriers, not a single article had been stolen.

A few days after, Dr Morrison, who continued to get worse, requested to return, hoping that the sea air would restore him. Mr Houtson accompanied him back to Jannah. The next day Dawson, a seaman, who, while suffering from ague caught at Jannah, had fallen off into the water in the morning, died in the evening. Three days afterwards Captain Pearce, who, supported by his wonderful spirits, insisted upon coming on, grew much morse, and at nine in the evening he breathed his last.

The death of his friend was a serious loss to Clapperton, for he was eminently qualified by his talents and perseverance to render essential service to the mission.

Another three days passed, when Mr Houtson returned with the sad news that Dr Morrison had died at Jannah on the same day as Captain Pearce.

Mr Houtson, though unwell, still insisted on accompanying Clapperton.

Powerful as the king of Eyeo pretended to be, he employed his wives in every place to trade for him, and, like women of the common class, they were seen carrying large loads on their heads from town to town.

On the 6th of January, 1826, the travellers entered the town of Chocho, beyond which their road lay through beautiful rocky valleys, cultivated in many places, and planted with cotton, corn, yarns, and bananas, and many watered by little streams. Numbers of little huts were seen perched on the tops and in the hollows of the hills. Beautiful as the country was, it was the scene of the miserable devastating wars carried on in all parts of Africa for the purpose of obtaining slaves to be sold on the coast.

On the 8th they entered Duffo, a town containing fifteen thousand people. The crowd which came to see them in the house where they were lodged was immense. When the people were told to go away, they said: “No; if white man would not come out, they would come in to see him.”

They passed numerous other large towns, and were received in a friendly manner by the caboceers, and were well supplied with fowls, sheep, and goats. Yet the people, though kind, were exceedingly curious, and allowed them but little rest.

Further eastward they passed a number of Felatah villages, whose inhabitants live there as they do in most other parts of Africa, attending to the pasturage of their cattle, without interfering in the customs of the country, or receiving any annoyance from the natives. Some of them, as they passed, brought them milk to drink.

Further on, however, they came to a number of villages, some of which had been destroyed by the Felatahs, their walls being already covered with weeds.

As they approached Katunga, the capital of Youriba, the caboceer, with an enormous escort, came out to meet them. His musicians kept drumming, playing, dancing, and singing all night.

The country round was well-cultivated. The city, as they saw it lying below them, appeared surrounded and studded with green, shady trees, forming a belt round the base of a granite mountain.

The king was found seated under the verandah of his house, with two red and blue umbrellas, raised on large poles, held over him by slaves.

The crowd, as they advanced, had to be kept back with sticks and whips; but they were used in a good-natured manner.

Clapperton was told that he must prostrate himself before the king; but this he declined doing, saying that he would turn back unless he was allowed to act as he would do before his own sovereign; that he would only take off his hat, and bow, and shake hands with his majesty, if he pleased. The king agreed to this, and the English were introduced in due form.

Behind the king were an immense number of ladies, so closely packed that it was impossible to count them. They stood up as the strangers approached, and cheered them, shouting “Oh, oh, oh!” equivalent to “Hurra!” while the men outside joined them.

The king had on a large white shirt, with a blue one under it, and a pasteboard crown, covered with blue cotton, made apparently by some European on the coast, and sent up to him as a present.

Comfortable apartments were provided for them, and in the evening the king himself made his appearance, plainly dressed, with a long staff in his hand, saying that he could not sleep till he had personally ascertained how they were.

They spent two very pleasant days here, resting after the fatigues of their journey. The king pressed them to remain to see the national amusements, which would begin in about two months. On this, Mr Houtson enquired whether they were such as took place at Dahomey, on which the king declared that no human beings were ever sacrificed in Youriba, and that if he ordered the King of Dahomey to desist from such a practice he must obey him.

The king had sent forward a messenger to open the way to Nyffe, and till he returned they were compelled to remain at the capital.

They were entertained here with a pantomime, the stage being the open ground before his majesty’s residences, the characters appearing in masks. One of them presented an enormous snake, which crept out of a huge bag and followed the manager round the park while he defended himself with a sword. Out of another sack came a man covered apparently with white wax, to look like a European, miserably thin and starved with cold. He went through the ceremony of taking snuff and rubbing his nose. When he walked it was with an awkward gait, treading as the most tender-footed white man would do in walking with bare soles over rough ground.

Clapperton pretended to be as much pleased with this caricature of a white man as the natives were.

Between each act the king’s women sang a number of choral songs, joined by the crowd outside.

They thankfully heard, on the 6th of March, that the messengers had returned, and that they might set out the next day, when the king presented Clapperton with a horse and bade him farewell.

Mr Houtson, who had been for some time suffering from illness, was compelled to return, and he, too, died on reaching the coast.

Clapperton, with his faithful attendant, Richard Lander, and the black, Pasco, proceeded alone. They had evidence as they advanced of the destruction caused by the Felatahs, in the number of villages which had been burnt down, while the inhabitants of others, who had taken to flight, were seen returning to their homes.

A few days after starting they overtook a large caravan belonging to Haussa, on its way from Gonga and Ashantee. It consisted of upwards of a thousand men and women, and as many beasts of burden. The head man offered to carry Clapperton’s baggage to Kano for a certain sum. He said that he had been detained in Gonga twelve months on account of the wars. Their goods were carried on bullocks, mules, asses, and also by a number of female slaves. Some of the merchants had no more property than they could carry on their own heads. The chief of the town, however, advised Clapperton not to trust the caravan leader, for, as he had no means of conveying his luggage, he would undoubtedly leave him in the lurch. He therefore proceeded as he intended, alone.

On the 20th of March Clapperton entered the village of Barakina, the inhabitants of which were noted as the best hunters in the country. As he entered, a hunter came in from the chase. He wore a leopard-skin over his shoulder, carrying a light spear in his hand, and his bow and arrows slung over his shoulder. He was followed by three cream-coloured dogs, their necks adorned with collars of different-coloured leather. He was followed by a slave carrying a dead antelope.

On leaving this village he passed through a narrow gorge, shaded by tall majestic trees. “Here,” he thought to himself, “are the gates leading to the Niger.”

Next day he arrived before the walls of Wawa, in the neighbourhood of the far-famed river.

Here he met with a most unexpected difficulty. Not only did the daughter of the governor make love to him, but a rich widow called Zuma, the daughter of an Arab, who, though brown, considered herself a white woman, insisted on marrying either him or his servant Richard. Being above twenty, she was considered past her prime; but had it not been for her stoutness, which made her look like a walking water-butt, she would really have been handsome. Finding that neither of the white strangers would accept her offers, she endeavoured to entrap them by giving a wife to Pasco, by which, according to the customs of the country, she obtained some sort of claim over his master. The governor soon became alarmed, declaring that, as the lady had a thousand slaves and enormous wealth, she would very likely drive him from the country, and, should the traveller accept her hand, raise him to the throne of Waiva. In the hopes of ending the matter, Clapperton set off for the Niger, leaving his baggage to follow him to the ferry of Comie, while he went round by Boussa. Greatly to his annoyance his baggage was, however, detained by the governor, who feared the widow Zuma’s machinations, and refused to liberate it till her return. Clapperton had great difficulty in making him believe that he had no sort of communication whatever with the lady. Next day, however, the widow Zuma made her entrance into the city, sitting astride on a fine horse, with housings of scarlet cloth trimmed with lace. She herself was habited in a red silk mantle, red trousers, and morocco boots, numerous spells enclosed in coloured leather cases being hung round her. A large train of armed attendants followed her, while she was preceded by a drummer decked in ostrich feathers.

Clapperton’s resolution, however, was not to be overcome. To settle the matter he made Pasco give back his wife again, assuring the governor that he had no intention whatever of entering into any of her designs. She, therefore, indignantly shook the dust from her feet, and allowed the hard-hearted stranger to proceed unmolested on his way.

He made inquiries of all who could give him any information about the fate of Park. They all asked him whether he intended to take up the vessel, which they said still remained at the bottom. The governor’s head man told him that the boat stuck fast between two rocks; that the people in it laid down four anchors ahead, when, the water rushing down fiercely from the rocks as the white men attempted to get on shore, they were drowned; that crowds of people went to see them, but that the white men did not shoot at them, nor did the natives at the people in the boat, as they were too much frightened either to shoot at or assist them. They said, further, that a great many things were in the boat—books and riches—which the Sultan of Boussa had possession of; that there was an abundance of beef, cut in slices and salted, and that the people of Boussa who had eaten of it had died because it was human flesh, which it was well-known white men eat. Another man, however, asserted that the natives did shoot arrows because the people in the boat had fired at them.

They all treated the affair with much seriousness, looking on the place where the boat was wrecked with awe, and telling some most marvellous stories about her and her ill-fated crew.

Boussa, Clapperton says in his journal, is a large town with extensive walls, situated on an island in the Quorra, and that to reach it he had to cross in a canoe, while his horse swam over.

After Clapperton had offered the sultan the presents he had brought for him, he inquired about the white men who had been lost in the river. He seemed very uneasy at the question, and replied that he was a little boy at the time, and had nothing belonging to them; indeed, Clapperton found that any books and papers which had been saved were in the possession of the Sultan of Youri.

Shortly afterwards a messenger arrived from that chief, inviting him to his town, and offering to send canoes to convey him up the river; but Clapperton, anxious to proceed on his journey, unfortunately declined the offer.

He was here treated in the kindest way possible, and everyone was ready to give him information on all points, with the exception of that connected with Park’s death.

The place, however, where the boat struck and the unfortunate crew perished was pointed out to him. It was in the eastern of three channels into which the river is here divided. A low flat island of about a quarter of a mile in breadth lies between the town of Boussa and the fatal spot. The banks are not more than ten feet above the level of the water, which here breaks over a grey slaty rock, extending across to the eastern shore.

The sultan made him a present of a fine young horse, and his brother, with many of the principal people, accompanied him as he set out on his journey.

As he rode towards the ford at Comie, he ascended a high rock overlooking the river. From hence he saw the stream rushing round low rocky and wood-covered islands and among several islets and rocks, when, taking a sudden bend to the westward, the water dashed on with great violence against the foot of the rock on which he sat. Below the islands the river fell three or four feet, while the rest of the channel was studded with rocks, some of which were above water. It seemed to him, that even had Park and Martyn passed Boussa, their vessel would almost to a certainty have been destroyed on these rocks, where they would probably have perished unheard of and unseen.

The traveller next entered the kingdom of Nyffe, till lately one of the best cultivated and most flourishing in Africa, but, in consequence of having been the prey of a desolating civil war, now almost ruined. A dispute had arisen between two rival princes, one of whom called in the aid of the Felatahs, who, in their usual way, had ravaged the whole country and placed the traitorous prince on the throne. Two large walled towns had, however, resisted the inroads of the invaders: one of these was Coolfu, where Clapperton and the caravan he had now joined halted for some days. Although the inhabitants were professedly Mussulmans they were exceedingly lax in their religious duties, and none of the bigotry so prevalent in other places was discernible. The women, indeed, took an active part in public matters, many of them being engaged in mercantile pursuits. They have an odd idea about imbibing the precepts of the Koran; and, to do so, they get some learned man to write texts from it with black chalk on pieces of board. These are then washed, when the water is drunk. They evidently consider it a fetish or charm of some sort.

Clapperton now entered the Felatah country of Zeg-zeg. The region, in the neighbourhood of its capital, Zaria, was the most beautiful he had seen in Africa, being variegated with hill and dale, resembling in many respects the finest parts of England. It was covered with rich pastures and fields, now blessed with plentiful crops, while the rice grown there was the finest in Africa. Zaria was said to contain fifty thousand inhabitants, a population exceeding that of Kano.

Arrived at Kano, he took up his quarters in his former residence. The city was, however, in a great state of agitation, in consequence of war raging on every side. Hostilities had broken out between the King of Bornou and the Felatahs, while other provinces were in open rebellion, so that a caravan had great difficulty in proceeding in any direction.

As Kano is midway between Sackatoo and Bornou, Clapperton, who purposed visiting the latter province, determined to leave his baggage at Kano, under charge of Richard Lander, while he himself went forward, carrying only the presents intended for Bello.

His journey towards Sackatoo was very fatiguing; his camels were worn-out, while he often suffered greatly from thirst.

At the town of Jaza he met his old friend the gadado, the sultan’s general, with a numerous train on horseback and foot. The horsemen were armed with spears, swords, and shields, the foot with bows and arrows. The women came behind him, some riding on horseback astraddle, some on camels, others on foot carrying the kitchen utensils. The gadado was preceded by a band, with four long trumpets, two drums, and a pipe. On meeting Clapperton he dismounted, and taking him by the hand, walked hand in hand with him into the house which had been prepared for his reception. He said that Bello had received no letters from Bornou appointing where his messengers were to meet the mission on the coast.

Clapperton, besides suffering from hunger and thirst, lost his horse and all his camels, which died, while his journal, ink-horn, pens, and spectacles were stolen; nor did he ever recover them—one of the greatest misfortunes that could happen to a traveller.

On the 15th of October, about noon, he arrived at Bello’s camp, and was immediately admitted to an audience.

The sultan’s residence consisted of a number of huts, screened off by cloth fixed on poles, making quite a village of itself.

He received the traveller in a kind and gratifying way. He asked after the health of the King of England, and was greatly surprised to hear that Clapperton had remained only four months at home, and had hastened back to Africa without seeing his friends.

Bello’s army was on its march to attack Coonia, the capital of the rebels of Goobur. Nothing could be more disorderly than the march, horse and foot intermingled in the greatest confusion, all rushing to get forward; sometimes the followers of one chief tumbled amongst those of another, when swords were half-drawn, but they ended in making faces at each other, or putting on a threatening aspect. This disorderly army consisted of upwards of fifty thousand fighting men, horse and foot.

As soon as they arrived before the town, they formed a dense circle of men and horses around it; the horse kept out of bowshot, while the foot, as they felt courage or inclination to do so, rushed forward and kept up a straggling fire with about thirty muskets in addition to their bows. The Zeg-zeg troops had one French fusil, and the Kano force forty-one muskets. The Kano men, as soon as they fired their pieces, ran out of bowshot to reload. The enemy seldom threw away their arrows, not shooting till they were sure of doing so with effect. Occasionally a single horseman would gallop up and brandish his spear, while he covered himself with his large leathern shield, returning as fast as he went and shouting: “Shields to the wall, you soldiers of the gadado! Why do you not hasten to the wall?” Many of the soldiers answered: “You have a large shield to cover you,” and disregarded the call. At length the troops habited in quilted armour were marched forward, having at a distance a somewhat fine appearance, as their helmets were ornamented with black and white ostrich feathers, while at the sides pieces of tin glittered in the sun, their long, quilted cloaks of gaudy colours reaching down to the horses’ tails and hanging over their flanks. The riders were armed with large spears, and they had to be assisted to mount their horses. Their quilted cloaks were so heavy that it required two men to mount a cavalier. Six of these warriors belonged to the sultan and six to each governor.

The besieged possessed one musket, and with this they did wonderful execution, for it brought down the van of the quilted cavaliers, who fell from his horse like a sack of corn, when the footmen dashed forward and dragged him and his steed out of harm’s way. He had been shot by two balls, which went through his body, one coming out and the other lodging in his quilted armour. There were three Arabs, armed at all points, one of whom was struck by the Coonia musket, but the others kept carefully behind the sultan.

The most useful and bravest person was an old female slave of the sultan, who, mounted astraddle on a long-backed horse, rode about with half a dozen gourds filled with water, and a brass basin, from which she supplied the wounded and thirsty.

In the evening this valiant army retired to their camp, when the Coonia force managed to cut off the water from the stream which supplied it, and then an alarm was raised that they were about to make an attack. On this the whole army, horse and foot, tumbled over each other pell-mell, trying who should get the soonest out of danger.

Clapperton had wisely not undressed, but, making his servant saddle his horse and load his camels, he set off in the morning with the army, which soon afterwards retreated and returned to Sackatoo.

Though his old Arab acquaintance called upon him and pretended to be very friendly, they were plotting his destruction. Bello had also received a letter from the Sultan of Bornou, warning him against the machinations of the English. He likewise took steps to thwart the traveller’s objects, though he did not treat him with any personal violence. When the chief people in the place found that their sultan was no longer on friendly terms with the stranger, they also gave up visiting him, and he was left very much alone. Bello likewise insisted on seeing the letter which Clapperton was carrying to the King of Bornou, and when his request was refused he seized it. He also by false pretences induced Lander to come on to Sackatoo with the presents, including several firearms which were intended for the King of Bornou, that he might get them into his own possession.

This news preyed greatly on Clapperton’s mind, besides which he caught a dangerous chill from lying down while hunting, when overcome with heat and fatigue, on a damp spot in the open air. He was soon afterwards seized with dysentery, which rapidly reduced his strength. During his illness he was watched over with the tenderest care by Richard Lander, who was also himself suffering much from sickness.

Old Pasco, who had been dismissed at Kano for stealing, was at Lander’s suggestion forgiven, and greatly assisted their dying master.

The heat was intense, and Lander used to carry him to a couch outside the hut, where he might enjoy the air, and return with him in the evening. He also daily read to him some portions of the New Testament, and the ninety-fifth Psalm, which he was never weary of listening to.

Twenty days he continued in this state, growing weaker and weaker. At length he called his faithful servant to his bedside. “Richard, I shall soon be no more: I feel myself dying.”

Almost choked with grief, Lander replied: “God forbid, my dear master! you will live many years yet.”

“Don’t be so much affected, my dear boy,” said Clapperton. “It is the will of the Almighty: it cannot be helped.”

He then directed Lander how to dispose of his papers and all his property, adding, as he took his faithful attendant’s hand: “My dear Richard, if you had not been with me I should have died long ago. I can only thank you with my latest breath for your kindness and attachment to me; but God will reward you.”

During their conversation Clapperton fainted from weakness, but after this appeared to rally, and for several days Lander’s hopes revived; but one morning he was alarmed by hearing a peculiar rattling sound proceeding from his master’s throat. At the same instant Clapperton called out, “Richard!” in a low and hurried tone, when going to him, Lander found him sitting upright in his bed, and staring wildly round. Placing his master’s head gently on his left shoulder, Lander gazed for a moment at his pale and altered features. Some indistinct expressions quivered on his lips, and, in the attempt to give them utterance, he expired without a struggle or a sigh.

Having done all that under the circumstances was required, he sent to the Sultan Bello for permission to bury his master; and, in return, an officer arrived with four slaves, and Lander was desired to follow them. Placing Clapperton’s body on the back of his camel, and throwing the Union Jack over it, he bade them proceed, and they conducted him to a village, situated on rising ground, about five miles to the south-east of Sackatoo—the village of Jungavie. Here a grave was dug; and the faithful attendant, opening a prayer-book, read, amid showers of tears, the funeral service over the remains of his beloved master.

Bello appeared to have regretted his treatment of the brave explorer. He furnished Lander with the means of returning home, and gave him permission either to proceed across the desert or to take any other route. Lander, not wishing to trust the Arabs, determined to take the route by which he had come, among the better-disposed negroes. He was accompanied by old Pasco, who acted as his interpreter, and Mudey, a black, who had always been faithful.

On reaching Kano he determined to proceed southward to Funda, where, from the information he received, he hoped to be able to settle the problem of the course of the Niger, to ascertain whether it from thence flowed onward to the sea, or turned eastward into the interior of the country, as by many it was supposed to do.

After travelling some distance he was warned that he would meet with a mountainous region inhabited by cannibals, who would certainly put him to death, and who were reported to have killed and eaten a whole caravan a short time before.

On his way he passed through a large place called Cuttup, which consisted of five hundred small villages clustered together. Here he was well received by the king, whose numerous wives were highly delighted when he made them a present of two or three gilt buttons from his jacket, which they, imagining to be pure gold, fastened to their ears.

He had reached the village of Dunrera near the large city of Tacoba, in the neighbourhood of which the Shary was said to flow in a continuous course between Funda and Lake Chad. This raised his spirits, and he was expecting in ten or twelve days to solve the great problem, when, to his dismay, four horsemen galloped into the town, their leader informing him that the King of Zeg-zeg had sent to conduct him to Zaria.

Finding himself compelled to obey, he repaired to the capital, where the king boasted that he had done him an essential service; for, as the people of Funda were at war with Sultan Bello, they would certainly have murdered him.

The king’s chief object, however, was, it appears, to gratify his curiosity, for, as he had been absent when Clapperton and Lander passed through his capital, he had not before seen a white man. Lander was well treated by the king’s eldest son, a remarkably handsome young man of two and twenty. As an especial mark of favour the prince introduced him to his fifty wives, who were found industriously employed in preparing cotton, making thread, and weaving it into cloth. They no sooner saw him than, dropping their work, they flew off and hid themselves. He here obtained a pack-bullock and a pony in lieu of his asses, which were worn-out; and after some delay the king gave him permission to proceed on his journey.

Leaving Zaria, he proceeded westward, along the route by which he had come into the country.

Wherever he went inquiries were made about his father, as he was supposed to be Clapperton’s son, and every one expressed great grief at hearing of his death.

The intelligence, courage, and resolution he exhibited, proved Lander to be no ordinary person. He not only made his way among the various tribes he had to pass through, but carried with him in safety a large trunk, containing Clapperton’s clothes and other property, three watches, which he had secured about his person to preserve them from the rapacity of Bello, and all his master’s papers and journals, with which, after a journey of nine months, accompanied by three blacks, he arrived in safety at Badagarry.

From thence he was conveyed in the English brig “Maria” to Cape Coast, whence he obtained a passage home in the “Esk,” and arrived in England on the 30th of April.

Chapter Nine.

Journey of the Landers, and their voyage down the Niger, 1830.

The brothers reach Badagarry—Proceed inland to Katunga—Well received by the King—Reach Boussa—The widow Zurna—Kind-hearted King—Visit Youri—Reception by the King—Obtain relics of Park—The dancing monarch—Obtain canoes—Begin voyage down the Niger—Great width of the river at Leechee—Sleet the King of the Dark Water—A roguish Arab—Detained by Mallam Dendow—Compelled to give him Park’s robe—Reach Egga—No presents remaining—Pass mouth of Binue—Threatened by Natives—Detained at Damuggoo—Attacked by piratical canoes—John Lander nearly drowned—Property seized—Rescued by an honest chief—Inhabitants side with them—Journals lost—Continue voyage—Reach Eboe—Interview with Obie, the King—Hear of English and Spanish ships in the river—Conveyed down the river by King Boy—Reach English brig—Brutal conduct of the captain—Brig escapes from the river—The Landers sail for Rio de Janeiro and reach England.

The courage, perseverance, and judgment exhibited by Richard Lander in making his way from Sackatoo to Badagarry after the death of Clapperton, and the attempt he had made of his own accord to follow the course of the Niger to the sea, pointed him out to the British Government as a fit person to lead another expedition with that object in view. He at once accepted the offer made to him, and was allowed to take his younger brother John, a well-educated and intelligent young man, as his companion. They were directed to proceed from Badagarry to Boussa on the Niger, where Mungo Park was wrecked and lost his life, and down to which he had traced the stream from the neighbourhood of Timbuctoo. Thence, after visiting Youri, the chief of which place was supposed to be in possession of Park’s papers, he was to make his way, either down the stream in canoes or along the banks by land, as he might find practicable, either to the sea, if the stream was found to flow in that direction, or eastward into Lake Chad, which at that time, it was supposed, it might possibly do. In the latter case, if found advisable, he was to return home by way of Fezzan and Tripoli; but, in either case, he was to follow its course, if possible, to its termination, wherever that might be.

Sailing from Portsmouth on the 9th of January, 1830, the Landers reached Cape Coast Castle on the 22nd. Here they were fortunate enough to engage old Pasco and his wife, with Richard’s former attendant, Jowdie, together with Ibrahim and Nimo, two Bornou men, who could speak English, as also the Haussa language. Hence they went to Badagarry, the chief of which place, Adooley, entertained them hospitably.

On the 31st of March, they commenced their journey into the interior, proceeding up the river as far as it was navigable. Reaching Bidjii they were supplied with horses, on which they continued their journey. It was here Captain Pearce and Dr Morrison fell sick when accompanying Clapperton in his last journey. Both the brothers suffered from sickness; but, undaunted, they pursued their course till they reached Katunga, the capital of Youriba.

Houses in this province were formed of badly-built clay walls, thatched roofs, and floors of mud, polished with cow-dung. The only difference between the residence of a chief and those of his subjects consisted in the number, though not in the superiority, of his court-yards. For the most part they were tenanted by women and slaves, together with flocks of sheep and goats, and abundance of pigs and poultry mixed indiscriminately. The palace of the king, however, was somewhat superior.

The monarch had put on his robes of state to receive them, and amused them while dinner was preparing with a concert from a number of long drums, kettledrums, and horns. He wore on his head an ornament like a bishop’s mitre, covered with strings of coral. His tobe was of green silk, crimson silk, damask, and green silk velvet, sewn together like a piece of patchwork. He wore English cotton stockings, and sandals of neat workmanship. His subjects as they approached prostrated themselves, rubbing their heads with earth, and kissing the ground repeatedly, till their faces were covered with the red soil.

The king was so amused with the very different style with which the Englishmen saluted him that he burst out in a fit of laughter, in which his wives and subjects joined him.

They parted with the worthy monarch, who forwarded them on their journey.

Avoiding Avawa, at which place the widow Zuma had laid siege to the hearts of Clapperton and his attendant, they proceeded on to Boussa, which, greatly to their surprise, they found standing on the mainland, and not on an island as Clapperton’s journal had stated.

The king asserted, when they had presented themselves, that he and his court had been weeping all the morning for the death of Clapperton; but, as no outward signs of tears were visible, the travellers rather mistrusted the monarch’s assertion.

A hut having been selected for them, they repaired to it, and were well supplied with dishes of meat, rice, and corn for supper.

What was their astonishment the next day to receive a visit from the widow Zuma! who appeared, however, woefully changed, being clad in very humble apparel of country cloth. Having quarrelled with the ruler of Wawa, she had made her escape over the city wall in the night, travelling on foot to Boussa, where she had since taken up her abode.

The king was highly pleased with the presents which the Landers had brought him, and he and his wife, his chief counsellor and only confidant, honoured them with a visit at their hut. The queen was dressed in a check shirt, with several pieces of blue cotton—one tied round her waist, another hanging over her shoulder, and one covering her head—brass rings ornamenting her great toes, and bracelets her wrists; besides which she wore a necklace of coral and beads of gold, and small pieces of coral stuck in the lobe of each ear. Coral appeared to be in great demand wherever they went, and the queen was disappointed on finding that they had brought none.

Lander, concealing the object of his journey, informed the king that his purpose was to go to Bornou by way of Youri, and requested a safe conveyance through his territories.

This permission was granted, and, sending their horses by land, they proceeded up the river in a canoe which was furnished them, towards Youri.

The scenery on the main branch of the river was interesting and picturesque: the bank literally covered with hamlets and villages, and fine trees bending under the weight of their dark foliage, and contrasting with the lively verdure of the hills and plains.

After proceeding a short distance the stream gradually widened to two miles, in some places the water being very shallow, but in others of considerable depth.

Steering directly northward they voyaged on for four days, having passed, they were told, all the dangerous rocks and sandbanks which are to be found above Youri or below Boussa.

Landing at a little village on the bank, where their horses met them, they rode a distance of eight miles to the walls of Youri. That city they entered through an amazingly long passage, at the end of which was an immense door, covered with plates of iron rudely fastened to the woodwork.

A habitation had been provided for them, to which they were conducted, excusing themselves from paying their respects to the sultan on account of the fatigues of their journey. The following evening they visited the sultan, whose palace consisted of a group of buildings enclosed by a high wall. Dismounting, they were conducted along a low, dark avenue, with pillars on either side, and, passing through which, they entered a large square yard, where a number of servants were hurrying about and others seated on the ground. They were kept waiting for some time, till, receiving a summons to advance, they were introduced into another square, which resembled a clean farm-yard. Here they found the sultan seated alone on a plain piece of carpet, with a pillow on each side of him and a neat brass pan in front. He was big-headed, corpulent, and, though of advanced age, a jolly-looking man. He expressed his annoyance that Clapperton did not visit him, and that Lander had not done so on his return, and they were not sorry to take their leave.

He here was shown a rich damask tobe, covered with gold embroidery, which had belonged to Mr Park, and was probably part of the spoil taken from the canoe, intended as a present to some native prince. They were, at first, in hopes of obtaining Park’s journals; but only an old nautical almanack was seen, and they afterwards discovered that the journals themselves, though kept for some years, had, after Clapperton’s death, been destroyed by the person into whose hands they had fallen. They, however, obtained a gun which had undoubtedly belonged to Park, and which was given up to them in exchange for one of their own fowling-pieces.

The king, though he expressed his readiness to assist them, declared that he could not forward them on their way to the eastward, as from the disturbed state of the country he would be unable to guarantee their safety, and that the best thing he could do was to send them back to Boussa. On this they immediately sent a message to the King of Boussa, saying that as they were unable to continue their journey in the direction they had proposed, they would feel deeply obliged if he would lend them a canoe, by which they might proceed down the river to the salt water, and that they would remunerate him to the best of their ability.

The disturbances of which they had heard had been created by the widow Zuma, who had instigated the people of Nouffie to make a raid into the territory of the King of Wawa. They had succeeded in carrying off some bullocks near the walls of his town. She had fled from Boussa to another town, the governor of which had, however, sent her back, and she would now probably be severely punished by the King of Boussa, or be returned to her own sovereign, who would probably cut off her head.

On the 2nd of August they set off on their road to Boussa, but here they were kept some weeks, during which either one or the other of the brothers paid visits to the King of Wawa, from whom they found they had the best chance of obtaining a canoe. The King and Queen of Boussa were the most amiable couple they met with on their travels, and treated them with uniform kindness during their stay. The king, though not equalling the King of Wawa, is proud of his skill as a dancer, and he exhibited his accomplishments at a grand festival which took place during their visit. Although advanced in life, he was as active as a boy, and indulged largely in his favourite amusement every Friday.

On the last day of the festival, while his subjects were gathered in large numbers on the racecourse, he appeared among them, followed by boys carrying calabashes full of cowries, with which he rewarded the dancers, singers, and musicians, scattering the remainder among the crowd, to be scrambled for. Then, to show his affection for his subjects, unwilling to send them to their homes without giving them another treat, he danced sideways half way up the racecourse and back again to his residence, with much stateliness, his amiable wife smiling with delight that she had such a spouse, while the people were louder than ever in their shouts of approbation.

They heard here that El Kanemy, Major Denham’s friend, had fallen into disgrace with the Sultan of Bornou, who suspected him of treasonable practices, and of the intention of usurping the sovereignty. He had been imprisoned, and would have lost his head had not the Mahommedan priests interfered and obtained his liberation.

During their last visit to the King of Wawa, he exhibited a collection of charms written on sheets of paper, glued or pasted together. Among them was a small edition of Watts’s Hymns, on one of the blank leaves of which was written, “Alexander Anderson, Royal Military Hospital, Gosport, 1804,” which of course had belonged to Mr Park’s brother-in-law, who died in that neighbourhood. They had seen also two other notes addressed to Park, one from a Mr Watson, and the other from Lady Dalkeith.

It was not before the 30th of September that at length, having obtained the long-wished-for canoes, they were able to embark from the Island of Patashie, in the neighbourhood of Boussa. Cheered by the natives, they sprang on board, and the current rapidly bore them down the stream.

Their voyage had now begun prosperously; but they were detained at several places by the chiefs, who wished to get as much as they could out of them.

At Lever a priest, attended by a number of followers, told them that they were in his power, and should not quit the town till he thought proper. They had hitherto always behaved in the mildest manner possible, but now Lander replied that if the priest or any one else attempted to hinder them from taking their departure, he should feel no hesitation in shooting him. In an instant the priest’s manner changed, and he became civil and humble. They and their people were, however, allowed to make the attempt of launching their canoe, in which, as she was long and heavy, they were unable to succeed. The priest and his followers at length, ashamed of seeing the strangers labouring so hard, came to the spot and in a few minutes carried their boats into the water. They passed numerous islands, many of them several miles in length and thickly inhabited.

At Leechee the Niger was found to be three miles in width. The inhabitants of the place had numerous canoes. The boatmen they engaged here, though they had only paddled on for about forty minutes, refused to go further, and they were compelled to wait till they could obtain a fresh crew. Indeed, at the different places at which they stopped, they were vexatiously delayed on various pretexts by the natives.

At Belee Island a messenger arrived to inform them that they would be visited in the morning by the King of the Dark Water.

They embarked at an early hour, and at about ten o’clock the sound of voices singing, which reached their ears over the surface of the stream, warned them of the approach of the monarch. A small canoe came first, and then another propelled by upwards of twenty fine young men. In this, under a decorated awning, with a piece of scarlet cloth ornamented with beads and gold lace in front, sat the King of the Dark Water. In the stern were a number of musicians—drummers and a trumpeter—and in the bow four little boys, neatly clad. The king, of coal-black hue, was a fine-looking man, well stricken in years. He was dressed in a bournous of blue cloth, under which was a variegated tobe, made of figured satin, Haussa trousers, sandals of coloured leather, and a red cloth cap on his head. He was accompanied by six fine, handsome, jet-black girls, his wives, also picturesquely dressed, their wrists ornamented with silver bracelets and their necks with coloured necklaces.

The travellers saluted him with a discharge from their muskets, and while he went on shore, Richard arrayed himself in an old naval uniform coat, and his brother in the handsomest dress he possessed; their attendants put on new, white, Mahommedan tobes, while the British flag flew from the bow of their boat, so that they might show him all the respect in their power. These arrangements being concluded, the English led the way down the river, followed by the King of the Dark Water, and a squadron of canoes, to the island of Zagozhi, on which a town of considerable size was situated. Opposite to it was the town of Rabba, said to be very large and populous.

The Niger flows at this spot in a direction south of east.

While staying at this place, Lander was surprised by receiving an over-warm and affectionate salutation from a little, ugly, old Arab, whom he recognised as having been employed by Clapperton, having afterwards acted as his own guide from Kano. He had cheated Clapperton, and had also stolen Captain Pearce’s sword and a sum of money when sent back to Kano, from which he had decamped. When reminded of his rogueries he only laughed, and then in the most impertinent manner begged for everything he saw. Lander consequently turned him out of the hut.

They found here Mallam Dendow, a cousin of Bello, very old and feeble. He was pleased with the presents he received, and through his means the King of the Dark Water promised to supply them with canoes and a guide to conduct them to the sea.

Funda, the town near which the Niger was supposed to flow, was, as far as they could learn, at a considerable distance from this neighbourhood. Mallam Dendow had lately planned an expedition against it, but it terminated by his warriors taking fright and returning to their homes without accomplishing anything.

These Arabs, throughout Africa, were the greatest curse of the country, and were the chief cause of the devastating wars which were constantly taking place, while they in no way contributed to the real civilisation of the people.

Just as the travellers were hoping to recommence their voyage, old Pasco returned from Mallam Dendow with the unpleasant information that the chief was dissatisfied with the gifts he had received, and that unless they would present him with others of more value he would take their guns and powder from them before he would permit them to leave Zagozhi. Having no articles left among their stores, they were most unwillingly compelled to present him with Mr Park’s tobe, which had been given by the King of Boussa. With this he was highly delighted, and now, declaring that he would be their friend for ever after, he not only obtained for them the restitution of their canoe, which had been seized by the King of the Dark Water, but made them a present of a number of handsome mats and a supply of cowries and provisions.

On the 16th they again launched into the river, firing two muskets and uttering three cheers as a salute to the King of the Dark Water and the hundreds of spectators gazing at them, whom they soon left out of sight.

They were now, with the exception of a few bracelets and other trifling articles, possessed of nothing with which to make presents or pay tribute to the chiefs. It was, therefore, important that they should hasten down the stream, touching at as few places as possible.

They passed a village on an island completely submerged, and were nearly upset by striking against the roof of one of the cottages, towards which a whirlpool had driven them. A number of canoes were engaged in carrying off the inhabitants.

At the island of Fofo they heard that the frontiers of Funda were three days’ journey down the Niger, and that the city itself was upwards of three days’ journey inland from the water-side, and that thus it would be impossible for them to visit it.

After they had left Zagozhi, in between three and four days they reached Egga, a large town situated behind a morass, several creeks leading out of it. A vast number of large canoes lay off the place, laden with all kinds of merchandise. The chief, a venerable man with a long, white beard, examined them from head to foot and, remarking that they were strange-looking people well worth seeing, awarded them a commodious hut.

It was a town of prodigious extent and had an immense population. The river varied in width from two to five and six miles.

They here observed Benin and Portuguese clothes worn by the inhabitants, who, being very enterprising, were engaged in trading up and down the river.

On the 22nd they once more embarked, their crew greatly alarmed with the prospect of meeting enemies ahead, who would, they said, very likely put them to death.

Had they, however, remained at Egga, they would probably have been made slaves. They heard, indeed, dreadful reports of the character of the people occupying both sides of the Niger between Kakunda and Bocqua. They, however, loaded their arms and prepared to defend themselves.

One of their men, Antonio, son of a chief on the Bonny river, who had joined them from HM brig “Clinker,” was especially alarmed—not on his own account, as he said that his life was of no consequence, but that he feared that his two white friends, whom he loved so dearly, might be killed. They, accordingly, pulled on during the night, passing a large town, from which issued a loud noise, as of a multitude quarrelling. Once they fancied they saw a light following them, but it turned out to be a will-o’-the-wisp.

On the 25th of October suddenly the river changed to the south-west, running between immensely high hills, and in the evening they passed the mouth of a considerable rivet entering the Niger from the eastward. After pulling up some little way, they found the current so strong against them that they were compelled to return. This they concluded to be the Tsadda, known, however, as the Binue.

While their men were on shore collecting firewood they came suddenly on a village, and, the people being aroused, the travellers, seated under a palm-tree, were quickly surrounded; but the chief, appearing, was persuaded that they only desired peace. Old Pasco was the only one who had stood by them during the interval, the rest having taken to their heels on the appearance of danger.

On landing at another place, a number of women hastened out of an adjacent village with muskets; but, seeing the travellers sitting down quietly without making any hostile display, they soon became friendly.

They were detained three days at Damuggoo, a very dirty town, where, however, the people were generally dressed in Manchester cottons; that is to say, they wore pieces of them round their waists, extending to the knee.

Continuing their voyage down the river, they observed the large market town of Kirree. Near it were a number of canoes of considerable size, with flags flying on long bamboos. Shortly afterwards a fleet of fifty canoes appeared ahead, with flags of all nations, among which the Union Jack was most conspicuous. All the people were dressed in European clothes, with the exception of trousers, which the chiefs alone are allowed to wear.

Lander, overjoyed by the sight, supposing that they must be friends, approached without fear, when a huge man of most forbidding countenance beckoned him to come on board his canoe. The next instant the sound of drums was heard, and several men levelled their muskets at the traveller. In addition to the muskets, each canoe had a long four or six-pounder in its bow, besides which the crews were armed with swords and boarding-pikes. In an instant their luggage was transferred to the canoes of their opponents, while some of them seized Pasco’s wife, and were dragging her out of the canoe. On this Lander, calling to his men to assist him, determined to sell his life as dearly as he could; and, having dragged back Pasco’s wife, they fought so determinedly that they were able to effect their escape. None of the other canoes had interfered, and, seeing that which had plundered them making its way to the market, Lander pulled after her as fast as he could go, in the hopes of recovering their property. On their way they encountered another canoe, in which a person, apparently of consequence, hailed them with the words: “Hilloa, white man! You French; you English?”

“English,” answered Lander. “Come here in my canoe,” was the reply. Lander accordingly got into his canoe, while the chief put three men into Lander’s that they might assist in pulling to the market. He at once treated Lander with great kindness and promised him every assistance in his power.

Soon after this, what was Richard Lander’s dismay to see the canoe of which his brother John had command followed by the villains who had attacked him, capsized, and sunk, while their luggage went to the bottom—his brother and crew being left struggling in the water. Richard was on the point of leaping in to help him, when he saw him dragged into another canoe, the other men swimming on shore. It was some time before he was able to reach him, when, with their new friend, they repaired to the market. Here they found a number of Damuggoo people and others who sided with them, and a Mahommedan from Funda urged them to keep up their spirits, and that all would be made right. Search was then commenced for their property. One of their journals and a box of books, with the medicine chest and a few articles of clothing were found, and after a palaver were restored; but the whole of Richard Lander’s journal with the exception of one note-book, Mr Park’s gun and thirty-six of their cutlasses and pistols, some elephant tusks, ostrich feathers, leopard-skins, and a variety of seeds had all been lost, as well as their remaining cowries, buttons, and needles, which were so important to enable them to purchase food.

The people who had attacked them were from Eboe, and had come this distance on a plundering expedition, intending to trade when unable to carry off property without fighting. The leading man who had attacked them was put into irons and doomed to die by the people of Kirree; and it was decided that if the king of Eboe, whose subject he was, should refuse to put him to death, no more of his canoes should be allowed to come to the country to trade.

Escorted by six war-canoes from Damuggoo, the travellers left Kirree and continued their voyage down the river, passing through a large lake-like expanse of the Niger, till on the evening of the 8th they reached the town of Eboe.

The houses were neatly built of yellow clay, plastered over and thatched with palm leaves. Yards were attached to each, in which plantations of bananas and cocoa-nut trees grew.

Here they were addressed in English by several brawny fellows with stentorian voices, who shook hands, asking them “how they did”—one calling himself Gun, though Blunderbuss or Thunder would have been as appropriate a name, then stating that his brother was King Boy and that his father was King Forday, who with King Jacket governed all the Brass country. He also informed them that a Spanish schooner and an English brig, the “Thomas,” of Liverpool, were lying in the first Brass river.

After resting for some time they were conducted to the palace of the dreaded Obie, king of the Eboe country. Instead of the savage monster they expected to see, a door opened, when a sprightly young man, with a mild countenance and an eye which indicated quickness and intelligence, appeared before them and cordially shook hands. His dress was so covered with a profusion of coral ornaments that he might appropriately have been styled the “Coral King.” On his head he wore a sugar-loaf hat, thickly adorned with strings of coloured beads and pieces of broken looking-glass, while several strings of beads were tightly fastened round his neck. He had on a short Spanish surtout of red cloth, ornamented with gold epaulettes, and a pair of trousers of the same material, while both his legs and wrists were covered with strings of beads, and to each leg, above the naked ankles and feet, was suspended a string of little brass bells, which jingled as he walked.

An account of what had happened at Kirree was narrated to him, and he declared his intention of settling the matter. Notwithstanding his protestations, however, the fair-spoken king detained the travellers, and would have kept them and their followers in slavery had not King Boy, the eldest son of the King of Brass Town, volunteered to pay their ransom on receiving a written promise that it should be repaid to him by the master of the “Thomas,” then lying in the Brass River, or by any other merchantman captain who might be found there. King Boy wished to send the document down to the brig at once; but fortunately Lander told him that he was sure the captain would not pay it till he had been received on board. On this the King of Eboe allowed them to embark in King Boy’s canoe. It was a large craft, paddled by forty men and boys, in addition to whom there were, besides the king and his wife and their own party, several slaves, so that the number on board amounted to fully sixty people. There were also cannon lashed to the bows, and a number of cutlasses and chests of spirits, silk, and cotton goods.

Thus laden, the Brass canoe took her way down the river, her unfortunate English passengers dreadfully cramped for room—John Lander one night, while suffering from fever, having the feet of the royal couple in his face.

On the 15th of November they landed at the excessively dirty town of King Forday, situated in the middle of a marsh. Here they took up their quarters at Boy’s house.

Soon after their arrival they were cheered by recognising the features of a European in the midst of a crowd of savages. He proved to be the master of a Spanish schooner lying in the Brass River for slaves. He was affable and courteous, and told them that six of his crew were ill of fever and that the rest were suffering.

Their residence, which its owner called an English house, was built close to the water, of yellow clay, but with several windows, all furnished with shutters.

Having paid his respects to King Forday, Richard Lander, leaving his brother and his men at the town, set off, in King Boy’s canoe, to go sixty miles down the river to the brig.

His feelings of delight may be imagined when he had ocular evidence that he had at length succeeded in tracing the mysterious Niger down to the ocean, by seeing before him two vessels, one the Spanish slaver, the other the English brig on board which he fully expected to receive the assistance he so greatly required.

To his utter surprise and consternation, on going on board, Captain Lake, though almost himself at death’s door from fever, flatly refused to give him a single thing. By his language and behaviour he showed himself to be a greater savage than the ignorant blacks among whom Lander had been travelling. Lander in vain expostulated with the captain; fearful oaths and flat refusals were the only answers he made. At last, when Lander suggested that he had five men, who might be useful in working his vessel out of the river, he softened a little, and gave him a change of linen and some provisions for his brother.

King Boy was ultimately induced to go back to bring John Lander and the rest of the men, on Richard’s reiterated promise that he would at some time or other obtain the goods they had promised him. He presented him also with some silver bracelets, which they had before overlooked, and a native sword. These articles Boy accepted, but when John Lander offered him his watch it was refused with disdain, the savage not knowing its value.

The captain of the brig had in the meantime loaded his guns and got his arms ready, and when Boy came up to him once more, to demand the bars which had been promised, he replied, in a voice of thunder: “I no will!”

As the pilot, to whom the captain had also refused to pay his demand, could not be trusted to take the brig out, she narrowly escaped shipwreck on the bar, but happily at length getting clear of the river, she steered a course for Fernando Po, where the travellers landed. Hence they sailed for Rio de Janeiro, which they reached on the 16th of March, and from that port obtained a passage on board the “William Harris” to England, which they reached safely on the 10th of June.

Thus, with very humble means, by the energy and courage of two unpretending men, was the long-disputed problem of the course of the Niger at length completely solved.

Besides the payment which the Government had promised to Richard Lander, he received a premium of fifty guineas, placed at the disposal of the Royal Geographical Society by the king, and his brother John obtained employment under Government suitable to his abilities.

Chapter Ten.

Travels and adventures of Dr Barth in North and Central Africa, 1849.

Leaves Tripoli with Mr Richardson and Dr Overweg—Suppression of slave trade the chief object of the expedition—Numerous ruins seen—Cross the Hammada desert—Rest at an oasis—Reach Mourzouk—Dr Barth’s adventure—Nearly perishes in the desert—Difficulties of journey—Followed by Tawarek freebooters—Preparations for an attack—Strange dancers—Tribute demanded—Camp at night—Expecting an attack—Constant firing kept up—Camels stolen—Pursued—Dangerous situation—Travellers expect death—Saved by friendly Chief—Dr Barth visits Agades—A salt-caravan—The caravan reaches Tagelel.

The British Government had, in 1849, appointed Mr Richardson, an experienced traveller in Africa, to the command of an expedition which was to start from Tripoli, on the north coast, and thence endeavour to penetrate to the central part of the continent. By the recommendation of the Chevalier Bunsen Dr Barth, who had spent three years travelling through Barbary and the desert tracts to the westward bordering the shores of the Mediterranean, was allowed, accompanied by another German, Dr Overweg, to join the expedition.

A light boat, which was divided into two portions and could be carried on the backs of camels, was provided, and a sailor to navigate her either on Lake Chad or down the Niger.

Dr Barth and his countryman at once pushed on for Tripoli, in the neighbourhood of which they made long excursions while waiting for the arrival of Mr Richardson, who had remained in Paris for despatches.

One of the principal objects of the expedition was the abolition of the slave trade, which it was known was carried on to a fearful extent in those regions. The principal employment of the Moorish tribes on the borders of the territories inhabited by blacks is still, as it was in the days of Mungo Park and Clapperton, slave-hunting. Villages are attacked for the purpose, when the prisoners captured are carried northward across the desert and sold in Morocco and the other Barbary states.

Another object was the opening up a lawful commercial intercourse with the people who might be visited, and the exploration of the country for scientific purposes, as well as to discover the course of the great river which the Landers had seen flowing into the Niger in their adventurous voyage down that stream.

On the arrival of Mr Richardson the travellers at length set out from Tripoli, on the 24th of March, 1850. They rode on camels, a considerable number of which were also required to carry their baggage. The boat had unfortunately been divided only into two pieces instead of four, thus causing much trouble.

We may picture them setting forth with their long line of camels and numerous attendants, servants, camel-drivers, and guides, and accompanied by Mr Crowe, the consul, Mr Reade, the vice-consul, and other friends who came forth to see them start; or with their tents pitched on a moonlight night, amidst a few date and olive trees, in a green meadow—a little oasis surrounded by sand.

The two doctors alone required eight camels for their luggage, besides those they rode. Dr Barth had procured an excellent one of the renowned Bû-Saef breed. The travellers were well-armed, as they had to pass through disturbed districts, and were likely to encounter open enemies, and might have to keep treacherous attendants in awe.

During the first part of their journey their way lay along cultivated and flourishing corn-fields in the narrow wady, or valley, of Majenin. At the further end of it Mr Richardson with his party overtook them and pitched his enormous tent. It was not till the 2nd of April that they fairly set out on their expedition. Keeping to the west of a rugged range of hills, they entered the rocky wady of Haera, where they filled their water-skins from the pools formed by the rain.

The long oars and poles of the boat caused the camels which carried them much fatigue; but the boat, which was now cut into quarters, was more easily packed.

The country over which they passed was stony and rocky, intercepted by dry water-courses, and, as they proceeded, here and there adorned with clusters of date-trees. They frequently passed the ruins of Roman temples, tombs, monuments, and other buildings, and also numerous Roman milestones: the Romans, indeed, had extensive colonies in this district.

Their chief object, when seeking a spot for encamping, was water. Sometimes it was found in pools: at others in wells, being drawn to the surface by oxen.

Travellers in Africa cannot proceed at railroad speed. Camels journey much after their own inclination, straying to the right or left—nipping here a straw, and there browsing on a bush—and, being obstinate creatures, it is difficult to urge them forward faster than they like. The doctor would have preferred a horse, but it would have been necessary to carry barley and water for it, as it cannot live like the camel without drinking when crossing the desert. The expense, too, would have been very great.

Their course was nearly due south, directed in the first place towards the town of Mourzouk, the capital of Fezzan.

Their general rate of marching was at from two to two and a half miles an hour. The heat was very great. The doctor’s Arab servant, who had gone off to see his family in the neighbourhood, on his return arrived at the encampment after they had started. He, accordingly, set off to overtake the caravan. Though he had a skin of goat’s milk, yet it became so hot that he could not drink it; and, as he was obliged to march the whole of the day without water, he suffered greatly and arrived in a very exhausted state.

Among the monuments passed was one adorned with rich carving, proving that these regions, now so poor, must have once supported a population sufficiently advanced in taste and feeling to admire works of a refined character. They also found ruins of Christian churches of a later period.

They were now travelling through a district known as the Hammada—a high, level, stony region, destitute of wells or pools. Here and there, however, small green patches of herbage were found, affording a welcome meal to the camels.

They were accompanied by a little green bird, called the “asfir,” which lives entirely upon the caravans as they pass along, by picking off the vermin from the feet of the camels.

At a green oasis, El Wueshkeh, where grew a few stunted palm-trees, their camel-drivers killed a number of a venomous lizard, called “bu-keshash.” At night a cold wind, accompanied by rain, began to blow; their tent was overturned, and they had much trouble in pitching it again. The next day a number of truffles were found, which afforded them some delicious truffle soup.

They met, soon after starting, two caravans—the largest consisting of fifteen camels laden with ivory. With the latter was a woman sitting comfortably in a little cage on the camel’s back.

Passing through a narrow ravine between gloomy cliffs, they reached a sandy waste, passing across which they at length arrived at some crumbling ruins surrounding a well, where they and their camels could quench their thirst. Though the great watering-place on this desert road, it has not a cheerful aspect; but, as the water is always bubbling up and keeps the same level, the largest caravan might be fully supplied. A day was spent here, as both camels and men required rest.

Day after day they travelled on, passing through rocky wadies and narrow defiles, out of the sides of which projected jet-black masses of sandstone, giving a wild air to the desolate region.

One day two gazelles were caught, an addition to their bill of fare.

At length in the distance appeared a town on the top of a broad, terraced rock. They took long to reach it.

It is rarely such a place is seen in that part of the world. The rock rose in the midst of a valley, occupying a position which in days of yore must have made it a place of great importance. It is called Ederi. Amidst the sand-hills which surround it are green fields of wheat and barley, and here and there groves of date-trees.

Before them now lay a series of sand-hills, intermingled with small clusters of palm-trees. Sometimes the ascent of the sand-hills was most trying for the camels. They extend for five days’ march or more, but are nothing in comparison with those in the direction of the Natron Lakes: so one of their guides told them.

Often, while crossing this sandy waste, thirsty travellers are deceived by the effects of the curious mirage, when lakes glittering in the sun, with towers, domes, and minarets reflected on their surface, appear before their eyes, to vanish suddenly as they approach.

Their camel-drivers had led them them to the left, in order to visit their own village of Ugrefe. It consisted of about thirty light and low dwellings made of clay and palm branches. In an open space near it they encamped beneath two splendid ethel-trees, or tamarisks.

At length, on the 6th of May, they reached the plantations surrounding Mourzouk, the capital of Fezzan. The walls are built of a sort of clay glittering with saline incrustations. Going round the whole of the western and northern sides, which have no gateway wide enough for a caravan, they halted on the eastern side of the town, not far from the camp of the pilgrims who were returning from Egypt to Morocco. They were here welcomed by Mr Gagliuffi, a Greek merchant, who received them into his house.

The buildings are mostly of one story, with flat roofs and parapets, with interior courts, and broad porticoes supported by pillars in front. The town contains a bazaar and barracks for two thousand Turkish troops. It is a thoroughfare rather than the seat of a commerce.

They were here joined by a man of influence named Mahomet Boro, an elderly, respectable-looking personage, wearing a green bournous over white under-clothes. He was to act as mediator between them and the inhabitants of the countries they were to visit. He was now on his homeward journey from a pilgrimage to Mecca.

On the 13th of June they left Mourzouk by the eastern gate. Some chiefs from Ghat had arrived, to whose charge Mr Gagliuffi had committed the travellers. At this Mahomet Boro became very indignant, and threatened that he would take care that they should be attacked on the road by his countrymen, nor were these empty threats.

It is remarkable that while the Mahommedan religion in general is sinking to corruption along the coast, there are ascetic sects rising up in the interior which unite its last zealous followers by a religious bond. From some of these sects travellers receive much ill-treatment and annoyance. On the 15th of July the doctor determined to visit a remarkable mountain which appeared in the distance. Being unable to obtain any guide, he set off, taking with him as provisions only dried biscuits and dates—the worst possible food in the desert when water is scarce. Making his way over the pebbly ground, he saw a pair of beautiful antelopes, which stopped, gazing at him and wagging their tails.

The distance proved far greater than he had imagined; indeed, there was a deep valley between him and the side of the mountain. Still, eager to reach its summit, he pushed on. The sun began to put forth its power; there was not the slightest shade around. At length he reached the height at which he was aiming, but, on looking round, he in vain sought for any traces of the caravan. Having but a small supply of water in his water-skin, he could only venture to sip a few drops, while he could with difficulty eat his dry biscuit and dates.

Fearing that the caravan might push on believing him to be in advance, he immediately descended the mountain, in order to follow its course. At noon he swallowed the remainder of his water, but, taken on an empty stomach, it did not restore his strength. Believing that his party were to encamp at no great distance from the mountain, he strained his sight in hopes of seeing his friends; but no living being was visible. Having walked some distance, he ascended a mound crowned with an ethel-bush, where he fired his pistols; but a strong east wind blowing against him, he in vain waited for an answer. Crossing some sand-hills, he again fired, and, at last convinced that there could be nobody in that direction, he supposed that his party were still behind him, and unluckily kept more to the east. At last some small huts appeared in the distance. He hastened towards them, but they were empty, nor was a drop of water to be obtained. His strength being exhausted, he sat down on the bare plain, hoping that the caravan would come up. For a moment he thought he saw a string of camels passing in the distance, but it was a delusion.

He mustered strength sufficient to scramble to an ethel-tree on an elevated spot, intending to light a fire, but, unable to move about, he could gather no wood. Having rested after dark for an hour or two, he once more rose, and discovered in the south-west a large fire. Again he fired his pistols, but no answer was returned. Still the flames rose towards the sky, telling him where deliverance was to be found, but he was unable to drag his weary limbs so far. Having waited long, he fired a second time, yet no answer came. At last he resigned himself to the care of the Merciful One and tried to sleep, but in vain—he was in a high fever. The long night wore away and dawn was drawing nigh. All was repose and silence: he was sure that he could not choose a better time for trying to inform his friends by signal of his whereabouts. Collecting his remaining strength, he loaded his pistol with a heavy charge and fired once and then again. His companions seemed not to have heard his signals. The sun he had half longed for, half looked-forward to with terror, at last rose. His condition, as the heat increased, became more dreadful. He crawled round the tree, trying to enjoy the little shade afforded by the leafless branches. About noon there was only sufficient shade left to shelter his head. He suffered greatly from the pangs of thirst, till at last, becoming senseless, he fell into a sort of delirium, from which he only recovered when the sun went down behind the mountain. Crawling from beneath the shade of the tree and throwing a glance over the plain, suddenly the cry of a camel reached him. It was the most delightful music he had ever heard in his life. Raising himself a little, he saw a mounted Tarki passing at some distance and looking eagerly around. The Tarki had discovered his footprints in the sandy ground. Crying as loud as his faint strength would allow, “áman! áman!” (“Water! water!”) he was rejoiced to see the Tarki, Musa by name, approaching, and in a few moments he was at his side, washing and sprinkling his head. His throat was, however, too dry to enjoy the draught which Musa poured into it. His deliverer then placed him on his camel, mounted himself in front, and carried him to the tents.

The strength of a European is soon broken in those climes, if for a single day he is prevented from taking his usual food. Next day, however, the doctor was able to continue his journey.

Ghat, well situated in the centre of an oasis, was next reached. It is surrounded by mud walls, with flat-roofed houses, while outside are plantations of date-trees.

On the 26th of July the caravan again set out. On the 29th they commenced their ascent to the greatest elevation of the desert, four thousand feet above the sea. The path winding along through loose blocks of stone, the precipitous ascent proved very difficult. Several loads were thrown off the camels, and the boat frequently came in contact with the rocks. It is indeed the wildest and most rugged region of the whole desert. At one place the road meandered in a remarkable way, sometimes reduced to a narrow crevice between curiously-terraced buttresses of rocks. Two hours were occupied in descending.

At the bottom was a wady between steep, precipitous cliffs looking almost like walls erected by the hand of man. They were more than a thousand feet high, with a pond of rainwater at the bottom. The valley is called Aegeri.

They had now to pass a region of sand-hills. During their passage the mirage set before their eyes beautiful sheets of water, which quickly disappeared as they approached.

Desolate as the country appears, large herds of wild oxen rove over it. Though the men tried to catch some of them, they were unsuccessful, as the animal, sluggish as it seems, rapidly climbs the rocks and is soon lost to sight.

The travellers, having now entered the tropics, expected to reach pleasanter regions than they had hitherto passed through. Their guides, however, were leading them further to the west than they wished, their great desire being to reach Negroland as soon as possible.

On the 18th of August they were quietly pursuing their road, when one of their party was seen running up behind them, swinging his musket over his head and crying: “Lads, our enemy has come!” Alarm was spread through the caravan: everyone seized his arms, and those who were riding jumped from their camels. The man reported that a number of Tawarek, mounted on camels, had been seen rapidly approaching, with the evident intention of attacking the caravan. A warlike spirit prevailed, and all, the doctor thought, would fight valiantly. Freebooting parties, however, do not attack openly. They first introduce themselves in a peaceable way, when, having disturbed the little unity which exists in most caravans, they gradually throw off the mask.

After some time they came to the conclusion that it was not likely that they would be attacked by daylight. They, therefore, sent off a body of archers to gain information from a small caravan which was coming from Soudan, consisting of a few Tebus, ten camels, and about forty slaves. The unfortunate Tebus were soon afterwards attacked by a fierce tribe, the Haddanara, who, disappointed at getting nothing from the English expedition, murdered the whole of them and carried off their camels and slaves.

Soon after the party had encamped at night three strangers made their appearance; but, although they were known to be robbers, and that a number of their companions were not far off, they were allowed to lie down for the night. The experienced old Sheikh of the Kafeila warned Barth to be on his guard, and exhorted his attendants to be staunch. Everybody was crying for powder. Their clever servant, Mahomet, placed his four pieces of boat on the outside of the tents, that they might afford shelter in case of an attack. They kept watch the whole night, and the strangers, seeing them well on their guard, did not venture to assail them. In the morning they went slowly away to join their companions, who had kept behind a rocky ridge in the distance. There was indeed much cause for anxiety. Suddenly an alarm was raised that the camels had been stolen. The old chief, taking advantage of this state of things, urged Barth and Overweg to confide their property to him and another chief. This was not entirely disinterested advice; for, if anything had happened to the travellers, the chief would, of course, have been their heir.

At an early hour they started with an uneasy feeling. With the first dawn the true believers had been called together for prayer; and the bond which united the Mahommedan members of the caravan with the Christian travellers, it was seen, had been loosened in a very conspicuous manner.

Instead of, as usual, each little party starting off as soon as they were ready, they all waited till the whole caravan had loaded their camels, when they began their march in close order, to be ready in case of being attacked.

After advancing some distance they saw four men seated ahead of them, on an eminence. The doctor, being in the first line of the caravan, dismounted and led forward his camel. A party of archers had been despatched to reconnoitre. What was his surprise to see them and the unknown individuals executing a wild sort of armed dance. Suddenly two of the dancers rushed upon him and grasped the rope of the camel, asking for tribute. Barth seized his pistols, when, just in time, he was told they were friends.

The eminence is an important locality in the modern history of the country. It was here, when the Kel-owi, a pure Berber tribe, took possession of the territory of old Gober, that a covenant was entered into between the red conquerors and the black natives, that the latter should not be destroyed, and that the principal chief of the Kel-owi should only be allowed to marry a black woman. As a memorial of this transaction, when caravans pass the spot where the covenant was entered into, the slaves make merry and are authorised to levy upon their masters a small tribute.

The black man who had stopped the doctor was the chief of the slaves. As the caravan proceeded, the merry creatures executed another dance, and the incident would have been of great interest if the members of the caravan had not been depressed with the forebodings of mishap.

They now reached a small village of leathern tents, inhabited by a people of the tribe of Fade-ang, in a valley on the frontier region of Aire. The chief was respected as a person of great authority, and, it was said, was able to protect them against the freebooting parties which their guests of the other day, who had gone on before, were sure to collect against them. He had been invited to the camp; but he sent his brother instead, who, it was soon evident, could render them no assistance. The travellers were soon surrounded by the inhabitants, to whom a number of small presents were given. These men were very inferior in appearance even to the common Taki freebooter, and extremely degraded in their habits.

While resting in their tents they were alarmed by a report that a body of sixty Mehara were about to attack them, and again everybody was excited, all calling out for powder and shot. It was evident that there was an entire want of union among the members of the caravan.

The scene which followed in the bright moonlight evening, and lasting through the night, was animating and interesting in the extreme. The caravan was drawn up in line of battle, the left wing being formed by the travellers and the detachment of the Kel-owi who had posted themselves in front of their tents, while the Timylkum and the Sfaksi formed the centre, the rest of the Kel-owi with Boro the right wing, leaning upon the cliffs, the exposed left being defended by the four pieces of boat. About ten o’clock a small troop of Mehara, so-called from riding on mehara, or swift camels, made their appearance. Immediately a heavy fusillade was commenced over their heads, and was kept up with shouting during the night.

The enemy hovered around them during the whole of the next day, and prevented them from making excursions.

Leaving their camping ground on the 24th of August, they travelled on without molestation; but, soon after their tents had been pitched the next evening in a valley full of talha trees and oat-grass, the marauders again made their appearance, mounted on camels, and, dismounting within pistol-shot of the tents, discussed, with wild, ferocious laughter, their projects with their Azkar confederates in the caravan. Some of these soon afterwards came and told them that they might sleep with perfect security; others, however, warned them that they must on no account rest during the night. Preparations for an attack were therefore made, and their camels were brought close to the tents; but the Kel-owi left theirs outside.

In the morning it was found that all the camels had been carried off. On this, Boro led on the more warlike members of the caravan in pursuit. The enemy were overtaken, and, alarmed by the appearance of the bayonets, which they saw would place the Europeans on an equality even after the guns had been fired, offered to come to terms. They declared that they had only come against the white men because they were Christians, and immediately all sympathy for the travellers ceased in the caravan. The rebels were allowed to retain their booty and were treated besides with an enormous quantity of mohamsa.

They now hoped to proceed without further molestation; and the Merabet chief, who had accompanied and sanctioned the expedition against them, was allowed to join their party, as it was thought to be the best means of preventing any further molestation. Boro, who passed the evening with Mr Richardson’s interpreter, in reading the Koran, treated him hospitably.

They were expecting to reach Selufiet, where they hoped to be in safety. When about eight miles from it, the chiefs insisted on encamping, and a number of Merabetin, a fanatical tribe, insisted that they should turn Mohammedans. Their friends and servants urged them to do so, as the only means of saving their lives. They were kept seated in their tent while the fanatics discussed the subject. The travellers sat in silence. At last Mr Richardson exclaimed: “Let us talk a little. We must die. What is the use of sitting so mute?” For some minutes death seemed really to hover over their heads. Mr Richardson proposed trying to escape for their lives, when the kind-hearted Sliman rushed into the tent, exclaiming in a tone of sincere sympathy: “You are not to die.” The Merabetin were content instead to receive a heavy tribute. Unfortunately, the merchandise they carried, instead of consisting of a few valuable things, was composed of worthless, bulky objects; and, as they had also ten iron cases filled with dry biscuits, the ignorant people supposed that they carried enormous wealth. In consequence, when all the claims had been settled, the rebels threatened to fall upon the rest of the baggage. Their friendly chief on this declared that some of it was his own, and also dashed to pieces one of the iron cases, when, to the astonishment of the simple people, instead of beholding heaps of dollars, they saw a dry and tasteless sort of bread!

Meanwhile, the persecuted Christians made off under the escort of the Kel-owi, and the whole caravan was once more collected together.

On the 4th of September they encamped on the summit of a sand-hill, in a broad valley, near the village of Tintellust, the residence of the chief Amur, under whose protection they were now to proceed. The chief received them in a friendly way, and assured them that, even though Christians, the dangers and difficulties they had gone through would suffice to wash off their sins, and that they had nothing to fear but the climate and the thieves. He told them that they were welcome to proceed to Soudan at their own risk; but that if they wished for his protection, they must pay him handsomely.

While the camp remained here, Dr Barth paid a visit to the town of Agades, a place once of great importance, and still containing about seven thousand inhabitants, a large number engaged as tradesmen or in commerce. It is situated on the borders of the desert, surrounded by lawless tribes. He performed his journey on the back of a bullock, with his luggage behind him. He was received in a very friendly way by the sultan, who told him that he had never before heard of the English—not suspecting from whom the gunpowder he used was obtained. The doctor, after placing the treaty before the sultan, said that the English wished to enter into friendly relations with all the chiefs and great men of the earth, in order to establish commercial intercourse with them. He then told him that they had been deprived of nearly all the presents they were bringing for himself and the other princes of Soudan. At this he expressed the greatest indignation.

After spending two months at Agades, the doctor returned to Tintellust. Here the expedition was detained six months waiting for an escort, without which they could not proceed with any degree of safety to Soudan. At length, on the 5th of December, the first body of the salt-caravan, for which they had been waiting, arrived from Bilma, and on the 12th of December, 1850, they began to move. The caravan looked like a whole nation in motion: the men on camels or on foot; the women on bullocks or asses, with all the necessaries of the little household, as well as the houses themselves; a herd of cattle, another of milk-goats, and a number of young camels running playfully alongside, and sometimes getting between the regular lines of the laden animals. The old chief walked ahead like a young man, leading his mahary by the nose-cord.

The ground was very rocky and rugged, and looked bare and desolate in the extreme. Several high peaks, which characterise this volcanic region, rose on either side.

The whole caravan consisted of about two thousand camels, of whom two hundred were laden with salt. At night their camp presented many lively and merry scenes, ranging as it did over a wide district illuminated by large fires. Dancing was going forward and the drummers were vying with each other, one especially rivalling their drummer Assam, and performing his work with great skill, caused general enthusiasm among the dancing people.

On their journey on the 29th of December, they found the ground covered with had, a plant regarded by the Arabs as the most nutritious of all the herbs of the desert for the camel. Numerous footprints of the giraffe were seen, besides those of gazelles and ostriches, and also of the large and beautiful antelope (Leucoryx). Here, too, was seen the magaria, a tree which bears a fruit of the size of a cherry, of a light brown colour. When dry it is pounded and formed into little cakes, and is thus eaten.

On the 1st of January, 1851, they fell in with a tribe of the Tagana, whose morality is of the lowest order. Hunting, together with cattle-breeding, is their chief occupation, and on their little swift horses they catch the large antelope as well as the giraffe.

A steep descent of a hundred feet conducted the caravan off the high region of the Hammada to a level plain.

On the 7th they came in sight of a village, where they saw for the first time that style of architecture which extends over the whole of central Africa. The huts are composed entirely of the stalk of the Indian corn, with only a slight support from the branches of trees. They are somewhat low, curved over at the top. Amid them were seen small stacks of corn, raised on scaffolds of wood about two feet high, to protect them from the white ant and mouse, as also from the jerboa, which is so pretty an object to look at as it jumps about the fields, but is an especial foe to the natives. The people came forth from the villages to offer cheese and Indian corn. They were black pagans and slaves, meanly and scantily dressed, but far more civilised in reality than the fanatical people among whom Barth and his companions had hitherto been travelling.

On the 9th of January the travellers reached Tagelel. From this place there was little danger in their proceeding singly, and it was agreed, in consequence of the low state of their finances, that they should separate, in order to try what each might be able to accomplish single-handed and without ostentation, till new supplies should arrive from home.

Chapter Eleven.

Travels of Dr Barth, continued.

Dr Barth quits Mr Richardson—Reaches Tassawa—Arrives at Kano—Flourishing country—Kano described—Kindly treated—Manufactures and imports—Sets out with his servant Gatroni for Bornou—Hears of Mr Richardson’s death—Enters Kouka—The Vizier meets him—Reception of the Sheikh, a black—Excursion with the Sheikh to Ngornu—Visits Lake Chad—Fishermen on the lake—Journey to Adamawa—Reaches the Binue river—Compelled to return—Sets out for Kanem—Travelling with robber party—Attacked by natives—Robbers beaten—Returns to Kouka—Expedition of Vizier against Mandara—Beautiful, well-cultivated country devoted to destruction—The natives barbarously slaughtered—Slaves taken—Demmo destroyed—Musgu warriors—Natives defend themselves on an island—Returns to Kouka—Journey to Begharmi—Well treated at Loggun—Reaches the magnificent Shary—White ants—Made prisoner and put into chains—Released, and enters Mas-ena—A learned black Faki—Visit to the Sultan—His superstitious fears—Barth returns to Kouka—Death of Dr Overweg.

Parting from Mr Richardson, the two Germans continued on to Chirak, where Overweg quitted Dr Barth, who intended to proceed to Tassawa. The doctor, disposing of a favourite camel, obtained horses for the remainder of the journey and now went on alone; but, accustomed to wander by himself among strange people, he felt in no degree oppressed. His companion was a black, Gajere, a Mahommedan, and, though communicative, rather rude and unable to refrain from occasionally mocking the stranger who wanted to know everything but would not acknowledge the prophet. Mounted on an active steed, he and his attendants soon reached Tassawa, the first large place of Negroland proper which he had seen. Everywhere were unmistakable marks of the comfortable, pleasant sort of life led by the natives. The court-yards, fenced with tall reeds, closed to a certain degree the gaze of the passer-by, without securing to the interior absolute secrecy. Near the entrance was a cool shady hut for the transaction of ordinary business and the reception of strangers. The lower portions of most of the houses consisted of clay, and the upper part of wicker-work, while the roof was composed of reeds only. The dwellings were shaded with spreading trees, and enlivened with groups of children, goats, fowls, pigeons, and, where a little wealth had been accumulated, by a horse, or pack-ox. The men wore white shirts, and trowsers of dark colour, while their heads were generally covered with light caps of cotton cloth. Only the wealthier wore the shawl thrown over the shoulders like the plaid of a Highlander. The dress of the women consisted almost entirely of a large cotton cloth of dark colour, fastened round the neck with a few strings of glass beads.

On the 1st of February Dr Barth approached the important city of Kano. Almost all the people he met saluted him kindly and cheerfully, only a few haughty Fellani passing without a salute.

The villages were here scattered about in the most agreeable way, such as is only practicable in a country in a state of considerable security. Some of them were surrounded by a bush like the broom, growing to a height of ten or twelve feet. The doctor and his native companions passed through a village in which was a large market-place consisting of several rows of well-built sheds. The market women who attached themselves to their cavalcade assured them that they would be able to reach the city that day, but that they ought to arrive at the outer gate before sunset, as at that time it is shut. The party accordingly pushed on; but, after entering the gate, it took them forty minutes to reach the house of Bawu, and, as it was quite dark, they had some trouble in taking possession of the quarters assigned to them by their host.

Kano had been sounding in the traveller’s ears for more than a year; it had been one of the great objects of his journey. It is the chief central point of commerce, a great storehouse of information, and was, Barth considered, the point from whence a journey to more distant regions might be most successfully attempted. At length, after nearly a year’s exertions, he had reached it. He was, however, greatly inconvenienced by not being provided with ready cash, instead of which merchandise had been provided for the expedition, which they had been assured would not only be safer than money, but would also prove more advantageous.

Barth had now to pay away a large sum, and all the smaller articles, which had been carried for barter, having been expended by the heavy extortions to which they had been subjected on the road to Aire—he was placed in much difficulty for want of means. He soon found also that Bawu, Mr Gagliuffi’s agent, could not be implicitly relied on.

The currency of the country consists of cowrie shells, or kurdie, which are not, as in regions near the coast, fastened together in strings of one hundred each, but are separate, and must be counted one by one. The governors of towns make them up in sacks containing twenty thousand each. Private individuals will not receive them without counting them out; those even who made but a few small purchases had to count out five hundred thousand shells.

The doctor had now to borrow two thousand kurdie, which did not amount to the value of a dollar.

He was forbidden to leave his quarters until he had seen the governor, and he was thus kept within them for several days, till he was attacked by fever. At length, on the 18th of February, he received a summons to attend the great man.

Although the distances in Kano are less than those of London, they are very great, and the ceremonies to be gone through are almost as tedious as those of any European court.

Arousing himself, and putting on his warm Tunisian dress, wearing over it a white tobe and a white bournous, he mounted his poor black nag and followed his advocates, Bawu Elaiji and Sidi-Ali, the two latter of whom showed him the most disinterested friendship. It was a fine morning: before him lay the whole scenery of the town, in its great variety of clay houses, huts, sheds, green open places affording pasture for oxen, horses, camels, donkeys, and goats, in motley confusion, with many beautiful specimens of the vegetable kingdom—the slender date-palm, the spreading alleluba, and the majestic silk-cotton tree—the people in all varieties of costume, from the almost naked slave up to the most gaudily-dressed Arab, all formed a most animating and exciting scene.

Passing through the market-place, they entered the quarters of the ruling race—the Fulbe or Fellani, where conical huts of thatched work and the gonda-tree are prevalent.

They first proceeded to the house of the gadado, the lord of the treasury. It was an interesting specimen of the domestic arrangements of the Fulbe, who do not disown their original character of nomadic cattle-breeders. Its court-yard, though in the middle of the town, looked like a farm-yard, and could not be commended for its cleanliness.

The treasurer having approved of the presents and appropriated to himself a large gilt cup, the doctor and his companions were conducted to the audience-hall. It was very handsome, and even stately for this country. The rafters of the elevated ceiling were concealed by two lofty arches of clay, very neatly polished and ornamented. At the bottom of the apartment were two spacious and highly-decorated niches, in one of which the governor was reposing on the gado spread with a carpet. His dress consisted of all the mixed finery of Haussa and Barbary. He allowed his face to be seen, the white shawl hanging down far below his mouth, over his breast.

The governor was highly pleased with the handsome presents he received, and the doctor, notwithstanding the fatigue he had gone through, quickly recovered from his fever.

The next day he rode round the town. Here were a row of shops filled with articles of native and foreign produce, with buyers and sellers in every variety of figure, complexion, and dress, yet all intent upon their little gain. There a large shed full of naked half-starved slaves torn from their homes—from their wives or husbands, from their children or parents—ranged in rows like cattle, and staring desperately upon the buyers, anxiously watching into whose hands it should be their destiny to fall. In another part were to be seen all the necessaries of life; here a rich governor dressed in silk and gaudy clothes, mounted upon a spirited and richly-caparisoned steed, and followed by a host of idle, insolent slaves; there a poor blind man, groping his way through the multitude, and fearing at every step to be trodden down. There were pleasant scenes too, a snug-looking cottage with the clay walls nicely polished, beneath the shade of a wide-spreading alleluba-tree; or a papaya unfolded its large leather-like leaves above a slender, smooth and undivided stem; or the tall date-tree, waving over the whole scene; a matron, in clean black cotton gown, busy preparing the meal for her absent husband or spinning cotton, and at the same time urging the female slaves to pound the corn, and children, naked and merry, playing about in the sun, or chasing a straggling, stubborn goat; earthenware pots and wooden bowls, all cleanly washed, standing in order. In one place dyers were at work, mixing with the indigo some coloured wood in order to give it the desired tint, others drawing a shirt from the dye-pot or hanging it up on ropes fastened to the trees. Further on, a blacksmith, busy with his rude tools making a dagger, a formidable barbed spear, or some more useful instrument of husbandry. Here a caravan appears from Gonga bringing the desired kola-nut, chewed by all who have ten kurdie to spare; or another caravan laden with natron; or a troop of A’sbenawa going off with their salt to the neighbouring towns; or some Arabs leading their camels, heavily laden with the luxuries of the north and east. Everywhere human life was to be seen in its varied forms, the most cheerful and the most gloomy closely mixed together—the olive-coloured Arab, the dark Kanuri with his wide nostrils, the small-featured, light, and slender Ba-fellanchi, the broad-faced Mandingo, the stout, large-boned, and masculine Nupe female, the well-proportioned and comely Ba-háushe woman.

The doctor met with many friends, and was very kindly treated at Kano. He was again attacked with illness, but, recovering, prepared to set out for Kukawa, where he had arranged with Mr Richardson to arrive in the beginning of April. The capital of the large province of Sackatoo contains sixty thousand inhabitants during the busy time of the year, about four thousand of whom belong to the nation by whom the people were conquered. The principal commerce consists in native produce, viz., cotton cloth, woven and dyed here and in the neighbouring towns in the forms either of tobes, the oblong piece of dress of dark colour worn by the women, or plaids of various colours, and the black litham. A large portion of it is sent to Timbuctoo, amounting to three hundred camel-loads annually, thus bringing considerable wealth to the population, for both cotton and indigo are produced and prepared in the country. Leathern sandals are also made with great neatness and exported in large quantities. Tanned hides and red sheep-skins are sent even as far as Tripoli. The chief article of African produce sold in the Kano market is the kola-nut, which has become to the natives as necessary as coffee or tea to Europeans. The slave trade is an important branch of commerce, though the number annually exported from Kano does not exceed five thousand; but very many are sold into domestic slavery, either to the inhabitants of the province itself or to those of the adjoining districts.

The greatest proportion of European goods is still imported by the northern road; but the natural road by way of the great eastern branch of the so-called Niger will in the course of events be soon opened. The doctor deeply regretted that after the English had opened that noble river to the knowledge of Europe, they allowed it to fall into the hands of the American slave-dealers, who began to inundate Central Africa with American produce, receiving slaves in return. Happily an end has come to this traffic. The English did not appear to be aware of what was going on. Space will not allow us to speak further of the various articles of commerce. The principal English goods brought to the market of Kano are bleached and unbleached calicoes and cotton prints from Manchester, French silks, and red cloth from Saxony, beads from Venice and Trieste, a coarse kind of silk from Trieste, paper, looking-glasses, needles and small ware from Nuremberg, sword blades from Solingen, razors from Styria. It is remarkable that so little English merchandise is seen in this great emporium of Negroland.

On the 9th of March the doctor, with immense satisfaction, mounted on his ugly little black nag, rode out of Kano. He had but one servant, his faithful Gatroni, to load his three camels. He was, however, attended by a horseman to see him to the frontier of the Kano territory. The latter, being showily dressed and well mounted, gave himself all possible airs as they rode through the narrow streets into the open fields. Hence he took an easterly course towards Bornou proper.

After passing a number of interesting places, on the 22nd of March the doctor entered the region of Bornou proper. It is here that the dum-palm exclusively grows in Negroland.

He enjoyed an interesting and cheerful scene of African life in the open, straggling village of Calemri, amid which, divided into two distinct groups by a wide, open space, were numerous herds of cattle just being watered. How melancholy came afterwards the recollection of that busy scene, when on his return, three and a half years later, he found it an insecure wilderness, infested by robbers, the whole of the inhabitants having been swept away!

On the 24th, as he was approaching a more woody district than he had hitherto passed, a richly-dressed person rode up to him and gave him the sad intelligence of the death of Mr Richardson at Kukawa. He still could scarcely believe the news; but it was confirmed afterwards by another party of horsemen whom he met. At first he felt as if the death of Mr Richardson involved the return of the mission; but after some consideration he resolved to persevere by himself. On the 2nd of April, pushing on ahead of his camels, on horseback, he approached Kukawa, or Kouka, the capital of Bornou. Proceeding towards the white clay wall which encircles the town, he entered the gate, gazed at by a number of people, who were greatly surprised when he enquired for the residence of the sheikh. Passing the daily market, crowded with people, he rode to the palace, which bordered a large promenade on the east. It was flanked by a mosque, a building of clay with a tower on one side, while houses of grandees enclosed the place on the north and south sides.

On approaching the house of the vizier, to whom he had been directed, he found assembled before it about two hundred gorgeously-dressed horsemen. The vizier, who was just about to mount his horse in order to pay his daily visit to the sheikh, saluted him cheerfully and told him that he had already known him from the letter which had been despatched. While he rode to the sheikh he ordered one of the people to show the doctor his quarters.

Some days passed before he was introduced to the sheikh. In the meantime he had a good deal of trouble regarding the means of paying Mr Richardson’s servants. By great firmness he obtained possession of all Mr Richardson’s property, which would otherwise have been appropriated by the chiefs. He found the sheikh reclining upon a divan in a fine, airy hall. He was of a glossy black colour, with regular features, but a little too round to be expressive; dressed in a light tobe, with a bournous wrapped round his shoulder, and a dark red shawl round his head with great care.

The doctor spent a considerable time in Kukawa, devoting himself to the study of the language, and making enquiries about the surrounding country. Kukawa was not so bustling a place as Kano, but thickly inhabited, and on market-day crowded with people.

He became acquainted with many visitors to the place, among them a hadji, Ibrahim. On one occasion Ibrahim, being unwell, asked the doctor for medicine, and received in return five doses, which he was to take on successive days; but Ibrahim, being in a great hurry to get well, took the whole at once, and was very nearly dying in consequence—an event which would have placed the doctor in a very dangerous position.

His stay at Kukawa was agreeably interrupted by an excursion to Ngornu in which he accompanied the sheikh, and from thence paid a visit to the shores of Lake Chad. Attended by two horsemen and his servants, he set out for the lake. After an hour’s ride they reached swampy ground, and had to make their way through the water, often up to their knees on horseback. After the dry and dreary journey over sands, he found it very pleasant thus wading through deep water. Two boats were seen with men in them, watching evidently to carry off into slavery any of the blacks who might come to cut reeds on the banks of the lagoon. Further on they reached another creek inhabited by hippopotami, which were snorting about in every direction, and by two species of crocodile. There were no elephants seen, however, as that animal always likes to secure a dry couch on the sand, elevated above swampy ground, where it may be free from mosquitoes. On the northern part of the lake, where there are ranges of low sand-hills, immense herds are to be met with.

At the village of Maduwari, he made the acquaintance of a chief, Fugo Ali, who treated him with great kindness and continued his friend ever afterwards. It was at his house, a year and a half later, poor Dr Overweg was destined to expire. Accompanying Fugo Ali, he made a long excursion in the neighbourhood of the lake, which is difficult to be reached, as it is surrounded by forests of reeds and broad creeks. He, however, got to one of these, a fine, open sheet of water, now agitated by a light east wind, which sent the waves rippling on the shore. The surface was covered with water-plants, and numberless flocks of fowl of every description played about. To reach it he had to pass through very deep water which covered his saddle, though he was mounted on a tall horse; and one of his companions on a little pony was swamped altogether, his head and his gun alone being visible from time to time.

The inhabitants on the shores of the lake subsist chiefly on fish, which they catch in an ingenious way. The fisherman takes two large gourds, which he connects by a bamboo of sufficient length to allow him to sit astraddle between them. He then launches forth on the water, taking his nets. These are weighted by little leathern bags, filled with sand and supported by bits of bamboo. Having shot his net, he paddles about with his hands, driving the fish into it, and then, taking them out, kills them with a club, and throws them into the gourds. When they are full, he returns to the shore.

Returning to Kukawa, Dr Barth found encamped outside the town a large slave caravan. There were seven hundred and fifty slaves in the possession of the merchants who went with it. Slaves were at that time the principal export from Bornou.

Soon after this Dr Overweg arrived, looking greatly fatigued and much worse than when the doctor parted from him four months before.

On the 29th of May, 1851, Dr Barth and Dr Overweg set out on a journey to Adamawa, in the south. As they advanced their camels were objects of great curiosity and wonder to the natives, that animal seldom getting thus far south, as it will not bear the climate for any length of time.

The country was generally level, with high conical mountains, separated from each other, rising out of it. Though at first swampy, it became woody and well-watered, in many parts densely inhabited, with numerous villages, where even the Mahommedans have penetrated.

At last Mount Alantika appeared in sight, eight thousand feet above the plain. Near it flows the Binue, that long looked-for stream, supposed to make its way westward to the Niger, and which it had been Barth’s great object to reach. There were no signs of human industry near the river, as, during its floods, it inundates the country on both sides. His feelings may be imagined when he stood at length on the banks of the stream, which here flowed from east to west in a broad and majestic course through an entirely open country, from which only here and there detached mountains rose up in solitary grandeur. Not far-off another river, the Faro, rushed forth, not much inferior to the principal river, descending from the steep sides of the Alantika.

On reaching Yola, the capital of the province of Adamawa, he was, greatly to his disappointment, compelled by the governor to turn back.

Slavery exists on an immense scale in this province, many private individuals having more than a thousand slaves. The governor, Mohamet Lowel, is said to receive five thousand every year in tribute, besides horses and cattle.

This is one of the finest districts in Central Africa, irrigated as it is by numerous rivers besides the Binue and Faro, and being diversified with hill and dale. Elephants were exceedingly plentiful, both black and grey and yellow, and the rhinoceros is also met with in the river. Barth was told that there lives in the river an animal resembling the seal, which comes out at night and feeds on the fresh grass.

His adventurous journey obtained the doctor so much fame at Kukawa that, on his return, a party of horsemen galloped out to salute him, and led him in procession to his house. Mr Overweg, who had in the meantime been exploring Lake Chad in a boat, now rejoined him. His next excursion was to Kanem, on the east of Lake Chad, for which he set out on the 11th of September by the way of its northern shores. He had received a valuable horse from the vizier, which was his companion for the next three years. He was attended by two Arabs and a couple of Fezzan lads he had taken into his service. He soon felt revived by the fresh air of the country. The region through which he passed was usually rich, partly forest and partly cultivated.

On the 18th he was joined by Mr Overweg, who arrived accompanied by a band of horsemen. The horsemen treated the natives with the utmost cruelty, stealing their property wherever they went. One day, meeting some cattle-breeders, they plundered them of their milk and of the very vessels which contained it. On applying to Dr Barth for redress, he was enabled not only to restore to them their vessels, but to make them a few small presents.

Descending from the high ground, they continued their course between the sand-hills and a blue inlet of the lake to the south. Some way to the right they caught sight of a whole herd of elephants, ranged in regular array like an army of rational beings, slowly proceeding to the water.

It had been supposed that Lake Chad is salt. This is not the case. The natron or soda, which is procured in the neighbourhood, is found alone in the ground. When an inundation reaches a basin filled with soda, the water of course becomes impregnated. The soda, indeed, has very little effect so long as the basin is deep, and does not begin to make itself felt till the water becomes shallow.

Shortly afterwards, passing a grove of mimosa, two of the horsemen who had been in front came galloping back with loud cries. On approaching the spot they saw a large snake hanging in a threatening attitude from the branches of a tree. On seeing the strangers it tried to hide itself, but after several balls had struck it, it fell down, and its head was cut off. It measured eighteen feet seven inches in length, and five inches in diameter.

They now joined themselves to a party of Arabs, by whom they hoped to be protected on their journey. The expedition was not without danger. One night they were aroused by a terrible screaming and crying from the women, and shouts of “Mount! mount!” Another band of freebooters had attacked the camels, and, having put to flight two or three men and killed a horseman, had driven off part of the herd. The robbers were pursued and overtaken, when they gave up their booty. The lamentations of the females for a man who had been slain sounded woefully through the remainder of the night.

Two days afterwards the Arabs were in great commotion, in consequence of the most handsome among the female slaves, who composed part of the spoil that was to be taken to the vizier, having made her escape during the night. They were eagerly searching for her from dawn of day, but could not find her. At length they discovered her necklace and clothes, and the remains of her bones—evident proofs that she had fallen a prey to the wild beasts.

As they advanced eastward the situation of the Arab robbers became daily more dangerous; nothing was thought of but to retrace their steps westward.

The doctor was lying in his tent suffering from fever, when the alarm was given that the enemy had arrived within a short distance of the camp. He heard firing, when Overweg, mounting his horse, galloped off, calling on his friend to follow him. The doctor, while his servant was saddling his horse, flung his bournous over himself, and, grasping his pistols and gun, mounted and started off towards the west, ordering Mahomet to cling fast to his horse’s tail. Not a moment was to be lost, as the enemy had begun to attack the east side of the camp. Soon afterwards, however, he saw the Arab horsemen rallying to attack the enemy, who had dispersed in order to collect the spoil, and, overtaking Mr Overweg, informed him that the danger was over.

On returning to the camp they found that their luggage and even their tent had gone. The Arabs, however, pursuing the enemy, got back most of their things.

The natives again attacked the camp in the evening, but were beaten off. Hearing, however, that a large body of Wadey horsemen were to join their enemies, the Arabs retreated, and the doctor and his friends, finding a caravan on its way to Kukawa, returned with it on the 25th of November.

After a rest of ten days the persevering travellers again set forth with the sheikh and his vizier on an expedition against Mandara, the principal object of which was to replenish their coffers and slave-rooms, a secondary one to punish the prince of that small country, who, protected by its mountains, had behaved in a very refractory manner. The vizier treated the travellers with great courtesy, and desired them to ride by his side. The army, which was of considerable size, advanced in regular order. At first they amused themselves with hunting. One day a giraffe was caught. The vizier was attended by eight female slaves and horsemen, and the same number of led horses. The unfortunate natives had to provide grain for the army wherever it marched. They spent a day at a village where the troops had to lay in a supply of corn, as they were about to pass the border region, between the cities of the Mahommedans and those of the Pagan tribes, which, as is generally the case in this part of the world, have been reduced to desolation. The vizier made Mr Overweg a present of a small lion. On a previous occasion he had given him a ferocious little tiger cat, which though young was extremely fierce, and quite mastered the young lion. They, however, soon died, in consequence of the continual swinging motion they had to endure on the backs of the camels in the heat of the day.

Passing through a dense forest region, frequented by numerous elephants, they arrived at Gabari, the northernmost of the Musgu villages, surrounded by fields of native grain. The inhabitants had fled; for, though nominally under the protection of the rulers of Bornou, they had thought it prudent to take care of their own safety. Their village was completely plundered, the soldiers thrashing out their grain and loading their horses with it, while their goats, fowls, and articles of furniture fell a prey to the greedy host. The village had presented an appearance of comfort, and exhibited the industry of the inhabitants. Its dwellings were built of clay; and each court-yard contained a group of from three to six huts, according to the number of wives of the owner.

Continuing their march, on the 28th of December they reached the country devoted to destruction. The country was pleasant in the extreme; stubble-fields surrounded numerous groups of huts and wide-spreading trees, on whose branches was stored up the nutritious grass of those swampy grounds for a supply in the dry season. Broad, well-trodden paths, lined by thick fences, wound along through the fields in every direction. Near the village were regular sepulchres, covered in with large well-rounded vaults, surrounded by an earthen urn. While the doctor was contemplating this scene he found that the vizier and his party had galloped on in advance. On looking round he saw only a few Shooa horsemen. Following them, he soon found that he was entirely cut off from the main body of the army. A scene of wild disorder presented itself; single horsemen were roving about to and fro between the fences of the villages; here a poor native, pursued by sanguinary foes, running for his life in wild despair; there another dragged from his place of refuge; while a third was seen stealing by, under cover of a fence, and soon became a mark for numerous arrows and balls. A small troop of Shooa horsemen were collected under the shade of a tree, trying to keep together a drove of cattle which they had taken. Accompanying another band, the doctor at length rejoined the vizier. News had just been received that the pagans had broken through the line of march near the weakest point, and that the rear had been dispersed. Had these poor pagans been led on by experienced chieftains, they would have been able in their dense forests, where cavalry is of little use, to do an immense deal of damage to their cowardly invaders, and might easily have dispersed them altogether.

A large number of slaves had been caught, and in the evening a great many more were brought in, altogether between five hundred to a thousand. To the horror of the travellers, not less than one hundred and seventy full-grown men were mercilessly slaughtered in cold blood, the greater part of them being allowed to bleed to death, a leg having been severed from the body. The unwarlike spirit and dilatory proceedings of the army, large as it was, enabled the inhabitants of other villages to make their escape.

The village of Demmo was next to be attacked. On reaching it, however, a large watercourse, two miles in width, appeared before them, across which the natives made their escape. The scene on its banks was highly interesting, and characteristic of the equatorial regions of Africa. Instead of the supposed lofty range of the Moon, only a few isolated mountains had been seen, and in place of a dry desolate plateau they had found wide and extremely fertile plains, less than one thousand feet above the level of the sea, and intersected by innumerable broad water-courses.

The village, which only a few moments before had been the abode of comfort and happiness, was destroyed by fire and made desolate. Slaughtered men, with their limbs severed from their bodies, were lying about in all directions.

Led by a treacherous Musgu chief, the army attacked other places, till the river Loggun put a stop to their further advance. These unfortunate Musgus are ugly-looking fellows. Only the chiefs wear clothing, consisting merely of the skins of wild animals, thrown over their shoulders. They adorn their heads with strange-looking feather caps, and their bodies with red paint, staining their teeth of the same colour. Their weapons are long spears, and formidable knives for throwing at their foes, while they ride strong, active horses, without saddles, guiding them by halters fastened round their muzzles.

Having accomplished these mighty deeds, the army halted for two days, for the purpose of distributing the slaves taken during the expedition. The proceeding was accompanied by the most heart-rending scenes, caused by the number of young children and even infants who were distributed, many of the poor creatures being mercilessly torn from their mothers, never to see them again. There were scarcely any full-grown men.

Another expedition was undertaken by a part of the army, when, as they reached the river, a dozen courageous natives were seen occupying a small elevated island with steep banks, separated from the shore by a narrow but deep channel. Here they set at defiance the countless host of enemies, many of whom had firearms. Not one of the small band of heroes was wounded, either the balls missed their aim, or else, striking upon the wicker-work shields of the pagans, were unable to penetrate. The doctor was urged to fire, and on his refusing to do so was abused by the soldiers.

The doctor and his companion returned to Kukaka on the 1st of February, 1852.

On the 4th of March, Dr Barth again set out on a journey to Begharmi, a considerable distance to the south-east of Lake Chad. His only conveyance was his own horse and a she-camel for his luggage. The next day Ovenveg, who had resolved to explore Lake Chad in a boat, parted from him, and he proceeded on his hazardous expedition alone, his course being to the south-east, along the shores of the lake. He passed several towns in a state of decay. In that of Ngla the palace of the governor was of immense size for Negroland. It had large and towering clay walls, having the appearance of an enormous citadel.

He was hospitably treated at the large town of Loggun. Here the river of the same name, which falls into Lake Chad, is from three hundred and fifty to four hundred yards across. About forty or fifty boats of considerable size floated on the stream. He made an excursion on the river, when he excited great admiration by firing at a crocodile, though he did not kill the creature. The sultan formed so high an estimation of the traveller, that he wished him to remain to assist him in fighting his enemies, but the doctor, being anxious to proceed eastward, induced him at length to let him take his departure.

On the 16th of March he left Loggun to endeavour to penetrate into regions never before trodden by European foot. He crossed the river in a boat, while his horse and camel swam over. Passing through a dense forest, he observed the footprints of the rhinoceros, an animal unheard of in the western parts of Negroland. It is greatly feared by the inhabitants. Little further in advance he suddenly beheld through the branches of the trees the splendid sheet of a river far larger than that of Loggun. All was silence, the pellucid surface undisturbed by the slightest breeze; no vestige of human or animal life, with the exception of two hippopotami which had been basking in the sun on shore, and now plunged into the water. This was the real Shary, the great river of the Kotoko, which with the river Loggun forms a large basin, giving to this part of Negroland its characteristic feature.

After some time a ferry-boat appeared, but the ferrymen declined carrying the party over before they had informed their master. While waiting for them, a large troop of pilgrims on their way to Mecca, mostly from the western parts of Negroland, came up, and the doctor made them a present of needles. The boatmen, returning, declared that the chief of the village would not allow him to pass. He was, however, not to be defeated, and, proceeding along the banks of the river, at length found some ferrymen who did not hesitate to take him across. He was, however, soon again stopped, and, after repeated attempts to push on, was compelled to take up his residence at a place called Bakada.

Here the white ants waged relentless war against his property. Though he had placed his bed on the top of some poles, he found that they not only had reached the summit, but had eaten through both the coarse mats, finished a piece of his carpet, and destroyed other articles.

The doctor had sent a messenger to the capital, but as he did not return, he determined to set out.

He had reached Mela, on the bank of the river, when, as he was seated in his tent, the head man of the village arrived, followed by a number of others, and he found himself suddenly seized and his feet placed in irons, his property being carried off. He was conveyed to an open shed, where he was guarded by two servants of the lieutenant-governor. His servants were also seized, but ultimately set at liberty that they might attend on him. He was liberated, however, the next day by the arrival of Hacik, whose friendship he had formed at Bakada, and who promised that he should without further difficulty visit the capital.

On the 27th of April Mas-ena, the capital, appeared beyond a fine extent of verdure. He had a good house provided for him, and numbers of people came to visit him; among them was Faki Sambo, who was totally blind. He had travelled much and was well versed in Arabic literature, having read even portions of Aristotle and Plato, translated into Arabic. The doctor had many interesting conversations with this wonderfully well-informed man.

The lieutenant-governor, however, grew suspicious of the traveller, as did many of the people. He had a narrow escape by being called in to visit a sick man, when, convinced that his illness was serious, he refused to give any medicine. The man died a few days afterwards, and his death would, had he done as he was asked, have been attributed by the savage people to him.

On the 6th of July the caravan from Fezzan arrived, bringing despatches from Kukawa, sent out from England, authorising him to carry on the objects of the expedition on a more extensive scale, while means were placed at his disposal for doing so. It was hoped in England that he and his companion would be able to cross the unknown region of equatorial Africa and reach the south-east coast; but, as the state of his health made this impossible, he was glad to find that Lord Palmerston suggested he should endeavour to reach Timbuctoo. To this plan, therefore, he turned his attention. He, however, found it very difficult to leave the city. The sultan, after some time, gave him an audience; that is to say, the doctor saw him, but the great man did not allow himself to be seen. Earth presented his gifts, and received in return, at his request, a supply of the manufactures of the country, instead of a female slave and a white camel, which the sultan offered him. He heard that the sultan entertained the fear that he might poison or kill him by a charm, and that he had repeatedly consulted his learned men, or councillors, how he should protect himself against his witchcraft.

After repeated delays, on the 10th of August he was allowed to take his departure. The sultan had set his eyes on his horse, and, just as he was starting, sent to ask him to sell it; but this he positively declined doing, and no attempt was made to seize the animal.

He reached Kukawa after an interesting journey, without a mishap, on the 21st of August. He found Mr Overweg very sickly. Unhappily, he thought himself strong enough to go out shooting, and was so imprudent as to go into deep water after water-fowl, and remain all the day afterwards in his wet clothes. He was seized with a severe illness in consequence, but believed that he should get better if removed to the country home of their friend Fugo Ali. He here became much worse, and in two days died. A grave was dug for him near the borders of the lake in the exploration of which he had taken so much interest.

Dejected at his lonely situation, and unwilling any longer to stay in a place which had become intolerable to him, Barth determined to set out as soon as possible on his journey towards the Niger.

Chapter Twelve.

Travels of Dr Barth concluded.

Barth sets out for Timbuctoo—Detained at Katseena—Reaches Say, on the Niger—Crosses River—Meets an Arab, who offers to escort him—Disguised as an Arab—Enters Bambarra—Swampy country—Embarks on the Niger—Voyage up the river to Kabara—Rice to Timbuctoo—Enters the city—The Sheikh El Bakay—Compelled to remain in his house—Timbuctoo described—The fanatics threaten his life—Accompanies the Sheikh into the desert—Returns to the city—Hears about Mungo Park—The river rises—For fear of disturbances from the fanatics, goes into the desert again—Sets out with the Sheikh towards Kouka—Lions and hippopotami—Reaches Sackatoo—Hears of expedition under Dr Vogel—Dangers of journey—Reaches Bundi—Meets Dr Vogel—Repast, but no wine—Well received by Sheikh Omar at Kouka—Detained four months—Returns with a caravan to Tripoli—Discovery of Binue river most important result of journey.

On the 25th of November, 1852, all arrangements being made, Dr Barth set out on his venturesome expedition to Timbuctoo, intending to proceed first to the town of Say, on the banks of the Niger. He had parted on friendly terms with the sheikh, who sent him two fine camels as a present. He had as head servant his faithful Gatroni, who had gone to Fezzan and had lately returned, five other freemen, and two slaves, besides another personage, who acted as his broker, well accustomed to travel in Negroland; but, being an Arab, the doctor only put confidence in him as long as circumstances were propitious.

He encamped, as was his custom on commencing a journey, only two miles from the city. It was the coldest night he had experienced in Negroland, the thermometer being only nine degrees above the freezing-point.

On the 25th of December he arrived at Zinder, the frontier town of Bornou, built round and about masses of rock, which rose out of the ground, the picturesqueness of the place being increased by groups of date-palms. Water, which collects at short depths below the surface, fertilises a number of tobacco-fields, and gives to the vegetation around a very rich character.

On the 5th of February, 1853, the party entered the town of Katseena, where he laid in a supply of articles. Here they were detained for a considerable time, as an expedition was setting out against the Fulbe, and it would have been dangerous to proceed until it was known what direction the hostile army would take. By the 25th of March, however, he was ready to continue his journey, the governor himself having arranged to accompany him for some days, as the whole country was exposed to imminent danger, and, further on, a numerous escort was to attend them.

Interesting as his journey was, it is impossible to describe the various places he visited or the adventures he met with. Day after day he travelled on, sometimes detained for weeks and months together, at one town or another, though he was never idle, always employing himself in gaining information, or in studying the language of the district through which he was to pass.

On the 19th of June he was close to the Niger, and hoped that the next day he might behold with his own eyes that great river of Western Africa which has caused such immense curiosity in Europe, and the upper part of the large eastern branch of which he had himself discovered. Elated with such feelings, he set out early the next morning, and, after a march of two hours through a rocky wilderness covered with dense bushes, he obtained the first sight of the river, and in another hour reached the place of embarkation, opposite the town of Say. Here he beheld, in a noble, unbroken stream, the mighty Niger gliding along in a north-north-east and south-south-west direction, though at this spot, owing to being hemmed in by rocky banks, only about seven hundred yards broad. It had been seen by Mungo Park flowing eastward, and it was therefore, till the Landers descended it, supposed that it might possibly make its way into some vast lake in Central Africa. On the flatter shore opposite, a large town lay spread out, the low ramparts and huts of which were picturesquely overtopped by numbers of slender dum-palms.

After waiting some time the boats he had sent for, which were about forty feet in length and four to five in width, arrived. They were formed by hollowing out two trunks of trees, which were sewn together in the centre. His camels, horses, people, and luggage having crossed in safety, he followed in the afternoon, intending to survey the course of the river between the point where it has become well-known by the labours of Mungo Park, Caillie, and the Landers.

The language spoken here, the Songhay, differs materially from that with which he was acquainted, and he therefore was less able to converse with the people than he had been before.

Quitting Say, he left the Niger behind him, or rather on his right-hand side, proceeding north-west towards Timbuctoo. The country on this side of the Niger is thickly inhabited, and he passed numerous towns and villages on his way.

At the village of Namantugu he met an Arab from the west, called Wallati, who undertook to escort him safely to the town of Timbuctoo. He was a handsome fellow. His dress consisted of a long black gown, with a black shawl wound round his head, and he moved along at a solemn pace; he reminded the doctor of the servants of the Inquisition.

The inhabitants of this place were clothed in the purest white, even the little children wearing round their heads turbans composed of strips of white cotton.

They had now entered a region full of water, the soil presenting very little inclination to afford it the means of flowing off.

He was detained some time in the populous town of Dore, and on the 21st of July set out on the most dangerous stage of his journey to Timbuctoo. Many large sheets of water had to be crossed, and occasionally swamps, which greatly impeded their progress. It was the rainy season, and he was thus at times unable to proceed.

As he had now to traverse the province of Dellah, which is ruled by a governor subject to the fanatical chief of Mas-ena, who would never allow a Christian to visit his territory, the doctor was obliged to assume the character of an Arab.

At the town of Bambarra, situated among the creeks and back-waters of the Niger, he met an Arab native of Tisit, who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca. The stranger cross-questioned him very narrowly about the place from which he came, and the doctor had reason to fear he should be discovered. However, the man’s whole appearance inspired him with such confidence that he felt sure that he might be trusted.

On the 27th of August the doctor set out on his last journey by land, in order to reach Sarawano, the place where he was to embark on the river.

It is only during the rainy season that there is communication by water to Timbuctoo, which lies directly north from this place.

He here engaged a boat with two cabins of matting, one in the prow and the other in the stern. She was built of planks sewn together in a very bungling manner.

A labyrinth of creeks, back-waters, and channels spreads over the whole of this country, affording water-communication in all directions.

On the 1st of September the voyage commenced, and the doctor naturally felt in high spirits when he found himself floating on the river which was to carry him all, the way to the harbour of Timbuctoo. The water was greatly obstructed by long grass, which made rowing impossible, and the boat was therefore impelled by poles, generally moving at the rate of between two and three miles an hour. At night, a storm threatening, the boat was moored in a wide grassy creek; but the numerous swarms of mosquitoes molested them greatly during the night. The barking sounds of some animals were heard, which the doctor found proceeded from young crocodiles.

On the 2nd of September the boatmen made use of their oars, sometimes passing broad open spaces, and again getting into narrow channels.

Barth and his attendants were tolerably well supplied with fish, which they either purchased or which were caught by the boatmen with a harpoon.

They at last entered a large confluent of the Niger, and glided pleasantly along, a short distance from the northern bank, which was thickly clothed with trees, till at length, darkness approaching, they crossed, fully a thousand yards, to the opposite bank, where the vessel was moored near a village. Most of the party slept on shore, but others made themselves comfortable in the boat and on the top of the matting which formed the cabins.

The next day, they entered the mighty stream, along which they proceeded, here running from the west to the east. It was at this spot about a mile across, and its magnitude and solemn magnificence, as the new-moon rose before them, with with the summer lightning at times breaking through the evening sky, inspired his servants with awe and alarm, while he stood on the roof, looking out for the city, the great object of his journey.

Leaving the Niger and passing along a series of channels, the doctor landed at the village of Kabara on the 5th of September. Here he took up his quarters in a comfortable house while he despatched messengers to the city. On their return, accompanied by the brother of the Sheikh El Bakay, Sidi Alawate (who turned out a great rogue and cheated him in every way), with several followers, on the 7th of September his cavalcade set out for Timbuctoo.

The short distance was soon traversed, the doctor riding on ahead to avoid the questions of those who met the party, as, had they felt the slightest suspicion with regard to his character, they might have prevented his entering the town, and thus endangered his life. Unfortunately he encountered a man who addressed him in Turkish, a language he had almost forgotten, and he had some difficulty in making a reply.

Traversing the rubbish accumulated round the clay walls of the city, and leaving on one side a row of dirty reed huts which encompassed the place, he entered some narrow streets and lanes which scarcely allowed two horses to proceed abreast. He was not a little surprised at the populous and wealthy character which this quarter of the town exhibited, many of the houses rising to the height of two stories, their façades evincing even an attempt at architecture and adornment.

On passing the house of the Sheikh El Bakay, he was desired to fire a pistol to do him honour, but, as his arms were loaded with ball, he declined doing this, and soon reached the house destined for his residence, thankful to find himself safely in his new quarters.

Timbuctoo has never been the real capital of a negro empire, but, on account of its becoming the seat of Mahommedan learning and worship, it enjoyed greater respect than Gogo, which was the real capital; and, on account of its greater proximity to Morocco, the little commerce which remained in that distracted region was here concentrated. It has, however, undergone many changes during the fearful convulsions which constantly occur in that region.

During the absence of the sheikh the doctor found it prudent to remain within the walls of his house, though he received visits from numerous people. From the flat roof of his house he was, however, able to enjoy air and exercise, and at the same time obtained a view of what was going on in the city. For some time he suffered severely from fever, while rain and thunder-storms occurred nearly every day.

He here heard much about Major Laing, who, after being almost killed by the Tawarek, was kindly received in the camp of the sheikh’s father. He tried to obtain the major’s papers, but found that they had all been destroyed. He was much pleased with the Sheikh El Bakay, who treated him with real kindness, and regretted that he could not keep his troublesome brother Alawate in order. On one occasion he made the doctor fire off his six-barrelled pistol, in front of his house, before a numerous assemblage of people. This excited great astonishment, and exercised much influence upon his future safety, as it made the people believe that he had arms all over his person, and could fire as many times as he liked.

The city of Timbuctoo is about three miles in circumference. The town is laid out partly in rectangular, partly in winding streets, covered with hard sand and gravel. Besides two market-places there are few open areas. There are about nine hundred and eighty clay houses, and a couple of hundred conical huts, of matting mostly, on the outskirts. Three large mosques and three smaller ones are the only places of worship, there being no other public buildings of any size. It is divided into quarters, one of which is especially inhabited by Mahommedans, though the larger number of the people profess to have faith in the Prophet. There are about thirteen thousand settled inhabitants, and, during the time of the greatest traffic, from five to ten thousand people visit the city.

A fanatical party, hearing that a Christian had come to the place, made various attempts to destroy him. By the advice of his kind protector, the sheikh, he determined to leave the city with him, and take up his residence in the desert. As he rode forth on his white mare, the natives thronged the streets in order to get a glance at the Christian stranger. He was thankful to find himself once more in the fresh air of the desert. Here he passed several days in the most quiet and retired manner, much recovering his health.

He then paid another visit to Timbuctoo, and was able to explore the city and the great mosque, Jingere-Ber, which made a great impression on his mind by its stately appearance. He had again, however, to return to the camp of El Bakay, where the perils of his position kept increasing, and he in vain urged his dilatory protector to enable him to make his escape. His enemies were legion—fresh parties arriving constantly to seize him, dead or alive. A band of them actually made a descent on the camp, but were driven back by the bold front his friends exhibited.

He had an interesting visit from an Arab chief, who was acquainted with Mungo Park, and gave him a full account of the way in which he had been attacked by the Tawarek as he descended the great river in his boat.

On the 12th of December Barth heard that Ali, a fanatical chief of the Berabish, had arrived with a large body of followers, to take his life. Suddenly, however, Ali fell ill and died, and the people believed that it was a judgment on him, as his father had killed Major Laing, whose son it was supposed the doctor was. Many of the Berabish, indeed, came to El Bakay to beg his pardon and to obtain his blessing, saying that they would no longer impede the stranger’s departure.

The river had gradually been rising, and on the 25th of December the water entered the wells situated to the south of the town.

On the 4th of January, 1854, the first boat from Kabara reached Timbuctoo, and other boats arriving laden with corn, the supply shortly became plentiful and cheap.

The inundation attained its greatest height towards the end of January, an event possessing almost the same importance as that of the rising of the Nile.

The city depends entirely upon commerce, the only manufactures being confined to the art of the blacksmith and a little leather-work.

Another year, 1854, of the persevering traveller’s stay in Negroland, began with the fervent prayer that he might return home before the end of it. His hopes were raised that he might soon be able to set off. Numberless disappointments, however, occurred.

On the 17th of March, by the advice of his friends, he returned to the camp, such a step being deemed essential for the security of the town and their own personal interests. He was here kept till the 19th of April, and even then his friend the Sheikh El Bakay, could not overcome his habitual custom of taking matters easy, and the sun was already high in the sky and very hot before the camels were loaded and the caravan began to move.

In consequence of the progress the French were making in Algiers at this time, much suspicion was attached to the doctor, as the people could not but think that his journey to the country had some connection with them. Even after this he was detained till the 17th of May, at an encampment amidst swamps, when at last the news arrived that the sheikh, who had left them, had gone on ahead, and all was joy and excitement.

On overtaking the sheikh, who, as he awoke from his slumbers, received the doctor with a gentle smile, despatches were delivered to him from England. One from Lord John Russell expressed the warmest interest in his proceedings, and others informed him that Dr Vogel, with two sergeants, had set out to join him, and that he would probably meet them in Bornou. He was much surprised that he received no news from his friend the vizier, as the parcel had evidently come by way of Bornou—little aware, at the time, of the murder of that friendly officer.

The following day they passed through a dense forest, said to be frequented by lions. Keeping along the course of the river, which was here very shallow, crocodiles were seen in abundance, and anxiety was felt for the horses, which were pasturing on the fine rank grass at its borders.

Owing to the dilatory character of his friend the sheikh, the progress was very slow, but he was thus enabled to enter into conversation with the natives, and obtained much information.

On his way he visited Gogo, situated at the southern limits of the Great Desert, one portion on the banks of the river, and another on an island, that to the east having been inhabited by the Mahommedans, the other by idolators. He found the place, however, in a most ruinous condition, even the mosque itself being in a dilapidated state. Indeed, the once great city of Negroland now consists only of from three to four hundred huts, grouped in separate clusters and surrounded by heaps of rubbish, which indicated its former site. Here it is believed that Mungo Park was buried.

While encamped at a place called Borno, close to the banks of the river, a number of hippopotami made their appearance, snorting fiercely at being disturbed, and put their horses to flight. At times they interrupted the intercourse between the banks, and in the evening became still more noisy, when they wanted to come out for their usual feed.

He was fortunate in having so able a protector as the Sheikh El Bakay, who, in consequence of his supposed sacred character, was treated with honour whenever he went.

After visiting a number of places, both on the banks and eastward of it, he reached, on the 24th of August, Sackotoo. Here he received intelligence of the arrival of five Christians, with a train of forty camels, at Kukawa, and had little doubt that it was the expedition under Dr Vogel.

On the 14th of October he arrived in Kano, where he found everything prepared for his reception. He here received the intelligence that Sheikh Omar, of Kukawa, had been dethroned, his vizier slain, and that in a fierce battle a number of his other friends had fallen. He had made up his mind, therefore, to proceed to Aire, instead of returning to Bornou; but, subsequently hearing that Omar had been again installed, he kept to his former determination.

At length, escaping from greedy rulers, hostile populations, wild beasts, swamps, rains and fevers, he at length reached Bundi, near Kouka, on the 30th of November.

He had again left that place, when, riding through the forest with his head servant, he saw advancing towards him on horseback a young man, of fair complexion, dressed in a tobe, with a white turban, and accompanied by two or three blacks, also on horseback. The stranger was Dr Vogel, who dashed forward, when the two travellers gave each other a hearty reception on horseback. Dismounting in the forest, they unpacked their provisions and sat down to enjoy a social repast, Barth, however, being greatly disappointed that not a bottle of wine, for which he had an extraordinary longing, had been brought.

Vogel, with Corporal Church and Private Macguire, had come out to strengthen the expedition and to follow up Barth’s discoveries. Vogel succumbed to the climate about a year afterwards, on a journey to Adamawa. After his death Macguire was killed on his way home, and Church returned with Dr Barth.

While Vogel pursued his journey to Zinda, Barth proceeded on to Kukawa. He found the village of Kaleemri, which, on his outward journey, was so cheerful and industrious, now a scene of desolation—a few scattered huts being all at present to be seen. Such is, unhappily, the fate of numerous towns and villages in this distracted country.

His old friend, the Sheikh Omar, who had been reinstated, sent out a body of horsemen to give him an honourable reception on his return to Kukawa. Here he had to remain four months, greatly troubled by financial difficulties, and finding that a considerable portion of his property had been stolen by the rascality of one of his servants. His health, too, was greatly shattered.

It was not till the 4th of May that, in company with a Fezzan merchant, Kolo, he commenced his return journey, with a small caravan, towards Tripoli. At Barruwa they laid in a supply of dry, ill-smelling fish, which constitutes the most useful article of exchange in the Tebu country. The region to his right, over which he had previously passed, was now entirely covered with water from the overflowing of the Chad, which had submerged several villages.

He met with no unusual adventures during his long, tedious journey northward across the desert.

At Mourzouk he had the pleasure of meeting Mr Frederick Warrington. He here remained six days, discharging some of his servants, and among them his faithful Gatroni.

Some tribes of Arabs had here rebelled against the Turks, and he was in some danger while in their hands. Escaping, however, from them, he reached Tripoli in the middle of August, and, embarking at the end of four days, arrived safely, on the 6th of September, in London.

Although much of the country he had passed over was already known, no previous African traveller more successfully encountered and overcame the difficulties and dangers of a journey through that region.

The most important result of his adventurous journey was the discovery of a large river, hitherto unknown, falling into the Chad from the south, and of the still larger affluent of the Quorra, the mighty Binue, which, rising in the far-off centre of the continent, flows through the province of Adamawa.

The courage and perseverance of Dr Barth, while for five years travelling many thousand miles, amidst hostile and savage tribes, in an enervating climate, frequently with unwholesome or insufficient food, having ever to keep his energies on the stretch to guard himself from the attacks of open foes or the treachery of pretended friends, have gained for him the admiration of all who read his travels, and place him among the first of African travellers.

Chapter Thirteen.

Captain Speke’s discoveries of the Source of the Nile.

Speke’s previous career—Joins an expedition to the Somali country—The Somali—Arrive at Berbera—Attacked by robbers—His escape and return to Aden, and finally to England—Joins Captain Burton in an expedition to the Mountains of the Moon—Sets out for Bombay, and afterwards to Zanzibar—Engage Sheikh Said and their escort—Cross to Kaole—Arrive at Caze, and received by the Arab merchants—Porters desert—Illness of Captain Burton, and carried to Zimbili—Sets out with fresh porters—A sight of the Tanganyika Lake—The Mountains of the Moon—Nearly blind—Up the lake to Ujiji—Arrive at Kawele—Their journey on the lake continued—An alarm—Camp at night—Shells—A storm—Arrive at Sultan Casanga’s territory—The people—Arrive at the fish market of Kabizia—A singa—Cross to Kasenge—Reception—The Chief described—The results of slavery—Hears of a large river—Cannot obtain a boat—Returns to Ujiji—Sets out to explore a river that falls into the lake—Tricks of the paddlers—Returns to Ujiji—Help arrives—Returns to Cazé—Sets out to explore the country in the neighbourhood of the Nyanza Lake—Tricks of his escort—Villages described—Detained by a Sultana—The reception she gives Speke—Illness in the caravan—Inon—Leaving Isamiro, the Nyanza appears in sight—The scene—He called the lake Victoria Nyanza—Descends to Muanza—The source of the Nile!—Return journey, and arrives at Caze—Arrives with Captain Burton in England.

Captain, then Lieutenant, John Hanning Speke, the son of a gentleman of property in England, was an officer in the Indian army, and had taken part under Lord Gough in the great battles of Ramnugger, Chillianwalla, and others. He had, at intervals during leave, travelled in the Himalaya Mountains, as well as through other parts of India and in Thibet, for the purpose of collecting specimens of the fauna of those regions to form a museum in his father’s house. While thus occupied, he formed the design of traversing Africa as soon as he could obtain furlough, visiting the Mountains of the Moon and descending the Nile with the same object in view.

At the end of ten years’ service, on obtaining furlough, hearing that an expedition was to be sent by the Indian Government, under the command of Lieutenant Burton, to explore the Somali country, a large tract lying due south of Aden, and separated from the Arabian coast by the Gulf of Aden, he offered his services, and was accepted. Two other Indian officers, Lieutenants Stroyan and Heme, also joined the expedition.

The Somali are Mahommedans, descendants of Arabs who have intermarried with negroes. They are a savage, treacherous race, noted for their cheating and lying propensities; in figure tall, slender, light, and agile, scarcely darker than Arabs, with thin lips and noses, but woolly heads like negroes. Their ancestors, having taken possession of the country, drove out its former Christian inhabitants, who retreated northward.

Caravans, however, pass through their country to their only port and chief market, Berbera, which at the time of the fair is crowded with people, though entirely deserted for the rest of the year.

It was proposed that the expedition should follow the route of these caravans, or accompany one of them, and thus penetrate through the country, into the interior.

Considerable time was spent in making excursions for short distances, during which Lieutenant Speke shot a large number of wild animals; but unfortunately the abban, or petty chief, who undertook to be his protector and guide, proved to be a great rascal, and cheated and deceived him in every possible way.

The Somali are keen and cunning sportsmen, and have various methods of killing elephants, ostriches, and gazelles. They fearlessly attack an elephant, on foot, one man only being mounted on a horse, who gallops in front, and while the animal pursues him, the others rush in and hamstring him with their knives. Ostriches are caught by throwing down poison at the spots where they feed. The Somali also hunt them, on the backs of their hardy little ponies. The ostrich is a shy bird, and is so blind at night that it cannot feed. A Somali, knowing this, providing himself with provisions for two or three days, sets off in search of them; showing himself to the ostriches, he is discovered, but takes care to keep at a distance. They stalk off, and he follows at the same rate, but never approaches sufficiently near to scare them. At night the birds, unable to see, stop, but cannot feed. He, meantime, rests and feeds with his pony, resuming the chase the next day. He follows the birds in the same way as at first, they from constant fasting becoming weaker, till after the second or third day he is able to ride in among them and knock them down in succession.

The party had at length secured, after considerable trouble, the camels and horses they required, and were encamped at Berbera, which was completely deserted by its inhabitants, when they were surprised at night by a large band of robbers. Lieutenant Stroyan was killed and Lieutenant Speke was made prisoner and desperately wounded, but, springing to his feet just as a robber was about to run him through with his spear, he knocked over his assailant with his hands, though bound together, and made his escape to the sea-shore, to which the rest of the party had already fled. They were here taken on board a vessel, which had providentially put in the day before, and in her returned to Aden.

Although his first expedition had terminated so disastrously, on his arrival in England Lieutenant Speke again volunteered to accompany Lieutenant Burton on an expedition to survey that part of the centre of Africa, in the neighbourhood of the Mountains of the Moon, where an enormous lake was supposed to exist, equal in size to the Caspian Sea.

Returning to Bombay, Lieutenant Speke and Lieutenant Burton obtained their outfit, and set sail on the 3rd of December, 1856, for Zanzibar, on board the HEIC sloop of war, “Elphinstone.”

At Zanzibar they were warmly welcomed by the consul, Colonel Hamerton, and well received by the Sultan Majid, who, from his intelligence and good disposition, appeared likely to be a favourite with his people.

As they had arrived during the dry season, they were unable to commence their journey, and some time was spent in visiting different parts of the coast.

Their intention was to proceed to Ujiji, on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, which was then supposed to be the southern end of the great central lake. They engaged as their kafila bashi, or head of their caravan, a well-disposed man, Sheikh Said. A body of the sultan’s Belooch soldiers, under a jemadar, or officer, and a party of slaves armed with muskets, formed their escort. Besides them, they had their private servants, Valentine and Gaetano, Goa men, who spoke Hindostanee, and a clever little liberated black slave, Bombay by name, who had been captured from his native place, Uhiyou, to the east of Lake Nyanza, and sold to an Arab merchant, by whom he was taken to India. Having served this master for several years, on his death he obtained his liberation, and made his way to Zanzibar. Here he took service in the army of the sultan, and was among those engaged by Lieutenant Speke. He was a remarkably quick, clever, honest little fellow, and in most instances could thoroughly be trusted.

Crossing to Kaole, on the mainland, on the 16th of June, 1857, they were detained there collecting baggage animals. The first five hundred miles of their journey to Caze, a place in the centre of Unyamuezi, the Land of the Moon, was performed with comparative ease, and they were subjected only to annoyances from the savage people and the grasping chiefs on the way.

Caze is occupied by Arab merchants as a central trading depot, and is rapidly increasing. It was supposed that Ujiji would be found much of the same character. Here they arrived on the 7th of November, 1857. They were kindly received by the Arab merchants, especially by Sheikh Snay, and had a house appropriated to them.

The houses of the Weezee, the people among whom they were living, are built of mud, generally with flat tops: this description is called a tembe. Others, however, are in the form of haystacks, and are constructed with great care; the door is very small, so that only one person can enter at a time. The villages are surrounded with a strong fence, having taller stakes on each side of the entrance, which are decorated either with blocks of wood or the skulls of those who have been put to death.

The flat-roofed houses are built round a large court, the outer walls serving as the walls of the villages, all the doors opening into the interior.

Some time was usefully spent in gaining information from the Arabs and others, who told them that the Nyanza was a separate lake to that of Ujiji, and that from the latter a river ran out to the northward—though, at first, they had stated that it ran into it. Besides this they heard that vessels frequented some waters to the north of the equator—a fact of which Speke had heard when travelling in the Somali country.

Their porters, who had come from this part of the country, all left them, and they found the greatest difficulty in procuring others.

Captain Burton here fell dangerously ill, and, as he believed that he should die unless he could be moved, his companion had him carried to Zimbili, where, by degrees, he recovered. At length a sufficient number of porters being obtained, they broke ground on the 10th of January, 1858.

Proceeding due west about one hundred and fifty miles, when moving over the brow of a hill, they came in sight of the lovely Tanganyika lake, which could be seen in all its glory by everybody but Lieutenant Speke, who was suffering from inflammation of the eyes, caught by sleeping on the ground while his system was reduced by fevers and the influence of the vertical sun. It had brought on almost total blindness, and every object before him appeared clouded by a misty veil.

They were now standing on the eastern horn of a large, crescent-shaped mass of mountains, overhanging the northern half of the lake. These mountains Speke supposed to be the true Mountains of the Moon.

Reaching the margin of the lake, a canoe was hired to carry them to Ujiji, the chief place on its shores, frequented by Arabs. The lake at which they now arrived was supposed to be three hundred and eighty miles long, and thirty to forty broad. Its waters are sweet and abound with fine fish. The sides of the lake are thickly inhabited by numerous negro tribes, among whom are the Wabembe cannibals, into whose territory the Arabs dare not venture.

The explorers took up their abode in the deserted house of an Arab merchant, at a small village called Kawéle; but, unfortunately, the chief of the place, Kannina, was a tyrannical extortioner, and caused them much trouble. They wished to engage an Arab dhow for navigating the lake, sufficiently large to carry provisions and to resist hostile attacks, but could only obtain a canoe. It was long and narrow, hollowed-out of the trunk of a single tree. She carried Bombay, Gaetano, two Belooch soldiers, and a captain, with twenty stark-naked savage sailors. In this Speke set out on the 3rd of March, 1858, while Burton, too sick to move, remained at Ujiji. Speke and his attendants had moved but a short distance along the shore, when a storm came on, and they had to camp till the afternoon of the 5th, when all got on board.

To pack so many men together was no easy matter. Speke had his bedding amidships, spread on reeds; the cook and bailsman sat facing him, and Bombay and one Belooch behind him. Beyond them, in couples, were the crew, the captain taking post in the bows. The seventeen paddles dashed off with vigour. Steering southwards, they passed the mouth of the Ruche river. They paddled on all night, and after dawn landed in a secluded nook for breakfast. All were busily occupied. Gaetano dipped his cooking-pot in the sea for water, greatly to the annoyance of the natives, who declared that the dregs from it would excite the appetites of the crocodiles, who would be sure to follow the boat. They have as great an aversion to the crocodile as English seamen have to a shark.

Suddenly there was a cry that foes were coming. All, jumping up, rushed to the boat, some seizing one thing, some another, the greater number being left on the ground. A breathless silence followed; then one jumped on shore to secure a pot, and then another, and, gaining courage, they searched around, crawling cautiously in the bush, others stealthily moving along, till at last a single man was pounced upon, with an arrow poised in hand. He was one of eight or ten men of a tribe whom they declared to be a rough, lawless set of marauders. They therefore broke his bow and arrows, and, though some of the crew proposed taking his life, he was allowed to go. The sailors, on their return, each vaunted the part he had taken in the exploit, boasting as though a mighty battle had been won.

They passed along a border of aquatic reeds, tenanted by crocodiles and hippopotami, the latter staring, grunting, and snorting, as if vexed at the intrusion on their privacy. Many parts of the shore were desolate, the result of slave-hunting and cattle-lifting parties.

“At night Speke’s tent is pitched; the men build huts for themselves with boughs, covering the top with grass, two men at the most occupying a hut. When it rains they are covered by their mats, but, as they are all stark-naked, the rain can do them no harm.

“Interesting shells, unknown to the conchological world, are picked up, numbers of which are lying on the pebbly beach.

“They are delayed again by another storm. The superstitious captain will answer no questions, for fear of offending the ugaga, or church, whilst at sea; he dreads especially to talk of places of departure and arrival, for fear ill luck should overtake them.

“Fourteen hours are occupied in crossing the lake, when they reach a group of islands belonging to Sultan Casanga. The sailors and his people fraternise, and enjoy a day of rest and idleness. At night they are attacked by a host of small black-beetles, one of which gets into Speke’s ear and causes him fearful pain, biting its way in, and by no means can he extract it. It, however, acts as a counter-irritant, and draws away the inflammation from his eyes.

“The population of the neighbouring shore is considerable, the inhabitants living in mushroom huts, and cultivating manioc, sweet potato, and maize, and various vegetables. The people dress in monkey-skins, the animals’ heads hanging in front and the tails depending below. They are very inquisitive, and, by their jabberings and pointings, incessantly, want Speke to show everything he possesses.

“He gets away the next day, and reaches a fish market, in the little island of Kabizia, in time to breakfast on a large, black-backed, scaleless monster, the singa. The sailors considering it delicious, are disinclined to move on.

“Again detained by a high wind, they cross, at noon on the 11th, to Kasenge, where Sheikh Hamer, an Arab merchant, receives Speke with warm and generous hospitality. His house is built with good, substantial walls of mud, and roofed with rafters and brushwood, the rooms being conveniently partitioned off to separate his wife and other belongings, with an ante-room for general business. His object in coming to the remote district is to purchase ivory, slaves, and other commodities. He is the owner of the dhow which Speke is anxious to obtain; but though he professes his readiness to lend it, he makes numberless excuses, and finally Speke has to continue his voyage in his small canoe.

“Slavery is the curse of this beautiful region. Here for a loin-cloth or two a mother offers eagerly to sell one of her offspring and deliver it into perpetual bondage to his Belooch soldiers. Whole villages are destroyed, in the most remorseless manner, by the slave-hunters to obtain their victims. The chiefs of the interior are as fond of gain as those on the coast, and this sets one against the other, for the sake of obtaining slaves to sell.

“From Hamed Speke learns that a large river runs from the Mountains of the Moon into the northern end of the lake.

“On the 13th the dhow comes in, laden with cows, goats, oil, and ghee; but, though Speke offers five hundred dollars for her hire, the Arab merchant still refuses to lend her.

“On the 27th Speke commences his return voyage, and arrives on the 31st at Ujiji.

“Captain Burton is somewhat recovered, and, though unfit to travel, insists on starting in the canoe to explore the head of the lake—the chief, Kannina, offering to accompany them. Their object is to examine the river which is said to fall into it. They start in two canoes, the chief and Captain Burton being in the largest. In eight days they arrive at Uvira. The chief, however, will go no further, knowing that the savages of the Warundi are his enemies. He confirms the statement that the Rusizi River runs into the lake.

“The black naked crews are never tired of testing their respective strengths. They paddle away, dashing up the water whenever they succeed in coming near each other, and delighting in drenching the travellers with the spray. Their great pleasure appears in torturing others, with impunity to themselves. They, however, wear mantles of goat-skins in dry weather, but, as soon as rain comes on, they wrap them up, and place them in their loads, standing meantime trembling like dogs which have just emerged from the water.

“In no part of Africa have they seen such splendid vegetation as covers this basin from the mountain-tops to the shores.”

On returning to Ujiji, Speke wished to make a further survey of the lake, but was overruled by Captain Burton, who considered that their means were running short; indeed, had not an Arab merchant arrived, bringing supplies, they would have been placed in an awkward position. This timely supply was one of the many pieces of good fortune which befell them on their journey. Help had always reached them when they most required it.

Captain Burton, being too ill to walk, was carried in a hammock, and, setting out, they returned safely to Caze.

They were here again received by their friend, Sheikh Snay, who gave Speke an account of his journey to the Nyanza Lake. His statements were corroborated by a Hindoo merchant called Musa, who gave him also a description of the country northward of the line, and of the rivers which flowed out of the lake.

Eager to explore the country, Speke arranged to set off, leaving Captain Burton at Caze. Sheikh Snay, however, refused to accompany him, and he had in consequence some difficulty in arranging with the Belooch guard.

On the 9th of July, 1858, he was able to start his caravan, consisting of twenty porters, ten Beloochs, and his servants. The Beloochs were, from the first, sulky and difficult to manage, while the pagazis, or porters, played all sorts of tricks, sometimes leaving their loads and running off to amuse themselves, and in the evening they would dance and sing songs composed for the occasion, introducing everybody’s name, and especially Mzimza, the wise or white man, ending with the prevailing word, among these curly-headed bipeds, of “Grub! grub! grub!”

The Weezee villages are built in the form of a large hollow square, the outer wall of which serves for the backs of the huts; another wall forms the front, and the intermediate space is partitioned off by interior earthen walls. The roofs are flat, and on them are kept firewood, grain, pumpkins, and vegetables. Each apartment contains a family, with their poultry and cooking utensils; some, however, are devoted exclusively to goats and cows.

They passed through forests of considerate size; caravans from the north were also met with. At one place the country was found to be governed by a sultana, the only one they met with in their travels. She did her utmost to detain Speke, not allowing him an interview till the next day. On paying the lady a visit, he was received by an ugly, dirtily-garbed old woman, though with a smiling countenance, who, at his request, furnished him eggs and milk. At length the sultana appeared—an old dame with a short, squat figure, a nose flabby at the end, and eyes destitute of brows or lashes, but blessed with a smiling face. Her dress consisted of an old barsati, dirtier even than her maid’s. Her fingers were covered with rings of copper wire, and her legs staggered under an immense accumulation of anklets, made of brass-wire wound round an elephant’s tail or that of a zebra. On her arms were solid brass rings, and from other wire bracelets depended a variety of brazen, horn, and ivory ornaments.

Squatting by his side, the sultana, after shaking hands, felt Speke all over, wondering at his dress. She insisted on his accepting a bullock; but, anxious to be off, he declined waiting for it. She at last consented to send it after him by some of his porters, who were to remain for the purpose.

He was constantly detained by the laziness of his ftagazis, who, when getting into a rich country, preferred eating the meat, eggs, and vegetables they could obtain.

He unfortunately had only white beads with him, which which were not the fashion: with coloured beads he could have purchased provisions at a much cheaper rate. Had the people also been addicted to wearing cloth, instead of decorating themselves with beads, he would with his cloth have been able to make his purchases much more advantageously. As the country is overstocked with common beads, it is far more economical to obtain high-priced than low-priced beads when preparing to start from Zanzibar.

As warfare was going on, it was necessary to make a tortuous track to avoid the combatants.

The jemadar and two Beloochs complained of sickness and declared they could not march, and poor Gaetano fell ill and hid himself in the jungle, being thus left behind. Men were sent off to search for him, and the next day the Beloochs brought him in, looking exactly like a naughty dog going to be punished.

The sultans, however, of the different villages were generally friendly.

When a desert tract had to be passed, the men went on well enough, hoping to obtain food at the next cultivated district.

On the 30th of July Speke discerned, four miles off, a sheet of water which proved to be a creek at the most southern portion of the Nyanza, called by the Arabs the Ukerewe Sea.

Passing amidst villages and cultivated grounds, they descended to a watercourse which he called the Jordan. It is frequented by hippopotami, and rhinoceros pay frequent visits to the fields.

Iron is found in abundance in this district, and nearly all the iron tools and cutlery used in this part of Eastern Africa is manufactured here: it is, in truth, the Birmingham of the land. The porters therefore wished to remain to make purchases of hoes.

A rich country was passed through, and on the 4th of August the caravan, after leaving the village of Isamiro, ascended a hill, when the vast expanse of the pale blue waters of the Nyanza burst suddenly on the travellers’ gaze. It was early morning. The distant sea-line of the north horizon was defined in the calm atmosphere between the north and west points of the compass. An archipelago of islands intercepted the line of vision to the left. The sheet of water extended far away to the eastward, forming the south and east angle of the lake, while two large islands, distant about twenty or thirty miles, formed the visible north shore of this firth. Ukerewe is the name by which the whole lake is called by the Arabs. Below, at no great distance, was the debouchure of the creek along which he had travelled for the last three days.

This scene would anywhere have arrested the traveller by its peaceful beauty. He writes enthusiastically—

“The islands, each swelling in a gentle slope to a rounded summit clothed with wood, between the rugged, angular, closely-cropping rocks of granite, seen mirrored in the calm surface of the lake, on which is here and there detected the a small black speck—the tiny canoe of some Muanza fisherman. On the gentle-shelving plain below me blue smoke curled above the trees, which here and there partially concealed villages and hamlets, their brown thatched roofs contrasting with the emerald green of the beautiful milk-bush, the coral bunches of which clustered in such profusion round the cottages, and formed alleys and hedgerows about the villages, as ornamental as any garden shrub in England.

“But the pleasure of the mere view vanished in the presence of those more intense and exciting emotions which were called up by the consideration of the commercial and geographical importance of the prospect before me. I no longer felt any doubt that the lake at my feet gave birth to that interesting river the source of which has been the subject of so much speculation and the object of so many explorers. The Arab’s tale was proved to the letter. This is a far more extensive lake than the Tanganyika: so broad, you could not see across it, and so long that nobody knew its length.”

To this magnificent lake Speke gave the name of Victoria Nyanza.

Note. It has since been proved to be only one and the least considerable of the sources of the White Nile, by the later discoveries of Baker and Livingstone.

He now descended to Muanza, on the shores of the lake, having altogether performed a journey of two hundred and twenty-six miles from Cazé.

He was here kindly treated by Sultan Mahaya, with whom an Arab merchant, named Mansur, was residing, who gave him much valuable information.

Taking a walk of three miles along the shores of the lake, accompanied by Mansur and a native, the greatest traveller of the place, he ascended a hill whence he could obtain a good view across the expanse of water spread out before him. Several islands were seen, but some so far-off as scarcely to be distinguishable. Facing to the west-north-west was an unbroken sea horizon, and he calculated that the breadth of the lake was over a hundred miles. The native, when asked the length of the lake, faced to the north, and, nodding his head, indicated by signs that it was something immeasurable, adding that he thought it probably extended to the end of the world.

Poor Mansur had been robbed of his merchandise, by a sultan whose territory was on the shore of the lake, and he had very little chance of obtaining redress.

Sultan Mahaya was considered the best and most just ruler in those quarters; and when Speke proposed crossing the lake to the island of the Ukerewe, he urged him on no account to make the attempt. Mansur also did his best to dissuade him, and, boats not being obtainable, he was compelled to give up his design.

Speke, arguing from the fact that the source of the Nile at the highest spot which had been reached, two thousand feet above the level of the sea, is considerably lower than the surface of the lake, which is four thousand feet, is of opinion that the waters of the lake must flow into it. The lake has, however, numerous feeders which flow from the Mountains of the Moon. Indeed, from that and several other reasons, he felt convinced that the lake is the real and long-looked-for source of the Nile.

As no boats of any size were to be obtained, and having gained all the information he could, regretting that he was unable to extend his explorations, he bade the Sultan and his Arab friend adieu, and on the 6th of August commenced his return journey.

The country through which he passed abounds in game. Elephants are finer here than in any other part of the world, and some have tusks exceeding five hundred pounds the pair in weight. The people are mostly agricultural; and when a stranger comes among them, they welcome him, considering his advent as a good omen, and allow him to do what he likes.

His black attendants were in much better humour on the return journey, as they were now going home, and, as the country was well stocked with cattle, they could obtain as much meat as was required. One village through which he passed, being full of sweet springs, had a dense population possessing numerous herds of cattle.

“If they were ruled by a few score of Europeans, what a revolution a few years would bring forth! An extensive market would be opened to the world, and industry and commerce would clear the way for civilisation and enlightenment,” Speke remarks.

The country is also, he says, high, dry, and healthy, while the air is neither too hot nor too cold.

On the evening of the 25th of August he marched into Cazé, under the influence of a cool night and bright moon, his attendants firing off muskets and singing, while men, women, and children came flocking out, piercing the air with loud, shrill noises. The Arabs all came forth to meet him and escort him to their depot, where Captain Burton, who had been very anxious as to his safety, greeted him, numerous reports having been set afloat about him.

Captain Burton being now restored to health, they set off together for Zanzibar, whence they shortly afterwards returned to England.

Chapter Fourteen.

Captains Speke and Grant’s travels from the Island of Zanzibar, on the East Coast of Africa, to Lake Victoria Nyanza, and down the Nile.

Sets out with an expedition to prove that the source of the Nile is the Nyanza River—Arrives at Zanzibar—Crosses to Bagomoyo with his followers—The caravan—Squabbles among the porters—The march begun for Caze—The traveller’s routine of work—Tribute demanded by Chiefs—The Hottentot escort and the Waguana escort—The country of the Wazaramo—Their manners and customs—Kidunda—Along the Kinganni River to the country of the Usagara—Grant is ill—Ugogo—The place and people—Encamp on a clearing called Kanyenye, where some of the porters abscond—Shooting rhinoceros—New Year’s Day at Round Rock—Unyamuezi, the Country of the Moon—Caze—Received by his friend Musa—The Unyamuezi people—Set out and reach Mininga—Liberates a slave—Illness, and returns to Caze—The custom of the Weezee—Reaches Mininga again—Difficulties—Arrives at the district of the Chief, Myonga—The Pig—Difficulties again—Speke’s illness—Is attended by Lumeresi, who afterwards makes extortionate demands and causes trouble—Alarming news of Grant.

Captain Speke, who had already made two expeditions into Africa, which have been described—on the second of which he discovered the great lake, Victoria Nyanza—started, on the 20th of July, 1858, on a third expedition, in the hopes of proving that the Nile has its source in that lake. He was accompanied by an old Indian brother officer, Captain Grant.

Having reached the island of Zanzibar, where some time was spent in collecting a sufficient band of followers, they left Zanzibar on the 25th of September, in a corvette placed at their disposal by the sultan, and crossed over to Bagomoyo, on the mainland.

They had, as their attendants, ten men of the Cape Mounted Rifles, who were Hottentots; a native commandant, Sheikh Said; five old black sailors, who spoke Hindostanee; in addition to Bombay, Speke’s former attendant, factotum, and interpreter; a party of sixty-four Waguana blacks, emancipated from slavery; and fifteen porters of the interior. The two chief men, besides Said, were Bombay and Baraka, who commanded the Zanzibar men. Fifty carbines were distributed among the elder men of the party, and the sheikh was armed with a double-barrelled rifle, given to him by Captain Speke. The sultan also sent, as a guard of honour, twenty-five Beloochs, with an officer, to escort them as far as Uzaramo, the country of the Wazaramo. They had also eleven mules to carry ammunition, and five donkeys for the sick.

Their whole journey was to be performed on foot. As there were no roads, their luggage was carried on the backs of men.

Some time was spent among the porters in squabbling, and arranging their packs. Their captain, distinguishable by a high head-dress of ostrich plumes stuck through a strip of scarlet flannel, led the march, flag in hand, followed by his gang of woolly-haired negroes, armed with spears or bows and arrows, carrying their loads, either secured to three-pronged sticks or, when they consisted of brass or copper wire, hung at each end of sticks carried on the shoulder. The Waguana followed in helter-skelter fashion, carrying all sorts of articles, next came the Hottentots, dragging the mules with the ammunition, whilst lastly marched the sheikh and the Belooch escort, the goats and women, the sick and stragglers bringing up the rear.

One of the Hottentot privates soon died, and five others were sent back sick. About thirty Seedees deserted, as did nearly all the porters, while the sheikh also soon fell sick.

On the 2nd of October, having bid farewell to Colonel Rigby, the British consul at Zanzibar, who took deep interest in the expedition, and afforded it every assistance in his power, the march began.

They had first before them a journey of five hundred miles to Caze, the capital of the country of the Moon, in latitude 5 degrees south, longitude 33 degrees east, being due south of Lake Victoria Nyanza. This was a small portion, however, only of the distance to be performed.

Captains Speke and Grant divided the duties of the expedition between them, the first mapping the country, which is done by timing the rate of march, taking compass-bearings, noting the water-shed, etcetera. Then, on arriving in camp, it was necessary to boil the thermometer to ascertain the altitude of the station above the sea-level, and the latitude by the meridional altitude of a star; then, at intervals of sixty miles, lunar observations had to be taken to determine the longitude; and, lastly, there was the duty of keeping a diary, sketching, and making geological and zoological collections. Captain Grant made the botanical collections and had charge of the thermometer. He kept the rain-guage and sketched with water colours, for it was found that photography was too severe work for the climate.

The march was pursued before the sun was high, then came breakfast and a pipe before exploring the neighbourhood, and dinner at sunset, then tea and pipe before turning in at night.

Scarcely had they commenced the journey than the petty chiefs demanded tribute, which it was necessary to pay. The porters also struck for higher wages; but, the leaders going on, they thought better of the matter, and followed.

The poor Hottentots suffered much from the climate, and were constantly on the sick-list. The Waguana treated them with great contempt, and one day, while a little Tot was trying to lift his pack on his mule a large black grasped him, pack and all, in his muscular arms, lifting them above his head, paraded him round the camp amid much laughter, and then, putting him down, loaded his mule and patted him on the back.

“A day’s march being concluded, the sheikh and Bombay arrange the camp, issuing cloths to the porters for the purchase of rations, the tents are pitched, the Hottentots cook, some look after the mules and donkeys, others cut boughs for huts and fencing, while the Beloochs are supposed to guard the camp, but prefer gossiping and brightening their arms, while Captain Grant kills two buck antelopes to supply the larder.”

The country through which they were passing belongs to to the tribe of Wazaramo. It is covered with villages, the houses of which are mostly of a conical shape, composed of hurdle-work and plastered with clay, and thatched with grass or reeds. They profess to be the subjects of the Sultan of Zanzibar. They are arrant rogues, and rob travellers, when they can, by open violence. They always demand more tribute than they expect to get, and generally use threats as a means of extortion. One of their chiefs, the Lion-Claw, was very troublesome, sending back the presents which had been made him, and threatening dire vengeance if his demands were not complied with. Further on, Monkey’s-Tail, another chief, demanded more tribute; but Speke sent word that he should smell his powder if he came for it; and, exhibiting the marksmanship of his men, Monkey’s-Tail thought better of it, and got nothing.

The people, though somewhat short, are not bad-looking. Though their dress is limited, they adorn themselves with shells, pieces of tin, and beads, and rub their bodies with red clay and oil, till their skins appear like new copper. Their hair is woolly, and they twist it into a number of tufts, each of which is elongated by the fibres of bark. They have one good quality, not general in Africa: the men treat the women with much attention, dressing their hair for them, and escorting them to the water, lest any harm should befall them.

Kidunda was reached on the 14th of October. Hence the Belooch escort was sent back the next day, with the specimens of natural history which had been collected.

Proceeding along the Kinganni River they reached the country of the Usagara, a miserable race, who, to avoid the slave-hunters, build their villages on the tops of hills, and cultivate only just as much land among them as will supply their wants. Directly a caravan appears, they take to flight and hide themselves, never attempting resistance if overtaken. Their only dress consist of a strip of cloth round the waist.

Captain Grant was here seized with fever, and the sickness of the Hottentots much increased.

A long day’s march from the hilly Usagara country led the party into the comparatively level land of Ugogo. Food was scarce, the inhabitants living on the seed of the calabash to save their stores of grain.

The country has a wild aspect, well in keeping with the natives who occupy it. The men never appeared without their spears, shields, and assegais. They are fond of ornaments, the ordinary one being a tube of gourd thrust through the lower lobe of the ear. Their colour is somewhat like that of a rich plum. Impulsive and avaricious, they forced their way into the camp to obtain gifts, and thronged the road as the travellers passed by, jeering, quizzing, and pointing at them.

On the 27th, they encamped on the eastern border of the largest clearing in Ugogo, called Kanyenye, stacking their loads beneath a large gouty-limbed tree. Here eight of the Wanyamuezi porters absconded, carrying off their loads, accompanied by two Wagogo boys.

Speke set off to shoot a rhinoceros at night. Having killed one, two more approached in a stealthy, fidgetty way. Stepping out from his shelter, with the two boys carrying his second rifle, he planted a ball in the largest, which brought him round with a roar in the best position for receiving a second shot; but, on turning round to take his spare rifle, Speke found that the black boys had scrambled off like monkeys up a tree, while the rhinoceros, fortunately for him, shuffled away without charging. He hurried back to let his people know that there was food for them, that they might take possession of it before the hungry Wagogo could find it. Before, however, they had got the skin off the beast, the natives assembled like vultures, and began fighting the men. The scene, though grotesque, was savage and disgusting in the extreme; they fell to work with swords and hatchets, cutting and slashing, thumping and bawling, up to their knees in the middle of the carcass. When a tempting morsel was obtained by one, a stronger would seize it and bear off the prize—right was now might. Fortunately no fight took place between the travellers and the villagers. The latter, covered with blood, were seen scampering home, each with a part of the spoil.

The Sheikh Magomba did his utmost to detain them, sending his chief, Wazir, in an apparently friendly manner, to beg that they would live in his palace. The bait, however, did not take—Speke knew the rogue too well. Next day the sheikh was too drunk to listen to anyone, and thus day after day passed by. The time was employed in shooting, and a number of animals were killed. Magomba, however, induced nearly the whole of the porters to decamp, and there was great difficulty in obtaining others to take their places. An old acquaintance, whom they met in a caravan, urged them not to attempt to move, as he thought that it would be impossible for them to pass through the wilderness depending only on Speke’s and Grant’s guns for their support.

Still Speke resolved to push on, and most of the men who had deserted came back.

To keep up discipline, one of the porters, who had stolen seventy-three yards of cloth, which was found in his kit, received three dozen lashes, and, being found to be a murderer and a bad character, he was turned out of the camp.

They spent New Year’s Day at Round Rock, a village occupied by a few Wakimbu, who, by their quiet and domestic manners, made them feel that they were out of the forest. Provisions were now obtained by sending men to distant villages; but they were able to supply the camp with their guns, killing rhinoceros, wild boar, antelope and zebra.

On the 23rd of January they entered Unyamuezi, or the country of the moon, little inferior in size to England, but cut up into numerous pretty states. The name is abbreviated to Weezee.

On the 24th they reached Cazé, where Speke had remained so long on his former visit. His old friend, Musa, came out to meet them, and escorted them to his tembe, or house, where he invited them to reside till he could find porters to carry their property to Karague, promising to go there with them himself. They found here also Sheikh Snay, who, with other Arab merchants, came at once to call on them. Snay told him that he had an army of four hundred slaves prepared to march against the chief, Manua Sera, who was constantly attacking and robbing their caravans. Speke advised him not to make the attempt, as he was likely to get the worst of it. The other Arab merchant agreed that a treaty of peace would be better than fighting.

Musa gave him much information about the journey northward, and promised to supply him with sixty porters from his slave establishment, by which arrangement Speke would have a hundred armed men to form his escort.

Musa loudly praised Rumanika, the King of Karague, through whose dominions the expedition was to pass.

Some time, however, was of necessity spent at Caze in making preparations for the journey, the two travellers employing themselves during it in gaining information about the country.

The Wanyamuezi, among whom they were residing, are a polite race, having a complete code of etiquette for receiving friends or strangers; drums are beat both on the arrival and departure of great people. When one chief receives another, he assembles the inhabitants of the village, with their drums and musical instruments, which they sound with all their might, and then dance for his amusement. The drum is used, like the bugle, on all occasions; and, when the travellers wished to move, the drums were beaten as a sign to their porters to take up their burdens. The women courtesy to their chief, and men clap their hands and bow themselves. If a woman of inferior rank meets a superior, she drops on one knee and bows her head; the superior then places her hand on the shoulder of the kneeling woman, and they remain in this attitude some moments, whispering a few words, after which they rise and talk freely.

The Wanyamuezi, or, as they are familiarly called, the Weezee, are great traders, and travel to a considerable distance in pursuit of their business.

When a husband returns from a journey, his favourite wife prepares to receive him in a peculiar manner. Having put on all her ornaments, to which she adds a cap of feathers, she proceeds, with her friends, to the principal wife of the chief, when, the lady coming forth, they all dance before her, taking care to be thus occupied when the husband makes his appearance, a band of music playing away and making as much noise as possible with their instruments.

On the 7th of February news was brought that Sheikh Snay had carried out his intention of attacking Manua Sera, whom he found ensconced in a house at Tura. Manua, however, made his escape, when Snay plundered the whole district, and shot and murdered every one he fell in with, carrying off a number of slaves. The chief, in consequence, threatened to attack Cazé as soon as the merchants had gone off on their expeditions in search of ivory.

Soon after this it was reported that Snay and other Arabs had been killed, as well as a number of slaves. This proved to be true.

Finding that nothing more could be done at Caze, the travellers, assembling their caravan, commenced their march northward on the 17th of March.

On the 24th they reached Mininga, where they were received by an ivory merchant named Sirboko. Here one of Sirboko’s slaves, who had been chained up, addressed Speke, piteously exclaiming: “Oh, my lord, take pity on me! When I was a free man, I saw you on the Tanganyika lake; my people were there attacked by the Watuta, and, being badly wounded, I was left for dead, when, recovering, I was sold to the Arabs. If you will liberate me, I will never run away, but serve you faithfully.” Touched by this appeal, Speke obtained the freedom of the poor man from his master, and he was christened Farham, or Joy, and enrolled among his other freemen.

The abominable conduct of the Arabs, who persisted in attacking the natives and devastating the country, placed the travellers in an awkward position. The Hottentots, too, suffered so much from sickness that, as the only hope of saving their lives, it was necessary to send them back to Zanzibar. Speke therefore found it necessary to return to Caze, which he reached on the 2nd of May, leaving Grant, who was ill, behind at Mininga.

He here heard of a tribe of cannibals, who, when they cannot get human flesh, give a goat to their neighbours for a dying child, considering such as the best flesh. They are, however, the only cannibals known in that district.

They were still in the country of the Weezee, of whose curious customs they had an opportunity of seeing more. Both sexes are inveterate smokers. They quickly manufacture their pipes of a lump of clay and a green twig, from which they extract the pith. They all grow tobacco, the leaves of which they twist up into a thick rope like a hay-band, and then coil it into a flattened spiral, shaped like a target. They are very fond of dancing. A long strip of bark or cow-skin is laid on the ground, and the Weezee arrange themselves along it, the tallest man posting himself in the centre. When they have taken their places the musicians begin playing on their instruments, while the dancers commence a strange chant, more like a howl than a song. They bow their heads, putting their hands on their hips and stamping vigorously. The men not dancing look on, encouraging their friends by joining in the chorus, while the women stand behind without speaking. Meantime, the elders sit on the ground drinking pomba. On one of these occasions the chief, who was present, drank more pomba than any of the people.

While the party were thus engaged, two lads, with zebra manes tied over their heads, and two bark tubes, formed like huge bassoons, in their hands, leaped into the centre of the dancers, twisting and turning and blowing their horns in the most extraordinary manner. The men, women, and children, inspired by the sound of the music, on this began to sing and clap their hands in time.

Pomba is a sort of spirituous liquor, produced from a kind of grain grown in the country, which is cultivated by women, who nearly entirely superintend the preparation of the drink.

They received a visit from Sultan Ukulima, of Unyamuezi, a fine hale old man, who was especially fond of this beverage, drinking it all day long. He was pleasant enough in manner, and rather amusing when he happened not to be tipsy. Being fond of a practical joke, he used to beg for quinine, which he would mix slyly with pomba, and then offer it to his courtiers, enjoying the wry faces they made when partaking of the bitter draught. He used to go round to the houses of his subjects, managing to arrive just as the pomba-brewing was finished, when he would take a draught, and then go on to the next. He sometimes sucked it through a reed, just as a sherry cobbler is taken, while one of his slaves held the jar before him.

The women and men do not drink it together. It is the custom of the ladies to assemble in the house of the sultana, and indulge in it in her company.

The women, as has been said, are employed in the cultivation of the grain from which it is made. When it is green, they cut off the ears with a knife. These are then conveyed to the village in baskets, and spread out in the sun to dry. The men next thrash out the grain with long, thin flails. It is afterwards stacked in the form of corn-ricks, raised from the ground on posts, or sometimes it is secured round a tall post, which is stuck upright in the ground, swelling out in the centre somewhat in the shape of a fisherman’s float. When required for use, it is pounded in wooden mortars, and afterwards ground between two stones.

Speke reached Mininga again on the 15th, where he found Grant greatly recovered. During his absence three villagers had been attacked by a couple of lions. The men took to flight, and two gained the shelter of their hut, but the third, just as he was about to enter, was seized by the monsters and devoured.

Difficulties of all sorts beset them: the chief was obtaining porters; Musa, too, who pretended to be so friendly, did not keep faith with them; but, rather than be delayed, Speke paid the beads demanded, and once more set off.

At length he obtained a kirangozi, or leader, by name Ungurue, which may be translated the Pig. He had frequently conducted caravans to Karagué, and knew the languages of the country. He proved to be what his name betokened—a remarkably obstinate and stupid fellow.

Speke was still detained by the difficulty of procuring porters, some being engaged in harvest, while others declared that they feared the Watuta and other enemies in the districts through which they would have to pass.

An Arab caravan which had followed them was in the same condition.

At length, having obtained a part of the number he required, a camp was formed at Phunzé, where Grant, with Bombay to attend on him, remained in charge of part of the baggage, while Speke, with the Pig as his guide and Baraka as his attendant, pushed on ahead.

The chiefs of every district through which they passed demanded hongo, or tribute, without which the travellers could not move forward. This caused numberless provoking delays, as the chiefs were often not content with what was offered to them.

On the 9th of June he arrived in a district governed by a chief called Myonga, famed for his extortions and infamous conduct, in consequence of which no Arabs would pass that way. On approaching his palace, war drums were heard in every surrounding village. The Pig went forward to obtain terms for the caravan to pass by. Myonga replied that he wished to see a white man, as he had never yet set eyes on one, and would have a residence prepared for him. Speke declined the favour, but sent Baraka to arrange the hongo. Baraka amused himself, as usual, for some hours, with firing off volleys of ammunition, and it was not till evening that the palace drums announced that the hongo had been settled, consisting of six yards of cloth, some beads, and other articles. On this Speke immediately gave orders to commence the march, but two cows had been stolen from the caravan, and the men declared that they would not proceed without getting them back. Speke knew that if he remained more cloths would be demanded, and as soon as the cows arrived he shot them and gave them to the villagers. This raised a mutiny among his men, and the Pig would not show the way, nor would a single porter lift his load. Speke would not enter the village, and his party remained, therefore, in the open all night. The next morning, as he expected, Myonga sent his prime minister, who declared that the ladies of his court had nothing to cover their nakedness, and that something more must be paid. This caused fresh difficulties, the drums beat, and at length, much against his inclination, Speke paid some more yards of cloth for the sake of Grant, who might otherwise have been annoyed by the scoundrel.

This is a specimen of some of the lighter difficulties which the travellers had to encounter on their journey.

Having passed a number of villages, they entered a tract of jungle in which a stream formed the boundary between the great country of the Moon and the kingdom of Uzinga.

The district Speke next entered was ruled by two chieftains descended from Abyssinians. They were as great extortioners, however, as any of the pure negro race.

The Pig continued his tricks, and the travellers were heavily taxed and robbed at every step. The porters, too, refused to advance, declaring that they should be murdered, as the Watuta, their great enemies, were out on a foray: finally, they ran away and hid themselves. These Watuta, they said, were desperate fellows, who had invaded their country and killed their wives and children, and had despoiled them of everything they held dear. Baraka also showed the white feather. Speke, however, put on a bold front, and declared that he would return to Caze and collect men who would not be afraid to accompany him to Usui. He carried his plan into execution, rejoined Grant, and obtained two fresh guides, Bui and Nasib, a steady old traveller. Still he was unable to obtain fresh porters to carry on his baggage, and he was once more obliged to part from Grant.

Having gone some way, Speke was taken seriously ill, while, again, his guides refused to proceed. This occurred while he was in the district of a chief, named Lumérési, who insisted on his coming to his village, feeling jealous that he had remained in that of another inferior chief. Lumérési was not in when Speke arrived, but on his return, at night, he beat all his drums to celebrate the event, and fired a musket; in reply to which Speke fired three shots. The chief, however, though he pretended to be very kind, soon began to beg for everything he saw. Speke, who felt that his best chance of recovering from his illness was change of air, ordered his men to prepare a hammock in which he might be conveyed. Although he had already given the chief a handsome hongo, or tribute, consisting of a red blanket, and a number of pretty common cloths for his children, no sooner did he begin to move than Lumeresi placed himself in his way and declared that he could not bear the idea of his white visitor going to die in the jungle. His true object, however, was to obtain a robe, or deole, which Speke had determined not to give him. However, at length, rather than be detained, he presented the only one which he had preserved for the great chief, Rumanika, into whose territories he was about to proceed. Scarcely had the chief received it, than he insisted on a further hongo, exactly double what had previously been given him. Again Speke yielded, and presented a number of brass-wire bracelets, sixteen cloths, and a hundred necklaces of coral beads, which were to pay for Grant as well as himself.

When about to march, however, Bui and Nasib were not to be found. On this, Speke determined to send back Bombay to Caze for fresh guides and interpreters, who were to join Grant on their return.

In the meantime, while lying in a fearfully weak condition, reduced almost to a skeleton, he was startled, at midnight, out of his sleep by hearing the hurried tramp of several men. They proved to be Grant’s porters, who, in short excited sentences, told him that they had left Grant standing under a tree with nothing but a gun in his hand; that his Wanguann porters had been either killed or driven away, having been attacked by Myonga’s men, who had fallen upon the caravan, and shot, speared, and plundered the whole of it.

Chapter Fifteen.

Speke and Grant’s travels continued.

Captain Grant—His description of a Weezee village and the customs of the people—Slavery—Sets out, and is attacked by Myonga—Grant and Speke unite—Journey to Karague—The country described—Rumanika receives them—The people and their customs—Wild animals—Speke sets out for Uganda.

We must now return to Captain Grant, who had been left in the Unyamuezi country, about which, during his stay, he made numerous observations.

“In a Weezee village,” he tells us, “there are few sounds to disturb the traveller’s night rest. The horn of the new-comers, and the reply to it from a neighbouring village, an accidental alarm, the chirping of crickets, and the cry from a sick child occasionally, however, broke the stillness. At dawn the first sounds were the crowing of cocks, the lowing of cows, the bleating of calves, and the chirruping of sparrows (which might have reminded him of Europe). Soon after would be heard the pestle and mortar shelling corn, or the cooing of wild pigeons in the neighbouring palm-grove.” The huts were shaped like corn-stacks, dark within as the hold of a ship. A few earthen jars, tattered skins, old bows and arrows, with some cups of grass, gourds, and perhaps a stool constitute the furniture.

Different tribes vary greatly in appearance. Grant describes some as very handsome. He mentions two Nyambo girls, who, in the bloom of youth, sat together with their arms affectionately twined round each other’s neck, and, when asked to separate that they might be sketched, their arms were dropped at once, exposing their necks and busts, models for Greek slaves. Their woolly hair was combed out, and raised up from the forehead and over their ears by a broad band from the skin of a milk-white, cow, which contrasted strangely with their transparent, light-copper skins. The Waha women are like them, having tall, erect, graceful figures and intelligent features.

An Arab trader, whom they had met, had sixty wives, who lived together in a double-poled tent, with which he always travelled. One of them was a Watusi, a beautiful, tall girl, with large, dark eyes, and the smallest mouth and nose, with thin lips and small hands. Her noble race will never become slaves, preferring death to slavery.

The Wanyamuezi treat the Watusi with great respect. When two people of these tribes meet, the former presses his hands together, the Watusi uttering a few words in a low voice. If a Watusi man meets a woman of his own tribe, she lets her arms fall by her side, while he gently presses them below the shoulders, looking affectionately in her face.

The class of Arabs met with were a most degraded set: instead of improving the country, they brought ruin upon it by their imperiousness and cruelty. All traded in slaves and generally treated them most harshly. Several gangs were met with in chains. Each slave was dressed in a single goat’s skin, and at night they kept themselves warm by lying near a fire. Never, by day or night, is the chain unfastened; should one of them require to move, the whole must accompany him. All ate together boiled sweet potato, or the leaves of the pumpkin plant, and were kept in poor condition to prevent their becoming troublesome.

Any meat or bones left from the travellers’ dinners were therefore given them, and accepted thankfully. One gang was watched over by a small lad, whose ears had been cut off, and who treated them with unfeeling coarseness. A sick slave having recovered, it was the boy’s duty to chain him to his gang again, and it was grievous to see the rough way he used the poor, emaciated creature.

They had not much work to do, the sole object of the owner being to keep them alive and prevent their running away till sold at the coast. They generally looked sullen and full of despair; but occasionally, at night, they danced and became even riotous, till a word from the earless imp restored them to order.

Among them was a poor fellow who had been five years in chains. The travellers took compassion on him, and released him from bondage. His chains were struck off with a hammer, and, once on his feet, a freedman, he seemed scarcely to believe the fact; when, however, attired in a clean calico shirt, he strutted about and soon came to make his new master his best bow. On his body were numerous spear-wounds. He had been captured by the Watuta, who had cut off several of his toes. This man never deserted them during the journey, accompanying them to Cairo, having gained the character of a faithful servant.

The Arab in Africa takes presents for everything he does, and it was believed that the white men would do the same. If a bullet was extracted, a gun repaired, an old sultan physicked, or the split lobe of an ear mended, a cow or cows were at hand to be paid when the task was finished.

When slaves were brought for sale and declined by the Englishmen, the natives could not understand their indifference to such traffic, but would turn from them with a significant shrug, as much as to say: “Why are you here then?” The most horrible punishments are inflicted on those who offend against the laws of the country. A woman and lad, who had been accused of bewitching the sultan’s brother, were found with their arms tied behind them, writhing in torture on their faces. No sympathy was shown them from the jeering crowd. The lad at last cried out: “Take me to the forest; I know a herb remedy.” He was allowed to go, while the woman was kept in the stocks near the sick patient. The lad was put to death, and Captain Grant suspected, tortured before a fire. Another man, for a crime in the sultan’s harem, was stripped, tied to railings, and his person smeared with grease and covered with greased rags, which were then set fire to, when he was dragged forth to a huge fire outside the village. On his way, assegais were darted at him by the son and daughter-in-law of the sultan, and when he fell he was dragged out by one leg.

Grant had the same difficulties in moving that Speke had experienced.

At length, on the 12th of September, he got away, but on the 16th, as he was passing through the territory of Sultan Myonga, his men moving in Indian file, a band of two hundred natives, armed with assegais and bows and arrows, burst upon him, springing over the ground like cats. The uplifted assegais and the shouts of the robbers frightened the porters, who gave up their loads and attempted to escape from the ruffians, who were pulling their clothes and loads from them. Grant endeavoured without bloodshed to prevent this, but, as he had only one of his gun-men and two natives by him, he could do nothing. Little Rohan the sailor, one of his Zambesi men, was found with his rifle in hand at full cock, defending two loads against five men. He had been urged to fly for his life. The property, he answered, was his life. Grant made his way, however, to Myonga, seeing as he went the natives dressed out in the stolen clothes of his men. Though honour was dear, the safety of the expedition was so likewise, and one false step would have endangered it.

Myonga pretended to be very indignant, and said that he had cut off the hand of one of his men, and promised that the property should be restored. Some of the loads were given back, but others had been broken open and rifled, and the chief demanded an enormous hongo for permitting Grant to proceed. This was the origin of the alarming intelligence Captain Speke had received.

At length the two travellers united their forces, and together they continued their journey towards Karague. To reach it they had first to pass through the province of Usui, the chief of which, Suwarora, pillaged them as usual. Here the little grass-hut villages were not fenced by a boma, but were hidden in large fields of plantains. Cattle were numerous, kept by the Wahuma, who would not sell their milk, because the Englishmen eat fowls. Their camp, night after night, was attacked by thieves. One night, as Speke was taking an observation, a party of these rascals enquired of two of the women of the camp what he was about. While the latter were explaining, the thieves whipped off their clothes and ran away with them, leaving the poor creatures in a state of absolute nudity. Speke had not taken much notice of the goats and other things which had been stolen, but, in consequence of this, he ordered his men to shoot any thieves who came near. A short time afterwards, another band approaching, one of the men was shot, who turned out to be a magician, and was till then thought invulnerable. He was tracked by his blood, and afterwards died of his wound. The next day some of Speke’s men were lured into the huts of the natives by an invitation to dinner, but, when they got them there, they stripped them stark-naked and let them go again. At night the same rascals stoned the camp. After this another thief was shot dead and two others were wounded. Bombay and Baraka gave their masters also a good deal of trouble. The former, who was looked upon as an excellent fellow, more than once got very drunk, and stole their property in order to purchase a wife for himself, besides which the two men quarrelled desperately with each other.

At length, however, the travellers got free of Usui and the native guard who had been sent to see them over the borders, and entered Karague, to their great relief and happiness.

They had now, for some distance, wild animals alone to contend with, and these they well knew how to manage. Soon after pitching their tent they were greeted by Kachuchu, an officer sent by the king, Rumanika, to escort them through his country. He informed them that the village officers were instructed to supply them with food at the king’s expense, as there were no taxes gathered from strangers in the kingdom of Karagué.

The country was hilly, wild, and picturesque, the higher slopes dotted with thick bushes of acacias, the haunts of the white and black rhinoceros, while in the valley were large herds of harte-beestes. The further they proceeded into the country, the better they liked it, as the people were all kept in good order. A beautiful lake was seen, which at first they supposed to be a portion of the Nyanza, but it proved to be a separate lake, to which the name of Windermere was given.

They now attained the delightful altitude of five thousand odd feet, the atmosphere at night feeling very cool. Away to the west some bold sky-scraping cones were observed, and, on making enquiries, Speke was convinced that those distant hills were the great turn-point of the Central African water-shed. Numerous travellers, whom he collected round him, gave him assistance in forming his map. He was surprised at the amount of information about distant places which he was able to obtain from these intelligent men.

As they approached the palace, the king, Rumanika, sent them a supply of excellent tobacco and beer manufactured by his people. On drawing near his abode, the bearers were ordered to put down their loads and fire a salute, and the two travellers at once received an invitation to visit the king. He was found sitting cross-legged with his brother Nnanaji, both men of noble appearance and size. The king was plainly dressed in an Arab black choba; he wore on his legs numerous rings of rich coloured beads, and neatly-worked wristlets of copper. Nnanaji, being a doctor of high credit, was covered with charms; he wore a checked cloth wrapped round him. Large clay pipes were at their sides, ready for use. In their rear sat the king’s sons, as quiet as mice.

The king greeted them warmly and affectionately, and in an instant both travellers felt that they were in the company of men who were totally unlike the common order of the natives of the surrounding districts. They had fine oval faces, large eyes, and high noses, denoting the best blood of Abyssinia. They shook hands in the English style, the ever-smiling king wishing to know what they thought of his country. He observed that he considered his mountains the finest in the world: “And the lake, too; did not they admire it?” He seemed a very intelligent man, and enquired how they found their way over the world, which led to a long story, describing the proportions of land and water, the way ships navigate the ocean, and convey even elephants and the rhinoceros to fill the menageries of Europe. He gave them their choice of having quarters in his palace or pitching their tents outside. They selected a spot overlooking the lake, on account of the beautiful view. The young princes were ordered to attend on them, one of whom, seeing Speke seated in an iron chair, rushed back to his father with the intelligence. Speke was accordingly requested to return, that he might exhibit the white man sitting on his throne. Rumanika burst into a fresh fit of merriment at seeing him, and afterwards made many enlightened remarks. On another visit Speke told the king that if he would send two of his children, he would have them instructed in England, for he admired his race, and believed them to have sprung from the friends of the English, the Abyssinians, who were Christians, and had not the Wahuma lost their knowledge of God, they would be so likewise. A long theological and historical discussion ensued, which so pleased the king that he said he would be delighted if Speke would take two of his sons to England. He then enquired what could induce them to leave their country and travel, when Speke replied that they had had their fill of the luxuries of life, and that their great delight was to observe and admire the beauties of creation, but especially their wish was to pay visits to the kings of Africa, and in particular his Majesty. He then promised that they should have boats to convey them over the lake, with musicians to play before them.

In the afternoon Speke, having heard that it was the custom to fatten up the wives of the king and princes to such an extent that they could not stand upright, paid a visit to the king’s eldest brother. On entering the hut, he found the old chief and his wife sitting side by side on a bench of earth strewed over with grass, while in front of them were placed numerous wooden pots of milk. Speke was received by the prince with great courtesy, and was especially struck by the extraordinary dimensions, yet pleasing beauty of the immoderately fat fair one, his wife. She could not rise. So large were her arms that between the joints the flesh hung like large loose bags. Then came in their children, all models of the Abyssinian type of beauty, and as polite in their manners as thorough-bred gentlemen. They were delighted in looking over his picture-books and making enquiries about them. The prince, pointing to his wife, observed: “This is all the product of those pots, as, from early youth upwards, we keep those pots to their mouths, being the custom of the court to have very fat wives.”

The king, having supposed that the travellers had been robbed of all their goods, was delighted with the liberal presents he received, above all that of a coat of handsome scarlet broadcloth. He told them that they might visit every part of his country, and when the time arrived for proceeding to Uganda, he would escort them to the boundary.

Altogether, Rumanika was the most intelligent and best-looking ruler the travellers met with in Africa. He had nothing of the African in his appearance, except that his hair was short and woolly. He was fully six feet two inches in height, and the expression of his countenance was mild and open. He was fully clothed in a robe made of small antelope-skins and another of dark cloth, always carrying, when walking, a long staff in his hand. His four sons were favourable specimens of their race, especially the eldest, named Chunderah. He was somewhat of a dandy, being more neat about his lion-skin covers and ornaments than his brothers. From the tuft of wool left unshaven on the crown of his head to his waist he was bare, except when his arms and neck were decorated with charmed horns, strips of otter-skin, shells, and bands of wool. He was fond of introducing Friz, Speke’s head man, into the palace, that he might amuse his sisters with his guitar, and in return the sisters, brothers, and followers would sing Karague music. The youngest son was the greatest favourite, and on one occasion, the travellers having presented him with a pair of white kid gloves, were much amused with the dignified way in which he walked off, having coaxed them on to his fingers.

Rumanika, contrary to the usual African custom, was singularly abstemious, living almost entirely on milk, merely sucking the juice of boiled beef. He scarcely ever touched plantain wine or beer, and had never been known to be intoxicated. The people were generally excessively fond of this wine, the peasants especially drinking large quantities of it.

Rumanika was not only king, but priest and prophet; indeed, his elevation to the throne was due, as his friends asserted, to supernatural agency. After the death of his father, his two brothers and he claimed the throne. Their pretentions were to be settled by an ordeal. They possessed a small magic drum, and, it being placed on the ground, he who could lift it was to take the crown. His brothers were unable to stir it, though exerting all their strength, but Rumanika raised it with his little finger. This test, however, not satisfying the chiefs, they insisted on Rumanika going through another trial. He was seated on the ground, and it was believed that if he was the appointed king, the portion of soil on which he sat would rise up in the air, but if not, it would collapse, and he would be dashed to pieces. According to the belief of his subjects, no sooner had Rumanika taken his seat, than he was raised into the sky, and was therefore acknowledged king.

One of the most curious customs which Rumanika holds in his character of high priest, is his new-moon levée, which takes place every month, for the purpose of ascertaining the loyalty of his subjects. On the evening of the new-moon the king adorns himself with a plume of feathers on his head, a huge white beard descending to his breast. He takes post behind a screen. Before him are arranged forty long drums on the ground, on the head of each of which is painted a white cross. The drummers stand each with a pair of sticks, and in front is their leader, who has a couple of small drums slung round his neck. The leader raises first his right arm and then his left, the performers imitating him, when he brings down both sticks on the drums with a rapid roll, they doing the same, until the noise is scarcely to be endured. This having continued for some hours, with the addition of smaller drums and other musical instruments, the chiefs advance in succession, leaping and gesticulating, and shouting expressions of devotion to their sovereign. Having finished their performance, they kneel before him, holding out their knobbed sticks that he may touch them, then, retiring, make room for others.

Civilised as the country is in some respects, marriage is a matter of barter between the father and the intended husband, the former receiving cows, slaves, sheep, etcetera, for his daughter. Should, however, a bride not approve of her husband, by returning the marriage gifts she is again at liberty. The chief ceremony at marriages consists in tying up the bride in a skin, blackened all over, and carrying her with a noisy procession to her husband.

The ladies of this country lead an easy life in many respects, their chief object, apparently, being to get as fat as possible. Many of them succeed wonderfully well, in consequence of their peculiar constitution, or from the food they eat being especially nutritious. Five of Rumanika’s wives were so enormous that they were unable to enter the door of any ordinary hut, or to move about without being supported by a person on either side. One of his sisters-in-law was of even still greater proportions. Speke measured her; round her arm was one foot eleven inches; chest, four feet four inches; thigh, two feet seven inches; calf, one foot eight inches; height, five feet eight inches. He could have obtained her height more accurately could he have had her laid on the floor; but, knowing the difficulties he would have had to contend with in such a piece of engineering, he tried to get her height by raising her up. This, after infinite exertion, was accomplished, when she sank down again, fainting, for the blood had rushed into her head. Meanwhile the daughter, a lass of sixteen, sat before them, sucking at a milk-pot, on which the father kept her at work by holding a rod in his hand; for, as fattening is one of the first duties of fashionable female life, it must be duly enforced with the rod if necessary. The features of the damsel were lovely, but her body was as round as a ball.

The women turn their obesity to good account. In exchanging food for beads it is usual to purchase a certain quantity of food, which shall be paid for by a belt of beads that will go round the waist. The women of Karague being on an average twice as large round the waist as those of other districts, food practically rises a hundred per cent, in price. Notwithstanding their fatness their features retain much beauty, the face being oval and the eyes fine and intelligent. The higher class of women are modest, not only wearing cow-skin petticoats, but a wrapper of black cloth, with which they, envelope their whole bodies, merely allowing one hand to be seen.

The travellers were allowed to move about the country as they liked, and the king sent his sons to attend on them, that they might enjoy such sport as was to be found. They heard of no elephants in that district, but harte-beestes, rhinoceros, and hippopotami were common.

One day Captain Grant saw two harte-beestes engaged in a desperate combat, halting calmly between each round to breathe. He could hear, even at a considerable distance, the force of every butt as their heads met, and, as they fell on their knees, the impetus of the attack, sending their bushy tails over their backs, till one, becoming the victor, chased the other out of the herd.

Several varieties of antelope and the mountain gazelle were seen bounding over the hills. Pigs abounded in the low grounds, and hippopotami in the lake.

Captain Speke went out in search of rhinoceros, accompanied by the prince, with a party of beaters. In a short time he discovered a fine male, when, stealing between the bushes, he gave him a shot which made him trot off, till, exhausted by loss of blood, he lay down to die. The young princes were delighted with the effect of the Englishman’s gun, and, seizing both his hands, congratulated him on his successes.

A second rhinoceros was killed after receiving two shots. While pursuing the latter, three appeared, who no sooner sighted Speke, than they all charged at him in line. His gun-bearers, however, were with him, and, taking his weapons, he shot the three animals in turn. One dropped down a little way on, but the others only pulled up when they arrived at the bottom of the hill. The fore legs of another were broken, when the natives set on him; but he kept charging with so much fury that they could not venture to approach till Speke had given him a second ball, which brought him to the ground. Every man then rushed at the creature, sending his spear, assegai, or arrow into his sides until he sank like a porcupine covered with quills. The heads were sent to the king, to show what the white man could do. Rumanika exhibited the greatest astonishment, declaring that something more potent than powder had been used; for, though the Arabs talk of their shooting powers, they could not have accomplished such a feat. “It is no wonder,” he added, “that the English are the greatest men in the world.”

Rumanika, like great men in other countries, had his private band. The instruments were of a somewhat primitive character, while the musicians differed in appearance considerably from those of Europe. The most common instruments are the drums, which vary greatly in size: one hung to the shoulder is about four feet in length, and one in width. It is played with the fingers, like the Indian tom-tom. The drums used at the new-moon levée are of the same shape, but very much larger. The war drum is beaten by women. At its sound the men rush to arms, and repair to their several quarters. There are also several stringed instruments. One of these, which Captain Grant describes, was played by an old woman; it had seven notes, six of which were a perfect scale. Another, which had three strings, was played by a man: they were a full, harmonious chord. A third instrument called “the laced nanga” formed of dark wood, in the shape of a tray, had three crosses in the bottom, and was laced with one string, seven or eight times, over bridges at either end.

The prince sent the best player to be found to entertain his guest. The man entered, dressed in the usual Wanyambo costume, looking a wild, excited creature. After resting his spear against the roof of his hut, he took a nanga from under his arm and began playing, his wild yet gentle music and words attracting a number of admirers. It was about a favourite dog, and for days afterwards the people sang that dog song.

There is another stringed instrument, called the zeze, somewhat similar to the nanga. They have two wind instruments, one resembling a flageolet, and another a bugle. The latter is composed of several pieces of gourd, fitted one into another, in telescope fashion, and is covered with cow-skin.

Rumanika’s band was composed of sixteen men, fourteen of whom had bugles, and the other two hand-drums. On the march they form in three ranks, the drummers being in the rear, swaying their bodies in time to the music, while the leader advances with a curiously active step, touching the ground alternately with each knee. They also, when the king rested on a march, or when out hunting, played before him, while he sat on the ground and smoked his pipe.

The Wahuma, like most Africans, have great faith in the power of charms, and believe that by their means persons can be rendered invulnerable. They also believe in the constant presence of departed souls, supposing that they exercise a good or evil influence over those whom they have known in life. When a field is blighted or a crop does not promise well, a gourd is placed in the pathway; passengers set up a wailing cry, which they intend as a prayer to the spirits to give a good crop to their mourning relatives. Rumanika, in order to propitiate the spirit of his father, was in the habit of sacrificing annually a cow on his tomb, and also of placing offerings on it of corn and wine. These and many other instances show that, though their minds are dark and misguided, the people possess religious sentiments which might afford encouragement to missionaries of the gospel.

The commencement of 1862 found the travellers still guests of the enlightened king. Hearing that it was the English custom on Christmas Day to have an especially good dinner, he sent an ox. Captain Speke in return paid him a visit. He offered him the compliments of the season, and reminded him that he was of the old stock of Abyssinians, who were among the oldest Christians on record, and that he hoped the time would come when white teachers would visit his country, to instruct him in the truths which he and his people had forgotten.

News now arrived which induced them to believe that Mr Petherick was indeed on his road up the Nile, endeavouring to reach them. Rumanika was highly delighted to hear this, as he was especially anxious to have white men visit his country from the north.

Active preparations were now made for the departure of the travellers, but unhappily Captain Grant was suffering from so severe a complaint in one of his legs, that he was compelled to remain behind, under the protection of the hospitable sovereign, while Speke set off for Uganda.

Chapter Sixteen.

Speke and Grant’s travels continued.

An escort from Mtesa, King of Uganda, arrives—The Kitangule River—The Phépo—Slaughter of the natives—Uganda described—Speke’s reception—Mtesa’s cruelty—Arrest of the Queen—A review of troops—Grant arrives—Arrangements for proceeding to Unyoro—The water-spirit’s high priest.

On the 10th of January a large escort of smartly-dressed men, women, and boys, leading their dogs and playing their reeds, under the command of Maula, arrived from Mtesa, King of Uganda, to conduct the travellers to his capital. Maula informed them that the king had ordered his officers to supply them with everything they wanted while passing through his country, and that there would be nothing to pay.

Speke set forth, in the hopes that before long he should settle the great Nile problem for ever. It was, however, not believed that he would be able to proceed north from Uganda, Rumanika especially declaring that he would be compelled to return to the southward.

Passing through a remarkably rich country, famous for its ivory and coffee productions, they descended from the Mountains of the Moon to an alluvial plain, where Rumanika keeps thousands of cows. Once elephants abounded here, but, since the increase of the ivory trade, these animals had been driven off to the distant hills.

On the 16th they reached the Kitangule River, which falls into the Victoria Nyanza. It was about eighty yards broad and so deep that it could not be poled by the canoe-men, while it runs at a velocity of from three to four knots an hour. It is fed from the high-seated springs in the Mountains of the Moon. Speke believed that the Mountains of the Moon give birth to the Congo as well as the Nile, and also the Shire branch of the Zambesi.

The country through which they passed was a perfect garden of plantations, surprisingly rich, while along the banks of the river numberless harte-beestes and antelopes were seen.

At a village, where they were compelled to stop two days, drumming, singing, screaming, yelling, and dancing went on the whole time, during the night as well as day, to drive the phépo, or devil, away. In front of a hut sat an old man and woman, smeared with white mud, and holding pots of pomba in their laps, while people came, bringing baskets full of plantain squash and more pots of pomba. Hundreds of them were collected in the court-yard, all perfectly drunk, making the most terrific uproar.

The king sent messengers expressing his desire to see the white man, and they were informed that he had caused fifty big men and four hundred small ones to be executed because he believed that his subjects were anxious to prevent them.

Speke now sent back to Grant, earnestly urging him to come on if he possibly could, as he had little doubt that they would be able to proceed across the country to the northward.

On approaching the capital, a messenger came to say that the king was so eager to meet the white man that he would not taste food until he had seen him.

The neighbourhood was reached on the 19th of February. Speke says it was a magnificent sight; the whole hill was covered with gigantic huts, such as he had never before seen in Africa. He proposed going at once to the palace; but the officers considered that such a proceeding would be indecent, and advised him to draw up his men and fire his gun off to let the king know that he had arrived. He was excessively indignant at being shown the dirty huts for his accommodation, in which the Arabs put up when they came to the place. Speke declared that, unless better quarters were found him, he would return; but the officer entreated that he would not be so hasty. Rain, coming on, prevented a levée being held that day. The presents being got ready, Speke marshalled his procession: the king’s officers and pages, with himself, marched on the flanks; the Union Jack, carried by his guide, led the way, followed by twelve of his men, as a guard of honour, dressed in red flannel cloaks, carrying their arms sloped, with fixed bayonets, while in the their rear came the rest of his attendants, each bearing some article as a present.

He was surprised at the extraordinary dimensions of the palace, and the neatness with which it was kept. The whole brow and sides of the hill were covered with gigantic grass-huts, neatly thatched and fenced all round with the tall, yellow reeds of the tiger-grass, while, within the enclosures, the lines of huts were joined together or partitioned off into courts, with the walls of the same grass.

These huts formed the residence of Mtesa’s three or four hundred wives, the rest living chiefly with his mother, the queen dowager. The ladies were seen at the doors, making their remarks and enjoying their jokes. At each gate they passed, officers opened and shut them, jingling the big bells hung upon them to prevent stealthy entrance.

As they advanced, courtiers of high dignity stepped forward to greet the white man, dressed in the most scrupulously neat fashions. Men, women, bulls, dogs, and goats were led about by strings, cocks and hens were carried in men’s arms, and little page-boys with rope turbans rushed about conveying messages, as if their lives depended on their swiftness, every one holding his skin cloak tightly round him, lest his naked legs should by accident be shown, a crime which in that kingdom, if happening in the presence of the king, meets with instant death.

These huts are well-built of reed, which grows to a great height. They have double roofs formed of thick grass thatch, in order to exclude the heat of the sun. The outer roof comes nearly to the ground on all sides. The structure is supported by stout poles, on which are hung sacks of corn, meat, and other provisions. The interior is divided into two portions by a high screen, the inner serving as a sleeping-room, in which a bedstead formed of cane is placed. There are no windows nor chimneys, and only one door in front.

When Speke, however, was desired to sit down outside to wait the appearance of the monarch, he, considering this an act of discourtesy, refused to comply. After waiting five minutes, as the king did not appear, he thought it right to walk home again, giving Bombay directions to leave his present on the ground. He was followed soon afterwards by Bombay, who told him that he might bring his own chair, as the king was anxious to show him every respect, although no one but the monarch was allowed in Uganda to sit on an artificial seat.

On his return, he found the king, a good-looking, well-figured, tall young man of twenty-five, sitting on a red blanket, which formed his throne, in the state hut. His hair was cut short, with the exception of a ridge on the top which ran stem to stern, like a cockscomb. He wore on his neck a large ring with beautifully-worked small beads. On one arm was another bead ornament, and on the other a wooden charm, and on every finger and toe he had alternately brass and copper rings, while above the ankles, half way up to the calf, he had stockings of very pretty beads.

In front of him were his nobles, squatting on the ground, all habited in skins, mostly cow-skins, some few—the sign of royal blood—having leopard-skins girded round their waists. Speke was desired to halt and sit in the glaring sun, while he was advancing hat in hand. He donned his hat, mounted his umbrella, and quietly sat down, to observe what was going on. A white dog, spear, shield, and woman, the Uganda cognisance, were by the side of the king, as also a knot of staff-officers, with whom he kept up a brisk conversation, while he took copious draughts from neat little gourd cups, offered by his ladies-in-waiting.

The traveller could not speak his language, and his interpreter dared not address the king, it being contrary to etiquette. Conversation was therefore impossible, and he was very glad, therefore, when at length his Majesty got up and retired, with a gait which was intended to be very majestic. It was to represent the step of a lion, but the outward sweep of the legs looked only like a ludicrous waddle. The king had in reality gone to eat his breakfast, as he had not broken his fast since hearing of the traveller’s arrival. He quickly returned, and Speke was again invited in, with his men. He found the king standing on a red blanket, talking and laughing to a hundred or more of his admiring wives, who were all squatting on the ground outside, forming two groups. His men dared not advance upright, but, stooping, with lowered head and averted eyes, came cringing after him, it being a high crime to look upon the ladies of the court. It was difficult, however, to carry on conversation with him, as every answer had to be passed through the interpreter, and then delivered to the king’s chief officer, and frequently another question was asked before the first was answered. The most important questions had reference to opening up a passage across the country. Before Speke could explain his views, the king put another question.

Mtesa was a perfect despot and tyrant, the lives of all his subjects, from the highest to the lowest, being in his power. When the whim seized him, he did not hesitate to kill as many as he chose.

The king’s subjects approach in the most cringing attitudes, and, on receiving any favour, throw themselves on the ground, floundering about, shrieking out: “Nynzig! nynzig!” He is attended by a number of young pages, with rope turbans on their heads, who are seen rushing about in every direction to obey his behests, and directly a wife or courtier offends the despot, rush upon the unhappy individuals and drag them off to immediate execution.

Speke, however, won his favour by blistering and doctoring him. He managed to keep up his own dignity by refusing to submit when improperly treated. He also gained great credit with the monarch by exhibiting his skill as a sportsman; and Mtesa was delighted to find that after a little practice he himself could kill birds and animals. He did not, however, confine himself to shooting at the brute creation, but occasionally killed a man or woman who might have been found guilty of some crime.

After a considerable lapse of time Speke obtained a residence at what was looked upon as the “west end” of the city. It was in a garden, in view of the palace, so that he could hear the constant music and see the throngs of people going to and fro. Having selected the best hut for himself, and giving the other to his three officers, he ordered his men to build barracks for themselves in the form of a street from his hut to the main road. He could now visit the palace with more ease, and obtained better opportunities of seeing the king and endeavouring to gain the important ends he had in view.

The sights he witnessed were very often painful. Scarcely a day passed that he did not see one, and sometimes more, of the unhappy female inmates of the palace dragged off to execution by one of the body-guard, the poor creature shrieking out, as she went to premature death: “Oh, my lord, my king, my mother!” and yet no one dared to lift a hand to preserve her.

He made several sporting excursions with the king, who was always delighted when he shot a bird or an animal, jumping and leaping, and shouting: “Woh! woh! woh!” to express his delight. One of these was to the Lake Nyanza, after Speke had somewhat ingratiated himself with the sovereign. It was somewhat of a picnic party, and the king was accompanied as usual by a choice selection of his wives. Having crossed over to a woody island some distance from the shore, the party sat down to a repast, when large bowls of pomba were served out. They then took a walk among the trees, the ladies apparently enjoying themselves and picking fruit, till, unhappily, one of the most attractive of them plucked a fruit and offered it to the king, thinking, probably, to please him. He took it, however, as a dire offence, and, declaring that it was the first time a woman had had the audacity to offer him food, ordered the pages to lead her off to execution. No sooner had the words been uttered than the abominable little black imps rushed at her like a pack of beagles, slipping off their cord turbans and throwing the ropes round her limbs. She, indignant at being touched, remonstrated and attempted to beat them off, but was soon overcome and dragged away, crying out the names of “Kamraviona! Mzungu!” the title applied to Speke, for help and protection, while the other women clasped the king round the legs, imploring him to pardon their unhappy sister. His only reply was to belabour the miserable victim with a thick stick. Speke had carefully abstained heretofore from interfering with any of the king’s acts of arbitrary cruelty. On hearing, however, his own name imploringly pronounced, his English blood was up, and, rushing at the tyrant, he stayed his uplifted arm, and demanded the poor creature’s life. He, of course, ran a great risk of losing his own; but the novelty of the event seemed to tickle the capricious chief, and he at once ordered the woman to be released.

This was, however, one of the only occasions on which he was successful.

Day after day both men and women were led off to execution. On one occasion a poor girl had run away from the ill-treatment of her master, and had taken refuge in the house of a decrepit old man. The two were brought up for judgment, when the king sentenced them to death, and decreed that their lives should not be taken at once, but that they should be fed and dismembered, bit by bit, as rations for his vultures every day until life was extinct. The dismayed criminals, Speke says, struggling to be heard, were dragged away to the drowning music of horns and drums.

After he had been some time in the palace, he was introduced to the queen dowager. Her majesty was fat, fair, and forty-five. He found her seated in the front part of her hut, on a carpet, her elbow resting on a pillow. An iron rod, like a spit, with a cup on the top, charged with magic powder, and other magic wands were placed before the entrance, and within the room four Mabandwa sorceresses, or devil-drivers, fantastically dressed, with a mass of other women, formed the company. They being dismissed, a band of musicians came in, when pomba was drunk by the queen, and handed to her visitor and high officers and attendants. She smoked her pipe, and bid Speke to smoke his. She required doctoring, and Speke had many opportunities of seeing her, so completely winning her regard that she insisted on presenting him with various presents, among others a couple of wives, greatly to his annoyance. She appeared to be a jovial and intelligent personage. On another occasion Speke, when introduced, found her surrounded by her ministers, when a large wooden trough was brought in and filled with pomba. The queen put her head in and drank like a pig from it, her ministers following her example. If any was spilled by her, they dabbled their noses in the ground, or grabbed it up with their hands, that not a particle might be lost, as everything that comes from royalty must be adored. Musicians and dancers were then introduced, exhibiting their long, shaggy, goat-skin jackets, sometimes dancing upright, at others bending or striking the ground with their heels like hornpipe dancers.

The plaguy little imps of pages were constantly playing tricks, and seemed to delight in mischief.

One of the great officers of the court having offended the king, they came with a message to Speke’s attendants while he himself was away, ordering them all to attend the king with their arms. Instead of being led to the palace, they were guided to the house of the refractory officer, when they were ordered to rush in and spare nothing, men, women, children, mbugus, or cowries, all alike. Speke’s men, firing their guns, did as they were ordered. One of the inmates was speared, but the rest were taken, and brought in triumph to his camp. He, of course, ordered all the seizures to be at once given up to the king’s chief officer, and shut himself up in his house, declaring that he was ashamed to show his face. In vain the king sent to him to come and shoot. The reply was: “Bana” (the name by which the king called Speke) “is praying to-day that Mtesa may be forgiven the injury he has committed by sending his soldiers on such a duty; he is very angry about it, and wishes to know if it was done by the kings orders.” The boys replied that nothing could be done without the king’s orders. Speke also insisted on sending the red cloth cloaks worn by his men, because they had defiled their uniform when plundering women and children. He took this opportunity of teaching the barbarian a lesson.

On his next visit the king told him that he had wished to see him on the previous day, and begged that whenever he came he would fire a gun at the waiting hut, that he might hear of his arrival. The king was much pleased with a portrait Speke made of him, as also with his coloured sketches of several birds he had killed, but was still more delighted with some European clothes, with which he was presented. When Speke went to visit him, he found his Majesty dressed in his new garments. The legs of the trousers, as well as the sleeves of the waistcoat, were much too short, so that his black feet and hands stuck out at the extremities as an organ-player’s monkey’s do, while the cockscomb on his head prevented a fez cap, which he wore, from sitting properly. On this visit twenty new wives, daughters of chiefs, all smeared and shining with grease, were presented, marching in a line before the king, utterly destitute of clothes, whilst the happy fathers floundered, nynzigging, on the ground, delighted to find their darling daughters appreciated by the monarch. Speke burst into a fit of laughter, which was imitated not only by the king but by the pages, his own men chuckling in sudden gusto, though afraid of looking up.

The king at last returned Speke’s visit. Having taken off his turban, as Speke was accustomed to take off his hat, he seated himself on his stool. Everything that struck his eye was admired and begged for, though nothing seemed to please him so much as the traveller’s wide-awake and mosquito curtains. The women, who were allowed to peep into Sana’s den, received a couple of sacks of beads, to commemorate the visit.

A few days afterwards he was accompanying the king when an adjutant-bird was seen in a tree. The king had a gun Speke had given him, but he had little more than one charge of powder remaining. Speke had left his gun at home. The king at the second shot killed the bird, greatly to his delight, shouting his usual “Woh! woh!” He was so delighted that he insisted upon carrying the bird to show to his mother.

Before entering the palace, however, he changed his European clothes for a white goat-skin wrapper. Directly afterwards a battalion of his army arrived before the palace, under the command of his chief officer, whom Speke called Colonel Congou. The king came out with spear and shield in hand, preceded by the bird, and took post in front of the enclosure. His troops were divided into three companies, each containing about two hundred men. After passing in single file, they went through various evolutions. Nothing, Speke says, could be more wild or fantastic than the sight which ensued. The men, nearly naked, with goat or cat-skins depending from their girdles, and smeared with war-colours according to the taste of each individual, one half of the body red or black, the other blue, in irregular order; as, for instance, one leg would be red, the other black, whilst the upper part would be the opposite colours, and so with the chest and arms. Each man carried two spears and one shield, held as if approaching an enemy. They thus moved in three lines of single rank and file at fifteen or twenty paces asunder, with the same high action and elongated step, the ground leg only being bent to give their strides the greater force. The captains of each company followed, even more fantastically dressed. The great Colonel Congou, with his long, whitehaired goat-skins, a fiddle-shaped leather shield, tufted with white hair at all six extremities, bands of long hair tied below the knees, and the helmet covered with rich beads of several colours, surmounted with a plume of crimson feathers, from the centre of which rose a stem, tufted with goat-hair. Finally the senior officers came charging at their king, making violent protestations of faith and honesty, for which they were applauded.

Speke was now, towards the end of May, looking forward to the arrival of Grant.

To propitiate the despot he sent a compass, greatly to the delight of Mtesa, who no sooner saw it than he jumped and “wohed” with intense excitement, and said it was the greatest present Bana had ever given him, for it was the thing by which he found out all the roads and countries.

It had been arranged that Grant should come by water; but the natives, fearing to trust themselves on the lake, brought him all the distance on a litter.

At length, on the 27th, the sound of guns announced the arrival of Grant, and Speke hurried off to meet his friend, who was now able to limp about a little, and to laugh over the accounts he gave of his travels.

The travellers forthwith began to make arrangements for proceeding on to Unyoro, governed by a chief named Kamrasi, of despicable character and considered merciless and cruel, even among African potentates, scattering death and torture around at the mere whim of the moment; while he was inhospitable, covetous, and grasping, yet too cowardly to declare war against the King of the Waganda, who had deprived him of portions of his dominions. The Waganda people were, therefore, very unwilling to escort the travellers into his territory; and Colonel Congou declared that if compelled to go, he was a dead man, as he had once led an army into Unyoro.

The travellers’ great object was to reach the spot where the Nile was supposed to flow out of the Victoria Nyanza, and proceed down the stream in boats.

Speke had written to Petherick, and on the 28th of June news arrived that white men were at Gani enquiring for the travellers. Speke consequently informed the king that all he required was a large escort to accompany them through Usoga and Kidi to Gani, as further delay in communicating with Petherick might frustrate the chance of opening the Nile trade with Uganda. The king replied that he would assemble his officers, and consult them on the subject. He exhibited his folly, however, by allowing his people to make an inroad into Unyoro and carry off eighty cows belonging to Kamrasi. To their horror, Kyengo, the chief magician, informed them that the king, being anxious to pry into the future, had resolved to adopt a strong measure with that end in view. This was the sacrifice of a child. The ceremony, which it fell to the lot of Kyengo to perform, is almost too cruel to describe. The magician, having placed a large earthen pot full of water on the fire, arranges a platform on the top, and on this he binds a young child and a fowl, covering them with another pot, which he inverts over them. After the fire has burned for a given time the upper pot is removed. If both victims are dead, it is considered that war must be deferred for the present; but, if either should be alive, it may be commenced immediately. When the army is about to proceed to war, the magician flays the young child, and lays the bleeding body in the path, that the warriors may step over it, thereby believing that they will gain immunity for themselves in the approaching combat.

During the expedition, which Speke made with the king to the Nyanza, they landed on an island inhabited by a magician and his wife, who were supposed to be priests of of the water-spirit of the lake. His head was decorated with numerous mystic symbols, among them a paddle, the badge of his high office. He was dressed in a little, white, goat-skin apron, adorned by various charms, and, instead of a walking-stick to support his steps, he used a paddle. Though not an old man, he pretended to be so, walking slowly and deliberately, coughing and mumbling like one. Seating himself, he continued coughing for half an hour, when his wife came in, much in the some manner, without saying a word, and assuming the same affected style.

The king, who was seated near the door, with his wives behind him, asked Speke what he thought of it. No voice was heard but that of the old wife, who croaked like a frog for some water, and when some was brought, croaked again because it was not the purest of the lake’s produce, and had the first cup changed, wetted her lips with the second, and hobbled away in the same manner as she had come.

The water-spirit’s chief priest now summoned several of the king’s officers to draw round him, and then, in a low voice, gave them all the orders of the deep, and walked away. His revelations appeared to have been unpropitious, for the party immediately repaired to their boats and returned to their quarters.

During this excursion, the king went off on the lake, leaving Speke by himself on shore. He took the opportunity of visiting an hospitable old lady, who treated him and his attendants to the last drop of pomba in her house, smoking her pipe with him, and did not hesitate to speak of the horrors of the Uganda punishments. When his servant told her that he had saved the life of one of the women, she seemed astonished at the daring of the stranger and at the leniency of the monarch. The king’s servants had robbed her of nearly everything in her house.

The most barbarous orders of the despot are obeyed with the utmost alacrity by his officers, who would to a certainty, if they hesitated, be themselves put to death. His horrible little pages are his chief emissaries. At his command a dozen start off together, each striving to outrun the others, their dresses, streaming in the wind, giving them the resemblance at a distance of a flight of birds. On one occasion, Speke having given Mtesa a rifle, the king, after examining the weapon, loaded it and told a page to go out and shoot some one, to ascertain if it would kill well. In a moment a report was heard, and the urchin came back grinning with delight at his achievement, just like a schoolboy who has shot his first sparrow. Nothing was heard about the unfortunate wretch who had served as a target, the murder of a man being by far too common an incident to attract notice.

Many of the people expressed the greatest horror of the king’s cruelty; but all his subjects were abject slaves, and no union existed among them which would have afforded them any hope in rebellion or in bringing about a better state of things.

Chapter Seventeen.

Speke and Grant’s travels concluded.

Set out for Kamrasi—Attacked by the Waganda—Reach the Nile—The Isamba Rapids—The Rippon Falls—The source of the Nile—Returns to Urondogani—Threatened destruction—March for Unyoro—Kamrasi’s reception—The magician at work—Kamrasi receives a Bible—Leave Kamrasi, and proceed down the Kuffo to the Falls of Karuma—The Gani people—The Madi—Arrive at Petherick’s outposts—Speke again sets out—The Bari country—Gondokoro and Nile boats seen—Sir Samuel Baker—Voyage down the Nile to Khartoum—A banquet—Berber—Arrive at length in England.

By the 7th of July the arrangements for their journey were made. The king presented them with a herd of cows for their provisions, as well as some robes of honour and spears, and he himself came out with his wives to see them off. Speke ordered his men to turn out under arms and nynzig for the favours received. Mtesa complimented them on their goodly appearance and exhorted them to follow their leader through fire and water, saying that, with such a force, they would have no difficulty in reaching Gani.

It was arranged that Grant should go on to Kamrasi direct, with the property, cattle, etcetera, while Speke should go by the river to examine its exit from the lake, and come down again, navigating as far as practicable.

They now commenced their march down the northern slopes of Africa, escorted by a band of Waganda troops, under the command of Kasora, a young chief. They had proceeded onwards some days, when Kari, one of Speke’s men, had been induced to accompany some of the Waganda escort to a certain village of potters, to obtain pots for making plantain wine. On nearing the place, the inhabitants rushed out. The Waganda men escaped, but Kari, whose gun was unloaded, stood still, pointing his weapon, when the people, believing it to be a magic horn, speared him to death, and then fled.

On the 21st, after passing through a country covered with jungle, Speke reached the banks of the Nile. The shores on either side had the appearance of a highly-kept park. Before him was a magnificent stream, six or seven hundred yards wide, dotted with islets and rocks—the former occupied by fishermen’s huts, the latter by sterns and crocodiles, basking in the sun—flowing between fine, high, grassy banks, covered with trees and plantations. In the background herds of nsunnú and harte-beestes could be seen grazing, while the hippopotami were snorting in the water, Florican and Guinea fowl rising at their feet. Here Speke had some fine sport, killing nsunnú and other deer.

The chief of the district received them courteously, and accompanied Speke to the Isamba Rapids.

“The water ran deep between its banks, which were covered with fine grass, soft cloudy acacias, and festoons of lilac convolvuli; while here and there, where the land had slipped above the rapids, bare places of red earth could be seen like that of Devonshire. There, too, the waters, impeded by a natural dam, looked like a huge mill-pond, sullen and dark, in which two crocodiles, floating about, were looking out for prey.” From the high banks Speke looked down upon a line of sloping wooded islets lying across the stream, which, by dividing its waters, became at once both dam and rapids. “The whole scene was fairy-like, wild, and romantic in the extreme,” says Captain Speke.

Proceeding southward they reached the Rippon Falls on the 28th, by far the most interesting sight he had seen in Africa.

“Though beautiful, the scene was not exactly what I expected, for the broad surface of the lake was shut out from view by a spur of hill, and the falls, about twelve feet deep and four to five hundred feet broad, were broken by rocks; still it was a sight that attracted one to it for hours. The roar of the waters, the thousands of passenger fish leaping at the falls with all their might, the fishermen coming out in boats, and taking post on all the rocks with rod and hook, hippopotami and crocodiles lying sleepily on the water, the ferry at work above the falls, and cattle driven down to drink at the margin of the lake, made in all, with the pretty nature of the country—small grassy-topped hills, with trees in the intervening valleys and on the lower slopes—as interesting a picture as one could wish to see.”

Here, then, he had arrived at what he considered the source of the Nile—that is, the point from where it makes its exit from the Victoria Nyanza; and he calculated that the whole length of the river is, thus measuring from the south end of the lake, two thousand three hundred miles.

He and his party now returned northward, and reached Urondogani again on the 5th of August. The difficulty was next to obtain boats. The fishermen, finding that the strangers were to be supplied with fish by the king’s order, ran away, though the cows they had brought furnished the travellers with food. At length five boats, composed of five planks lashed together and caulked with rags, were forthcoming. Speke, with his attendants, Kasora, and his followers embarked, carrying goats, dogs, and kit, besides grain and dried meat. No one, however, knew how many days it would take to perform the voyage.

Tall rushes grew on either side of the broad river, which had in places a lake-like appearance. The idle crew paddled slowly, amusing themselves by sometimes dashing forward, and then resting, while Kasora had the folly to attack the boats of Wanyoro he met coming up the river.

The frontier line was crossed on the 14th, but they had not proceeded far when they saw an enormous canoe of Kamrasi’s, full of well-armed men, approaching them. The canoe turned, as if the people were afraid, and the Waganda followed. At length, however, the chased canoe turned, and the shore was soon lined with armed men, threatening them with destruction. Another canoe now appeared. It was getting dark. The only hope of escape seemed by retreating. Speke ordered his fleet to keep together, promising ammunition to his men if they would fight. The people in one boat, however, were so frightened that they allowed her to spin round and round in the current. The Wanyoro were stealing on them, as they could hear, though nothing could be seen. One of the boats kept in-shore, close to the reeds, when suddenly she was caught by grappling-hooks. The men cried out: “Help, Bana! they are killing us.” Speke roared in reply: “Go in, and the victory will be ours.” When, however, three shots were fired from the hooked boat, the Wanyoro fled, leaving one of their number killed and one wounded, and Speke and his party were allowed to retreat unmolested.

Speke, after proceeding up the river some distance, determined to continue the journey by land, following the track Grant had taken.

Grant’s camp was reached on the 20th, and the next day a messenger arrived from Kamrasi, saying that the king would be glad to see them, and the march was ordered to Unyoro.

The frontier was again passed, when the country changed much for the worse. Scanty villages, low huts, dirty-looking people clad in skins, the plantain, sweet potato, sesamum, and millet forming the chief edibles, besides goats and fowls. No hills, except a few scattered cones, broke the level surface of the land, and no pretty views cheered the eye. They were now getting to a distance from the rain-attractive influences of the Mountains of the Moon, and vegetation decreased proportionately. Their first halt was on the estate of the chief Kidjwiga. Scarcely had they been established than a messenger page from Mtesa, with a party of fifty Waganda, arrived to enquire how Bana was, and to remind him of the gun and other articles he had promised to send up from Gani.

The natives ran off as they passed through the country, believing them to be cannibals. They supposed that the iron boxes which the porters carried on their shoulders each contained a couple of white dwarfs, which were allowed to fly off to eat people. They, however, gained confidence, and soon flocked round the Englishmen’s huts.

On arriving at the end of their day’s march on the 2nd of September, they were told that elephants had been seen close by. Grant and Speke, therefore, sallied forth with their guns, and found a herd of about a hundred, feeding on a plain of long grass. Speke, by stealing along under cover of the high grass, got close to a herd, and fired at the largest. The animals began sniffing the air with uplifted trunks, when, ascertaining by the smell of powder that their enemy was in front of them, they rolled up their trunks, and came close to the spot where he was lying under a mound. Suddenly they stopped, catching scent of the white man, and lifting their heads high, looked down upon him. Speke was now in a dangerous position, for, unable to get a proper front shot at any of them, he expected to be picked up or trodden to death. As he let fly at their temples, they turned round and went rushing away at a much faster pace than they came. They, however, soon stopped, and began to graze again. Though several were wounded, none were killed.

Bombay was now despatched to King Kamrasi, with a request from the travellers for an early interview. Goats, flour, and plantains were brought to them, and Kidjwiga became very indignant that the flour was not all given to him, as he, having been appointed their guide and protector, considered that it ought to have been.

At last they received an invitation from Kamrasi. As on a previous occasion, only some dirty huts were offered to Speke. He insisted on being lodged in the palace. Bombay, who had been kept there, now arrived, and they were informed that better accommodation was preparing for them. The king had been very communicative to Bombay.

The monarch, however, got tipsy, and was consequently unable to receive his guests. Next day he sent some pomba, fowls, and plantains as a present.

They were, however, after this still kept waiting several days. At last Speke sent to say that if the king did not wish to see the white men, they would proceed on their journey to Gani. This had the desired effect; and, in their usual style, with the Union Jack floating above their heads, they approached the palace.

They found the monarch seated on a wooden stool, with cow-skins below and leopards’ above, on an elevated platform of grass, looking like a pope in state, calm and motionless. His arms were adorned with brass-wire rings, and his hair was worked up into peppercorn-like knobs; his eyes were of a long shape, his face narrow, and nose prominent; yet, though a well-made man, being above six feet high, he was inferior in size to Rumanika.

Speke endeavoured to impress on the stupid-headed king that his only object was to open up a communication along the Nile, by which boats could bring up the produce and manufactures of other countries, to exchange with his ivory.

The king evidently wished to detain them, in order that they might assist him in putting down an insurrection which his two brothers had raised against him. At last they determined to send Bombay on to ascertain whether boats were really waiting for them.

Kamrasi was as eager to obtain gifts as any of the other chiefs, and, having heard of their chronometer, which they had been observed using, he was especially desirous to possess it, believing it to be some magic instrument, and the means by which the travellers guided themselves about the country. Speke told him that it was not his guide, but a time-keeper, made for the purpose of knowing at what time to eat his dinner. He told him it was the only one he possessed, but that, if he would wait with patience, he would send him up one on his arrival at Gani. He was too eager to possess the wonderful instrument to consent to delay, and at last Speke, to satisfy him, placed it on the ground and said it was his. He said he should like to buy another, and was surprised to hear that it would cost five hundred cows. This increased the surprise of the whole party, who could not believe that any person in his senses would give five hundred cows for the mere gratification of seeing at what time his dinner should be eaten.

Kamrasi was a thorough tyrant, and, at the same time, an arrant coward. He kept up a perfect system of espionage, by which he knew everything going forward in the country. His guards, in order that they might be attached to his person, were allowed to plunder at will the rest of his unfortunate subjects, who, if they offended him, were put to death without mercy. If an officer failed to give him information, he was executed or placed in the shoe, an instrument of torture not unlike the stocks. It consists of a heavy log of wood, with an oblong slit through it; the feet are placed in this slit, and a peg is then driven through the log between the ankles, so as to hold them tightly. Frequently the executioner drives the peg against the ankles, when the pain is so excessive that the victim generally dies from exhaustion.

After the travellers had moved into better quarters, they were told that Kamrasi intended to pay them a visit. The room was accordingly prepared for his reception—hung around with mats, horns, and skins of animals, and a large box, covered with a red blanket, was placed as a throne for him to sit on. Speke then called out his men to form a guard of honour, and ordered them to fire as soon as he appeared. No sooner did he arrive than he wanted everything he saw: first their gauze mosquito curtains, then an iron camp bed, next the sextant and thermometer. When any books were shown him of birds and animals he wanted them, and was much surprised when Speke positively refused. The important question was put to him whether he would wish English traders to come up to his country, and, in reply, he answered that it was what he desired above all things; but, if the English would advance with guns, he would march out with his army, and that, between them, his brothers, who were now acting in rebellion, would be destroyed. He was evidently, however, very angry at receiving no presents, and, getting up, walked straight out of the hut. No pomba was sent by him next day. They, however, presented him with a gun. At first he was much afraid of firing it off, and called one of Speke’s men to do it for him.

One morning they found that their rain-guage had been removed, so they sent Kidjwiga to say that they wished a magician to come at once and institute a search for it. He soon returned with the adept: “An old man, nearly blind, dressed in strips of old leather fastened to the waist, and carrying in one hand a cow’s horn primed with magic powder, carefully covered on the mouth with leather, from which dangled an iron bell. The old creature jingled the bell, entered their hut, squatted on his hams, looked first at one and then at the other, enquired what the missing things were like, grunted, moved his skinny arm round his head as if desirous to catch the air from all four sides of the hut, then dashed the accumulated air on the head of his horn, smelt it to see if all was going right, jingled the bell again close to his ear, and grunted his satisfaction. The missing article must be found. To carry out the incantation more effectually, all the men were sent for to sit in the open air before the hut, when the old doctor rose, shaking the horn and tinkling the bell close to his ear. He then, confronting one of the men, dashed the horn forward as if intending to strike him on the face, then smelt the head and dashed it at another, and so on, till he became satisfied that Speke’s men were not the thieves. He then walked into Grant’s hut, inspected that, and, finally, went to the place where the bottle had been kept. There he walked about the grass with his arm up, and jingling the bell to his ear, first on one side and then on the other, till the track of a hyaena gave him a clue, and in two or three more steps he found it. A hyaena had carried it into the grass and dropped it. Bravo for the infallible horn, and well done the king for his honesty in sending it. Speke gave the king the bottle and gauge, which delighted him amazingly, and the old doctor, who begged for pomba, got a goat for his trouble.”

News reached them soon after this of the death of Budja, one of the officers who had attended them, and who it was said had died from being bewitched by a charm put into a pot of pomba by one of Kamrasi’s frontier officers, the poor fellow having evidently been poisoned.

The travellers were now in some anxiety about Bombay, who had not returned from Gani. They received intelligence that the coronation formalities of Mtesa were taking place, when upwards of thirty of his brothers were to be burned to death.

Kamrasi had been presented with a Bible. As soon as he got hold of it, he began to count the leaves, supposing that each page or leaf represented one year of time since the beginning of creation. After getting through a quarter of the book, he shut it up, on being told that if he desired to ascertain the number more closely he had better count the words.

Six weeks had been uselessly spent, when at length Bombay returned, his attendants dressed in cotton jumpers and drawers, presents given them by Petherick’s outposts, though Petherick himself was not there. The journey to and fro had been performed in fourteen days’ actual travelling, the rest of the time being frittered away by the guides.

Two hundred Turks were stationed at Gani, who were all armed with elephant-guns, and had killed sixteen elephants.

On this, Speke sent a present to Kamrasi, and prepared for his departure. The king, however, complained that he had not received enough, and insisted on having the chronometer. He had himself sent a present of spears; but Speke refused to accept them unless permission for his departure was given. The only way indeed to treat these black potentates is to act with the greatest firmness and determination.

At last the king promised to give them a parting interview, and to send a large escort to accompany them to Petherick’s boats. Several days, however, passed before the interview took place, when the king again asked for more presents, and even begged for the rings which he saw on Grant’s fingers, but without success. Speke had wished to take two of the king’s sons to be educated in England, but instead, he sent two orphan boys, who, being both of the common negro breed, were so unattractive in appearance that Speke declined receiving them. They had been kept the whole time almost as prisoners, without being allowed by the suspicious king to move about the neighbourhood, while no one had been permitted to visit them. They were therefore thankful when at last they persuaded the savage monarch to allow them to take their departure. Canoes had been provided, and on the 9th of November they embarked in one of them on the river Kuffo. Crowds were collected on the banks to see them depart, shouting and waving adieus as they shot down the stream. Among them was the only lady of rank they had seen, dressed in yellow bark cloth, striped with black; she was flat-featured and plain. Their canoes were formed of logs bound together.

Proceeding down the Kuffo, they entered, a few miles below Kamrasi’s residence, the White Nile, down which they floated four days to the Falls of Karuma. The river had the appearance of a large lake, and without a pilot they would have found it impossible to guess what direction to take. It then assumed the appearance of a river a thousand yards wide, covered with numberless moving and stationary islands, amidst which hippopotami reared their heads. These islands were perfect thickets of thorns, creepers, and small trees. Some went rolling round and round, moved by the stream, which ran at the rate of a mile an hour. Amidst them were seen the lofty papyrus, bending to the breeze, which as they drove on, continually changing their relative positions, looked like a fleet of felucca-rigged vessels.

On the third day, a strong breeze coming on, these floating islands melted away or were driven on shore. They landed every evening to sleep, having to push their way between a wide belt of reeds, rushes, and convolvuli.

They passed some attractive scenery. In one place a hill rose eight hundred feet above the water, and on the Kidi side the ground was undulating and wild, covered with handsome trees, with flowering creepers clinging to their boughs, now in rich bloom and presenting every variety of colour.

The king having given his officers directions to supply the travellers with food, they had some exciting chases after canoes, which took to flight as soon as their object was discovered. No sooner was one overtaken than their Wanyoro escort robbed her of bark, cloth, liquor, beads, spears, and everything on board, the poor owners being utterly helpless. Their Seedees, however, seeing the injustice of this, recovered the stolen property, and restored it to the proper owners.

Their cattle and the main body of their escort had gone by land.

On the 19th of November they reached the Karuma Falls, so-called, the blacks say, because the familiar of a certain great spirit placed stones across the river to break its waters as they flow down, and, as a reward for his services, the spot was called after him.

They were here kept some days, preparing to cross the Kidi wilderness.

They were still in the territories of Kamrasi. The governor of the district, a very great man, who sits on a throne only a little inferior to the king’s, called upon them, and was provided accordingly with a box on which to rest. His idea was that his own people had been once half black and half white. He could only account for it by supposing that the country formerly belonged to white men, who had been driven out by the blacks, and that the former were now coming back to retake it. The travellers relieved his apprehensions by telling him that his ancestors were all at one time white, till they crossed the sea and took possession of the country.

Before they started, Kidjwiga sacrificed two kids, one on each side of the river, flaying them, with one long cut, each down their breasts and bellies; the animals were then spread eagle-fashion on the grass, that the travellers might step over them and obtain a prosperous journey.

A messenger arrived from the king urging them to stop, as he was afraid that his rebel brother, Rehonga, might attack them; but they, believing that he had interested motives, commenced their march. The day was rainy, and the road lay across swamps, through thick jungle and long grasses. This continued for a couple of days, when, at length, they found themselves on the borders of a high plateau. Elephants and buffaloes were seen, and the guide, to make the journey propitious, plucked a twig, stripped off the leaves and branches, and, waving it up the line of march, broke it in two, and threw portions on either side of the path.

They had, however, again quickly to plunge into the tall grass, above their heads, and to cross numerous swamps.

On the 29th they reached the habitations of men at Koki, in Gani—a collection of conical huts on the ridge of a small chain of hills. Knots of naked men were seen perched like monkeys on the granite blocks, anxiously watching their arrival. A messenger was sent to the governor, Chongi, who despatched the principal people in the place to welcome them. These people, covered with war paint—something like clowns in a fair—rushed down the hill with their spears full tilt, and, performing various evolutions, conducted them to the governor, who advanced, attended by his familiar—he holding a white hen, the latter a gourd of pomba and a little twig.

The chief, having greeted them cordially, and swinging the fowl by one leg and sprinkling the contents of the gourd over them, led them to his magic-house, which being sprinkled in the same way, he finally spread a cow-skin under a tree, bidding them sit on it, and then presented them with a bowl of pomba.

These people were entirely naked, but were covered with beads and brass ornaments, even the women having only a few fibres hanging like tails before and behind. Their hair was dressed in the most fantastic fashion. They also carried diminutive stools, on which they sat wherever they went.

The travellers had great difficulty, in getting porters, who would never agree until the king’s soldiers had seized their women and cattle, and they frequently had to zig-zag from village to village to obtain them.

These curious people might be seen sitting on the rocks or in the shade of the trees, dressing each other’s hair or forming their pigtails, which are turned up and covered with fine wire. Indeed, they seemed to have little else to do, and were generally observed standing in conceited or ridiculous attitudes. The children are carried on the backs of the women, supported by straps, and the head of the infant is shaded by a reversed gourd from the heat of the sun.

The country had assumed a more attractive appearance, with forests, undulating ground covered with grass, and clusters of habitations, frequently intercepted by running streams.

The party had now entered the country of the Madi, who are savage in their appearance, and are similar to the Gani. Their houses are cylinders of bamboo wicker-work, with steep roofs of bamboo and grass, and are plastered inside, making them very warm.

On the 3rd of December, having pushed on in spite of the attempts of the friendly chiefs to detain them, they came in sight of what they supposed to be Petherick’s outposts, in north latitude 3 degrees 10 minutes 33 seconds. The Seedees immediately began firing away their carbines. Directly afterwards bang, crack, bang! was heard from the distant camp, when, in an instant, every height was seen covered with men. The travellers and their attendants hastened on, when before them appeared three large red flags, heading a military procession which marched out of the camp, with drums and fifes playing. Speke’s party halted, when a black officer, Mahamed, in Egyptian regimentals, hastened from the head of his ragamuffin regiment, a mixture of Nubians, Egyptians, and slaves of all sorts, which he had ordered to halt, and, throwing himself into Speke’s arms, began to hug and kiss him.

Petherick was enquired for. “He is coming,” was the answer. “What colours are those?”

“Oh, they are Debono’s.”

“Who is Debono?” was asked. “The same as Petric,” answered Mahamed.

Mahamed soon had dinner for them, and they enjoyed a better repast than they had done for many a day. Then the greatest treat was to come—water with which to wash their hands, and the luxury of soap. The remains of their repast was then placed before their faithful Seedees.

On retiring to their hut at night they offered up a prayer of thankfulness to the Almighty for having preserved them through so many difficulties, and at length, by His all-protecting arm, brought them in safety to the boundary of civilisation after twenty-six months of unceasing toil and anxiety. They had still, however, a considerable distance to march before they were to meet with civilised men.

Their host, Mahamed, was little better than a land pirate, who plundered and shot down the natives without compunction. Among his troops there was not a true Turk, wool predominating on their heads. They were adventurers, born from negro stock in the most southern Egyptian dominions. Numbers of such characters are found at Khartoum, ready for any employment. The merchants engage them there, and send them into the interior under the command of a chief to collect ivory and slaves. They were all married to women of the country, whom they had dressed in cloths and beads.

Mahamed, like the black chiefs, wished to detain the travellers, that they and their party might guard his camp, while he went off on an expedition on his own account. He succeeded by depriving them of their porters, and then marched out with his army—drums and fifes playing, colours flying, guns firing, officers riding, some on donkeys, others on cows. On the 31st the army returned, after having burned down and plundered three villages, laden with ivory and driving in four slave girls and thirty head of cattle.

A few days afterwards another example of Turkish barbarity came under their notice. The head man of a village arrived with a large tusk of ivory with which to ransom his daughter. Fortunately for him it had been considered by the Turks wise to keep on terms with so influential a man; and therefore, on receiving the tusk, Mahamed gave back the damsel, adding a cow to seal their friendship.

At length, weary of Mahamed’s procrastination, on the 11th of January Speke ordered the march, telling Mahamed he might follow if he wished.

At first the villagers, supposing that the travellers were Turks, made their escape in every direction, carrying what stores and cattle they could; while others pulled down their huts, and marched off with the materials to a distant site, to escape from their persecutors.

The people do this because the Turks, when they arrive at a village, often pull down the huts and carry off the roofs to form a camp for themselves outside the enclosure.

They also without ceremony rob the corn-stores, and should the owner remonstrate, he is knocked down with the butt of a musket, and told he is fortunate to escape being shot.

Finding that Speke was determined to move, Mahamed broke up his camp, the whole party, including porters to carry the ivory tusks, amounting to nearly a thousand men.

The Turks, as they marched along, helped themselves from the half-filled bins of the unfortunate natives, who were starving, while the chiefs at the different villages were quarrelling among themselves.

One night a party of warriors from another place appeared in front of the village near which they were encamped, and the next morning the villagers turned out and killed two of them. The enemy, as they retired, cried out that as soon as the guns were gone the villagers must look out for themselves.

Speke and Grant, however, kept their own pots boiling by shooting antelopes and other game. The Turks ate anything they could get hold of. Greatly to the disgust of the Seedees, they devoured a crocodile which was killed; they also feasted off crocodiles’ eggs.

They were now passing through the Bari country. Villages were numerous, but the inhabitants fled as soon as they appeared. Whenever the Turks halted, they sacked the villages of provisions.

At Doro, which they reached on the 13th of February, the Turks having plundered the nearest villages, the natives turned out with their arms, and war drums were beaten as a sign that they intended to attack the camp. As soon as darkness set in, they attempted to steal into the camp, but, being frightened off by the patrols, hundreds collected in front and set fire to the grass, brandishing torches in their hands, howling like demons, and swearing that they would annihilate their enemies in the morning.

On the 15th of February the travellers approached Gondokoro, and to their delight saw in the distance a white speck, which marked the position of the Austrian mission-house. Soon afterwards the masts of the Nile boats could be seen.

The Toorkees halting to fire a feu de joie, the party marched in together.

While making enquiries for Petherick, they caught sight of a sturdy English figure approaching them. Uttering a hearty cheer and waving their hats, they rushed forward and, greatly to their delight, found themselves shaking hands with Mr, now Sir Samuel, Baker, the elephant hunter of Ceylon, who had bravely come out in search of them.

They had had no news from England later than April, 1860, and it was now February, 1863. It was believed in England that they never would have been able to get through the savage tribes. They had reason to be grateful for the kind sympathy of their friends and countrymen.

The long-looked-for Petherick was away on a trading expedition, and had, as yet, made no attempt to succour them.

They waited at Gondokoro till the 26th, that Speke might ascertain, by lunar observation, the longitude, which was 31 degrees 46 minutes 9 seconds east, the latitude being 4 degrees 54 minutes 5 seconds north. The thermometer ranged between 94 degrees and 100 degrees in the shade. The climate was considered better than that of Khartoum.

While Mr Baker, accompanied by his devoted wife, continued his journey southward, they proceeded down the Nile in his boats to Khartoum.

At Gondokoro an Austrian mission has been established for thirty years; but, owing to utter want of success, it was now about to be abandoned.

They here found three Dutch ladies—the Baroness Capellen, Madame Tinne, and her daughter—who had, in the most spirited way, come up the Nile in a steamer for the purpose of assisting them, intending to proceed overland to Fernando Po.

They had, while at Gondokoro, been shocked by seeing a number of slaves, attacked by small-pox, thrown overboard by the native traders. These noble and philanthropic ladies had rescued some of the unfortunate natives from slavery. Unhappily, overcome by the climate, Madame Tinne and most of her companions some time afterwards died, and their proposed expedition was arrested.

The voyage down the Nile to Khartoum took from the 26th of February to the 30th of March, and was performed in a diabeah, the usual Nile boat, the after part being covered with a deck, on which was built a comfortable poop cabin. Their Seedees followed them in two large boats. They were hospitably welcomed by Ali Bey, and by a number of European and Turkish inhabitants.

They now felt themselves in a civilised country. Fifty years ago Khartoum was a mere military post on the Egyptian frontier; it now contains quarters for fifteen thousand troops.

At a banquet, given in their honour by an Italian hunter, Monsieur Debono, upwards of twenty gentlemen and four ladies were present. They here met also Mr Aipperly, a minister of the Pilgrim Mission from the Swiss Protestant Church. He was stationed at Gallabat, and, having learned blacksmith’s work and other trades, he was able to make friends with the natives by assisting them to put up their irrigation wheels and other carpenter’s work.

Among other interesting places they visited was a Coptic church. In the centre was a desk, at which a man was reading aloud to a number of other persons wearing large turbans, their shoes placed on one side, and several children, all sitting on a carpet, listening devoutly. On the walls were draperies and pictures of the Saviour, and within a doorway was a high altar, covered with a cloth marked with the figure of the cross. The service was in Arabic. A handsome old man entered, bearing a staff surmounted by a golden cross. After kneeling at the altar, he invited the strangers to his house to have coffee. Grant says that he never saw a finer face than that of this venerable Copt, Gabriel by name, who is at the head of the Coptic Church at Khartoum.

They left Khartoum on the 15th of April, and continued their journey down to Berber by water. Here they landed, and had a fatiguing camel ride across the desert to a place called Korosko, whence they continued it by water to Cairo. Here they were to part from their faithful Seedees, of whom Bombay was appointed captain. The Seedees received three years’ pay, and an order for a freeman’s garden to be purchased for them at Zanzibar, when each man was to receive ten dollars more as soon as he could find a wife. They ultimately, after many adventures, reached their destination.

The two travellers, whose adventures we have thus far followed, embarked for England, on the 4th of June, on board the “Pera,” where they safely arrived, after an absence of eleven hundred and forty-six days.

His friends had shortly afterwards to mourn Captain Speke’s untimely death, from his gun accidentally going off while at shooting. His gallant companion, now Colonel Grant, survives.

Although not, as he supposed, the discoverer of the remotest source of the Nile, Speke was undoubtedly the first European who saw the Victoria Nyanza, while the adventurous and hazardous journey he and Grant performed together deservedly places them in the first rank of African travellers. They also opened up an extensive and rich district hitherto totally unknown, into which the blessings of Christianity and commerce may, in a few years, be introduced. It is to be hoped that King Rumanika, the most intelligent ruler with whom they came in contact, still survives, as he would afford a cordial welcome both to missionaries and legitimate traders, and his beautiful and healthy country might become the centre of civilisation in that part of Eastern Africa. Were a mission sent to him by way of Zanzibar, backed by a body of disciplined, well-armed men, he would probably greatly assist in clearing the district intervening between the north of his dominions and that lately brought under subjection by Sir Samuel Baker, and a speedy end might be put to the horrible cruelties of the barbarous Mtesa, King of Uganda. It is sad to reflect, however, that while Mahommedan Turks and Arabs are allowed to range at will over the wide regions of Africa and proselytise the heathen, so few Christian merchants or missionaries have made their way into the interior with the advantages their superior civilisation and pure faith would bestow on the hapless inhabitants.

We may yet hope with Captain Burton that, “as the remote is gradually drawn nigh, and the difficult becomes accessible, the intercourse of man—strongest instrument of civilisation in the hands of Providence—will raise Africa to that place in the great republic of nations, from which she has hitherto been unhappily excluded.”

Chapter Eighteen.

Travels of Dr Livingstone—first expedition.

His parentage and early life—Sets out for Africa as a missionary from the London Missionary Society—Arrives at Cape Town—Lepelole—Mabotsa—Sechele—Dr Livingstone finds him at Kolobeng—A missionary’s necessary accomplishments—The Kalahara Desert described—Starting—The banks of the Zouga—Lake Ngami—Return to Kolobeng—Return to Lake Ngami—Fever—Set out again and reach the Chobe—Sebituane—Banks of the Zambesi—Returns to Kolobeng—Arrives at Cape Town, where his wife and children embark for England—Reaches Kuruman—The Dutch Boers—Linyanti—Received by the Makololo—Fever.

David Livingstone comes of a race whose chief pride was that they were honest men. His great grandfather fell at the battle of Culloden. His grandfather was a small farmer in Ulva, one of the western islands of Scotland. Here his father was born, but his grandfather after that event migrated to a large cotton factory at the Blantyre Works, situated on the Clyde, above Glasgow. His uncles all entered His Majesty’s service either as soldiers or sailors, but his father remained at home, and his mother, being a thrifty housewife, in order to make the two ends meet, sent her son David, at the age of ten, to the factory as a piecer.

He was fond of study, and with part of his first week’s wages he purchased “Ruddiman’s Rudiments of Latin,” and for many years afterwards studied that language at an evening school after his work was done. He also, when promoted at the age of nineteen to cotton-spinning, took his books to the factory, and read by placing one of them on a portion of the spinning-jenny, so that he could catch sentence after sentence as he passed at his work. He was well paid, however, and having determined to prepare himself for becoming a medical missionary in China, was enabled, by working with his hands in summer, to support himself while attending medical and Greek classes in Glasgow in winter, as also the divinity lectures of Dr Wardlow. He was thus able to pass the required examinations, and was at length admitted a licentiate of the Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons.

The war in China preventing him from proceeding thither, he offered himself as a missionary to the London Missionary Society, and embarked for Africa in 1840.

After reaching Cape Town, he went round to Algoa Bay, whence he proceeded about eight hundred miles into the interior to Kuruman, the missionary station of the Reverend R. Moffat, whose daughter he afterwards married.

Thence he went to Lepelole, where, to gain a knowledge of the language and habits of the inhabitants, the Bakwains, he cut himself off from European society for six months. The Bakwains, however, being driven by another tribe from their country, he was unable, as he had intended, to form a station at that place.

He was more successful at Mabotsa, also inhabited by the Bakwains, to which place he removed in 1843. It was here, while in chase of a lion, that he nearly lost his life. He had fired both the barrels of his gun, and was re-loading, when the lion, though desperately wounded, sprang upon him, catching his shoulder, both man and beast coming to the ground together. Growling horribly, the fierce brute shook the doctor as a terrier dog does a rat. The shock produced a stupor similar to that which seems to be felt by a mouse after the first shake of a cat. The gun of his companion, a native schoolmaster, who came to his assistance, missed fire, when the lion, leaving Dr Livingstone, attacked him. Another native came up with a spear, when the lion flew at him also, but the bullets at that moment taking effect, the fierce brute fell down dead.

The chief of the Bakwains, Sechele, became a Christian, and exerted himself for the conversion of his people, restoring his wives to their fathers, and living in every respect a thoroughly consistent life.

The Dutch Boers, who had pushed forward to the confines of the country, proved, however, most adverse to the success of the mission, by carrying off the natives and compelling them to labour as slaves.

By the advice of Dr Laidley, Sechele and his people moved to Kolobeng, a stream about two hundred miles to the north of Kuruman, where Dr Livingstone formed a station.

He here built a house with his own hands, having learned carpentering and gardening from Mr Moffat, as also blacksmith work. He had now become handy at almost any trade, in addition to doctoring and preaching, and, as his wife could make candles, soap, and clothes, they possessed what may be considered the indispensable accomplishments of a missionary family in Central Africa.

Among the gentlemen who had visited the station was Mr Oswell, in the East India Company’s service. He deserves to take rank as an African traveller. Hearing that Dr Livingstone purposed crossing the Kalahara Desert in search of the great Lake Ngami, long known to exist, he came from India on purpose to join him, accompanied by Mr Murray, volunteering to pay the entire expenses of the guides.

The Kalahara, though called a desert from being composed of soft sand and being destitute of water, supports prodigious herds of antelopes, while numbers of elephants, rhinoceros, lions, hyenas, and other animals roam over it. They find support from the astonishing quantity of grass which grows in the region, as also from a species of water-melon, and from several tuberous roots, the most curious of which is the leroshua, as large as the head of a young child, and filled with a fluid like that of a turnip. Another, the mokuri, an herbaceous creeper, the tubers of which, as large as a man’s head, it deposits in a circle of a yard or more horizontally from the stem. On the water-melons especially, the elephants and other wild animals revel luxuriously.

Such was the desert Dr Livingstone and his party proposed to cross when they set out with their wagon on the 1st of June, 1849, from Kolobeng. Instead, however, of taking a direct course across it, they determined to take a more circuitous route, which, though longer, they hoped would prove safer.

Continuing on, they traversed three hundred miles of desert, when, at the end of a month, they reached the banks of the Zouga, a large river, richly fringed with fruit-bearing and other trees, many of them of gigantic growth, running north-east towards Lake Ngami. They received a cordial welcome from the peace-loving inhabitants of its banks, the Bayeiye.

Leaving the wagons in charge of the natives, with the exception of a small one which proceeded along the bank, Dr Livingstone embarked in one of their canoes. Frail as are the canoes of the natives, they make long trips in them, and manage them with great skill, often standing up and paddling with long light poles. They thus daringly attack the hippopotami in their haunts, or pursue the swift antelope which ventures to swim across the river. After voyaging on the stream for twelve days, they reached the broad expanse of Lake Ngami. Though wide, it is excessively shallow, and brackish during the rainy season. They here heard of the Tamunacle and other large rivers flowing into the lake.

Livingstone’s main object in coming was to visit Sebituane, the great chief of the Makololo, who live about two hundred miles to the northward. The chief of the district, Sechulatebe, refused, however, either to give them goods or to allow them to cross the river. Having in vain attempted to form a raft to ferry over the wagon, they were reluctantly compelled to abandon their design. The doctor had been working at the raft in the river, not aware of the number of alligators which swarmed around him, and had reason to be thankful that he escaped their jaws.

The season being far advanced, they determined to return to Kolobeng, Mr Oswell generously volunteering to go down to the Cape and bring up a boat for the next season.

Half the royal premium for the encouragement of geographical science and discoveries was awarded by the council of the Royal Geographical Society to Dr Livingstone for the discoveries he made on this journey.

Sechele, the Christian chief of the Bakwains, who was eager to assist him in reaching Sebituane, offered his services, and with him as a guide, accompanied by Mrs Livingstone and their three children, he set out, in April, 1850, taking a more easterly course than before.

They again reached the lake, but the greater number of the party being attacked by fever, he was compelled to abandon his design of visiting Sebituane.

He here heard of the death of a young artist, Mr Rider, who had shortly before visited the lake for the purpose of making sketches.

The natives inhabiting the banks of the rivers falling into Lake Ngami are famed for their skill in hunting the hippopotamus. In perfect silence they approach in their light canoes, and plunge their sharp spears, with thongs attached, into the back of one of the huge creatures, which dashes down the stream, towing the canoe at a rapid rate. Thus the animal continues its course, the hunters holding on to the rope, till its strength is exhausted, when, other canoes coming up, it is speared to death. Frequently, however, the hippopotamus turns on its assailants, bites the canoe in two, and seizes one of them in its powerful jaws. When they can manage to do so, they tow it into shallow water, and, carrying the line on shore, secure it to a tree, while they attack the infuriated animal with their spears, till, sinking exhausted with its efforts, it becomes their prey.

Mr Oswell, who had arrived too late for the journey, spent the remainder of the season in hunting elephants, liberally presenting Dr Livingstone with the proceeds of his sport, for the outfit of his children.

The third journey was commenced in the spring of 1851, when, rejoined by Mr Oswell, he set out once more, accompanied by Mrs Livingstone and their children.

First travelling north, and then to the north-east, through a region covered with baobab-trees, abounding with springs, and inhabited by Bushmen, they entered an arid and difficult country. Here, the supply of water being exhausted, great anxiety was felt for the children, who suffered greatly from thirst. At length a small stream, the Mababe, was reached, running into a marsh, across which they had to make their way. During the night they traversed a region infested by the tsetse, a fly not much larger than the common house-fly, the bite of which destroys cattle and horses. It is remarkable that neither man, wild animals, nor even calves as long as they continue to suck, suffer from the bite of this fearful pest. While some districts are infested by it, others in the immediate neighbourhood are free, and, as it does not bite at night, the only way the cattle of travellers can escape is by passing quickly through the infested district before the sun is up. Sometimes the natives lose the whole of their cattle by its attacks, and travellers frequently have been deprived of all means of moving with their wagons, in consequence of the death of their animals; some, indeed, have perished from being unable to proceed.

Having reached the Chobe, a large river, which falls into the Zambesi, leaving their attendants encamped with their cattle on an island, Dr Livingstone and his family, with Mr Oswell, embarked in a canoe on the former river, and proceeded down it about twenty miles to an island, where Sebituane was waiting to receive them.

The chief, pleased with the confidence the doctor had shown in bringing his wife and children, promised to take them to see his country, that they might chose a spot where they might form a missionary station. He had been engaged in warfare nearly all his life, under varying fortunes, with the neighbouring savage tribes, and had at length established himself in a secure position behind the Chobe and Leeambye, whose broad streams guarded him from the inroads of his enemies. He had now a larger number of subjects and was richer in cattle than any chief in that part of Africa.

The rivers and swamps, however, of the region produced fever, which had proved fatal to many of his people. He had long been anxious for intercourse with Europeans, and showed every wish to encourage those who now visited him to remain in his territory.

Unhappily, a few days after the arrival of his guests the chief was attacked with inflammation of the lungs, originating in an old wound, and, having listened to the gospel message delivered by the doctor, he in a short time breathed his last.

Dr Livingstone says that he was decidedly the best specimen of a native chief he had ever met. His followers expressed the hope that the English would be as friendly to his children as they intended to have been to himself.

The chieftainship devolved at his death on a daughter, who gave the visitors leave to travel through any part of the country they chose. They accordingly set out, and traversing a level district covered with wild date-trees, and here and there large patches of swamp, for a distance of a hundred and thirty miles to the north-east, they reached the banks of the Zambesi, in the centre of the continent.

From the prevalence of the tsetse, and the periodical rise of its numerous streams causing malaria, Dr Livingstone was compelled to abandon the intention he had formed of removing his own people thither that they might be out of the reach of their savage neighbours, the Dutch boers. It was, however, he at once saw, the key of Southern and Central Africa.

The magnificent stream, on the bank of which he now stood, flows hundreds of miles east to the Indian Ocean—a mighty artery supplying life to the teeming population of that part of Africa. He therefore determined to send his wife and children to England, and to return himself and spend two or three years in the new region he had discovered, in the hopes of evangelising the people and putting a stop to the trade in slaves, which had already been commenced even thus far from the coast.

He accordingly returned to Kolobeng, and then set out with his family a journey of a thousand miles, to Cape Town. Having seen them on board a homeward-bound ship, he again turned his face northward, June, 1852.

Having reached Kuruman, he was there detained by the breaking of a wagon-wheel. During that time the Dutch Boers attacked his friends, the Fakwains, carrying off a number of them into slavery, the only excuse the white men had being that Sechele was getting too saucy—in reality, because he would not prevent the English traders from passing through his territory to the northward. The Dutch plundered Dr Livingstone’s house, and carried off the wagons of the chief and that of a trader who was stopping in the place. Dr Livingstone therefore found great difficulty in obtaining guides and servants to proceed northward. Poor Sechele set out for Cape Town, intending, as he said, to lay his complaint before the Queen of England, but was compelled by want of funds to return to his own country, where he devoted himself to the evangelisation of his people.

Parting with the chief, Dr Livingstone, giving the Boers a wide berth, proceeded across the desert to Linyanti, the capital of the Makololo, where he had visited the Chief Sebituane in 1851. The whole population, amounting to nearly seven thousand souls, turned out to welcome him. He found that the princess had abdicated in favour of her brother Sekeletu, who received him with the greatest cordiality. The young king, then only nineteen, exclaimed: “I have now got another father instead of Sebituane.” The people shared this feeling, believing that by the residence of a missionary among them they would obtain some important benefits, though of the real character of the blessing they might receive they were totally ignorant.

A rival of the young king existed in the person of a cousin, Mpepe, who had been appointed by the late king chief over a portion of his subjects, but whose ambition made him aim at the command of the whole.

Half-caste Portuguese slave-traders had made their way to Linyanti, and one, who pretended to be an important person, was carried about in a hammock slung between two poles, which looking like a bag, the natives called him “the father of the bag.” Mpepe favoured these scoundrels, as he hoped by their means to succeed in his rebellion. The arrival of Dr Livingstone, however, somewhat damped their hopes.

As the chief object of the doctor was to select a spot for a settlement, he ascended, accompanied by Sekeletu, the great river Zambesi, which had been discovered in the year 1851.

The doctor had taught the Makololo to ride on their oxen, which they had never before done, though, having neither saddles nor bridles, they constantly fell off.

He and Sekeletu were riding along side by side, when they encountered Mpepe, who, as soon as he saw them, ran towards the chief with his axe uplifted; but Sekeletu, galloping on, escaped him. On their arrival at their camp, while the chief and the doctor were sitting together, Mpepe appeared, his men keeping hold of their arms. At that moment the rebel entered; but the doctor, unconsciously covering Sjkeletu’s body, saved him from the assassin’s blow. His cousin’s intention having been revealed to Sekeletu, that night Mpepe was dragged off from his fire and speared. So quietly was the deed done that Dr Livingstone heard nothing of it till the next morning.

Dr Livingstone was soon after this attacked by fever, when his hosts exhibited the interest they felt for him by paying him every attention in their power. His own remedies of a wet sheet and quinine were more successful than the smoke and vapour baths employed by the natives.

It is important that the position of Linyanti should be noted, as from it Dr Livingstone set out on his journey westward to Loanda, on the West Coast, and, returning to it, commenced from thence that adventurous expedition to the East Coast, which resulted in so many interesting discoveries. Its latitude is 18 degrees 17 minutes 20 seconds south; longitude 23 degrees 50 minutes 9 seconds east.

Chapter Nineteen.

Travels of Dr Livingstone, continued.

Set out—Sesheke—Makololo architecture—Village of Katonga—Paddle up the Leeambye—Mpepe—Naliele—Visit Ma-Sekeletu—A grand dance—Return to Linyanti—Expedition to the West—On the Chobe—Gonye Falls—Up the Leeanibye—Up the Leeba—The Balonda country—Manenko—Visits Shinti—Reception of Livingstone—Proceeds northerly—Visit Katema—Reach the territory of the Chiboque—Want of food—A mutiny—The banks of the Quango—Reach Kasenge—Sleeping-places on the road—Ambaca—Trombeta—Arrive at Loanda—Livingstone, with his Makololo, goes on board the “Pluto” and “Philomel”—The city of Loanda—Departure—Ascend the river Bengo to Icollo-i-Bengo—Golcongo Alto—Excursion to Kasenge—Proceed to, and arrive on, the banks of the Quango—Bashinji country—Attacked—Reach Calongo—Kanawa’s village—Past Lake Dilolo—Shuiti’s capital—On the Leeba—The Lecambye—The town of Lebouta—Proceeding, arrives at Sesheke and afterwards at Linyanti.

Having recovered from his fever, Dr Livingstone, accompanied by Sekeletu and about one hundred and sixty attendants, mostly young men, associates of the chief, set out for Sesheke. The intermediate country was perfectly flat, except patches elevated a few feet only above the surrounding level. There were also numerous mounds, the work of termites, which are literally gigantic structures, and often wild date-trees were seen growing on them.

The party looked exceedingly picturesque as, the ostrich feathers of the men waving in the air, they wound in a long line in and out among the mounds. Some wore red tunics or variously-coloured prints, and their heads were adorned with the white ends of ox tails or caps made of lions’ manes. The nobles walked with a small club of rhinoceros horn in their hands, their servants carrying their shields; while the ordinary men bore burdens, and the battle-axe men, who had their own shields on their arms, were employed as messengers, often having to run an immense distance.

The Makololo possess numerous cattle, and the chief, having to feed his followers, either selected oxen from his own stock or received them from the head men of the villages through which they passed, as tribute.

Dr Livingstone and the chief had each a little gipsy tent in which they slept, though the Makololo huts, which are kept tolerably clean, afforded them accommodation. The best sort of huts consist of three circular walls, having small holes to serve as doors, through which it is necessary to creep on all fours. The roof resembles in shape a Chinaman’s hat, and is bound together with circular bands. The framework is first formed, and it is then lifted to the top of the circle of poles prepared for supporting it. The roof is next covered with fine grass and sewed with the same material as the lashings. Women are the chief builders of huts among the Makololo.

Reaching the village of Katonga on the banks of the Leeambye, some time was spent there in collecting canoes. During this delay Dr Livingstone visited the country to the north of the village, where he saw enormous numbers of buffaloes, zebras, elans, and a beautiful small antelope called the tinyane. He was enabled, by this hunting expedition, to supply his companions with an abundance of food.

At length, a sufficient number of canoes being collected, they commenced the ascent of the river. His own canoe had six paddlers, while that of the chief had ten. They paddled standing upright, and kept stroke with great exactness. Being flat-bottomed, they can float in very shallow water. The fleet consisted altogether of thirty-three canoes and one hundred and sixty men.

The Makololo are unable to swim, and, a canoe being upset, one of the party, an old doctor, was lost, while the Barotse canoe-men easily saved themselves by swimming.

Numerous villages were seen on both banks of the river, the inhabitants of which are expert hunters of the hippopotamus, and are excellent handicraft-men. They manufacture wooden bowls with neat lids, and show much taste in carving stools. Some make neat baskets, and others excel in pottery and iron.

On their arrival at the town of the father of Mpepe, who had instigated his son to rebellion, two of his chief councillors were led forth and tossed into the river.

Mpepe had encouraged the slave-dealers to come into the country, and a large party of his supporters, the Mambari, had taken shelter in a stockade. It was proposed to attack them; but Dr Livingstone urged his friends to refrain from so doing, especially as the enemy possessed firearms. It was then agreed that they would starve them out.

“Hunger is strong enough for that,” observed a chief, “he is a very great fellow;” but here again, as the unfortunate slaves who were chained in gangs would have suffered, the doctor interceded, and they were allowed to depart.

Naliele, the capital of the Barotse, the tribe inhabiting the district in which they now were, is built on an artificially-constructed mound, as are many other villages of that region, to raise them above the overflowing of the river. From finding no trace of European names among them, Dr Livingstone was convinced that the country had not before been visited by white men; whereas, after he had come among them, great numbers of children were named after his own boy, while others were called Horse, Gun, Wagon, etcetera.

Here again numbers of large game were seen. Eighty-one buffaloes defiled in slow procession before the fire of the travellers one evening within gun-shot, and herds of splendid elans stood at two hundred yards’ distance, without showing signs of fear. Lions, too, approached and roared at them. One night, as they were sleeping on the summit of a large sandbank, a lion appeared on the opposite shore, who amused himself for hours by roaring as loudly as he could. The river was too broad for a ball to reach him, and he walked off without suffering for his impertinence. Dr Livingstone saw two as tall as common donkeys, their manes making their bodies appear of still greater size.

The doctor was visited at his camp by two Arabs, who had made their way thus far west. They professed the greatest hatred of the Portuguese because they eat pigs, and they disliked the English because they thrash them for selling slaves.

On their journey they visited the town of Ma-Sekeletu, or the mother of Sekelutu, where, as it was the first visit the king had paid to this part of his dominions, he was received with every appearance of joy. A grand dance was got up, the men standing nearly naked in a circle, with clubs or small battle-axes in their hands, roaring at the loudest pitch of their voices, while they simultaneously lifted one leg, stamped twice with it, then lifted the other and gave one stamp with that. The arms and head were thrown about in every direction, the roaring being kept up with the utmost vigour, while the dust ascended in clouds around them.

Returning down the stream at a rapid rate, they quickly reached Linyanti.

During this nine-weeks’ tour Dr Livingstone had been in closer contact with heathenism than ever before, and though, including the chief, everyone had been as attentive as possible, yet the dancing, roaring, singing, jesting, quarrelling, added to the murdering propensities of these children of nature was painful in the extreme. He took a more intense disgust of heathenism than he had ever before felt, and formed a higher opinion of the latent effects of missions in the south among tribes which were once as savage as the Makololo.

The chief and his followers, agreeing that the object of Dr Livingstone’s proposed expedition to the west was most desirable, took great pains to assist him in the undertaking. A band of twenty-seven men was appointed to accompany him by the chief’s command, whose eager desire was to obtain a free and profitable trade with the white men, and this, Dr Livingstone was convinced, was likely to lead to their ultimate elevation and improvement. Three men whom he had brought from Kuruman having suffered greatly from fever, he sent them back with Fleming, a trader, who had followed his footsteps. His new attendants he named Zambesians, for there were only two Makololo men—the rest consisting of Barotse, Batoka, and other tribes. His wagon and remaining goods he committed to the charge of the Makololo, who took all the articles into their huts. He carried only a rifle and double-barrelled smooth-bore gun for himself, and gave three muskets to his people, by means of which he hoped game might be obtained for their support. Wishing also to save his followers from having to carry loads, he took for his own support but a few biscuits and a pound of tea and sugar, about twenty of coffee, a small tin canister with some spare shirting, trousers, and shoes, another for medicines, and a third for books, while a fourth contained a magic lantern. His ammunition was distributed in portions among the whole luggage, that, should an accident occur to one, the rest might be preserved. His camp equipage consisted of a gipsy tent, a sheep-skin mantle, and a horse-rug as a bed, as he had always found that the chief art of successful travelling consisted in taking as few impediments as possible. His sextant, artificial horizon, thermometer, and compasses were carried apart.

On the 11th of November, 1853, accompanied by the chief and his principal men to see him off, he left Linyanti, and embarked on the Chobe. The chief danger in navigating this river is from the bachelor hippopotami who have been expelled their herd, and, whose tempers being soured, the canoes are frequently upset by them. One of these misanthropes chased some of his men, and ran after them on shore with considerable speed.

The banks of the river were clothed with trees, among them the ficus indica, acacias, and the evergreen motsouri, from the pink-coloured specimens of which a pleasant acid drink is obtained.

Leaving the Chobe, they entered the Leeambye, up which they proceeded at somewhat a slow rate, as they had to wait at different villages for supplies of food. Several varieties of wild fruit were presented to them.

The crews of the canoes worked admirably, being always in good humour, and, on any danger threatening, immediately leaped overboard to prevent them coming broadside to the stream, or being caught by eddies, or dashed against the rocks.

Birds, fish, iguanas, and hippopotami abounded; indeed the whole river teemed with life.

On November 30th the Gonye Falls were reached. No rain having fallen, it was excessively hot. They usually got up at dawn—about five in the morning—coffee was taken and the canoes loaded, the first two hours being the most pleasant part of the day’s sail.

The Barotse, being a tribe of boatmen, managed their canoes admirably.

At about eleven they landed to lunch. After an hour’s rest they embarked, the doctor with an umbrella overhead. Sometimes they reached a sleeping-place two hours before sunset. Coffee was again served out, with coarse bread made of maize meal, or Indian corn, unless some animal had been killed, when a potful of flesh was boiled.

The canoes were carried beyond the falls, slung on poles placed on men’s shoulders.

Here as elsewhere the doctor exhibited his magic lantern, greatly to the delight of the people.

Nothing could be more lovely than the scenery of the falls. The water rushes through a fissure and, being confined below by a space not more than a hundred yards wide, goes rolling over and over in great masses, amid which the most expert swimmer can in vain make way.

The doctor was able to put a stop to an intended fight between the inhabitants of two villages. Several volunteers offered to join him, but his followers determined to adhere to the orders of Sekeletu, and refused all other companions.

They were treated most liberally by the inhabitants of all the villages, who presented them with more oxen, milk, and meal than they could stow away. Entering the Leeambye, Dr Livingstone proceeded up that stream in his canoe, while his oxen and a portion of his men continued their journey along its banks.

The rain had fallen, and nature put on her gayest apparel: flowers of great beauty and curious forms grew everywhere, many of the forest trees having palmated leaves, the trunks being covered with lichens, while magnificent ferns were seen in all the moister situations. In the cool morning the welkin rang with the singing of birds, and the ground swarmed with insect life.

Livingstone did not fail to preach the Gospel to his attendants, as well as to the inhabitants of the villages, ever having in mind the value of human souls.

Alligators were in prodigious numbers, children and calves being constantly carried off by them. One of his men was seized, but, retaining his presence of mind when dragged to the bottom, he struck the monster with his javelin and escaped, bearing the marks of the reptile’s teeth on his thigh.

The doctor’s men had never before used firearms, and, proving bad shots, came to him for “gun medicine” to enable them to shoot better. As he was afraid of their exhausting his supply of powder, he was compelled to act as sportsman for the party.

Leaving Leeambye, he proceeded up the Leeba. Beautiful flowers and abundance of wild honey was found on its shores, and large numbers of young alligators were seen sunning themselves on the sandbanks with their parents.

They had now reached the Balonda country, and received a visit from a chieftainess, Manenko, a tall strapping woman covered with ornaments and smeared over with fat and red ochre as a protection against the weather. She invited them to visit her uncle Shinti, the chief of the country.

They set out in the midst of a heavy drizzling mist; on, however, the lady went, in the lightest marching order. The doctor enquired why she did not clothe herself during the rain; but it appeared that she did not consider it proper for a chief to appear effeminate. The men, in admiration of her pedestrian powers, every now and then remarked: “Manenko is a soldier.” Some of the people in her train carried shields composed of reeds, of a square form, five feet long and three broad. With these, and armed with broadswords and quivers full of iron-headed arrows, they looked somewhat ferocious, but are in reality not noted for their courage.

The doctor was glad when at length the chieftainess halted on the banks of a stream and preparations were made for their night’s lodging.

After detaining them several days she accompanied them on foot to Shinti’s town. The chief’s place of audience was ornamented by two graceful banyan-trees, beneath one of which he sat on a sort of throne covered with a leopard-skin. He wore a checked shirt and a kilt of scarlet baize, edged with green, numerous ornaments covering his arms and legs, while on his head was a helmet of beads, crowned with large goose feathers. At his side sat three lads with quivers full of arrows over their shoulders.

Dr Livingstone took his seat under the shade of another tree opposite to the chief, while the spokesman of the party, who had accompanied them, in a loud voice, walking backwards and forwards, gave an account of the doctor and his connection with the Makololo.

Behind the chief sat a hundred women clothed in red baize, while his wife was seated in front of him. Between the speeches the ladies burst forth into a sort of plaintive ditty. The party was entertained by a band of musicians, consisting of three drummers and four performers on the marimba, a species of piano. It consists of two bars of wood placed side by side; across these are fixed fifteen wooden keys, each two or three inches broad and about eighteen long, their thickness being regulated by the deepness of the note required. Each of the keys has a calabash below it, the upper portion of which, being cut off to hold the bars, they form hollow sounding-boards to the keys. These are also of different sizes according to the notes required. The keys are struck by small drumsticks to produce the sound. The Portuguese have imitated the marimba, and use it in their dances in Angola.

The women in this country are treated with more respect by the men than in other parts of Africa.

A party of Mambari, with two native Portuguese traders, had come up to obtain slaves, and, while Dr Livingstone was residing with Shinti, some young children were kidnapped, evidently to be sold to them.

The day before he was to recommence his journey, the doctor received a visit in his tent from Shinti, who, as a mark of his friendship, presented him with a shell on which he set the greatest value, observing: “There, now you have a proof of my affection.”

These shells, as marks of distinction, are so highly valued that for two of them a slave may be bought, and five will purchase an elephant’s tusk worth ten pounds.

The old chief had provided a guide, Intemese, to conduct them to the territory of the next chief, Katema. He also gave an abundant supply of food, and wished them a prosperous journey.

Dr Livingstone again started on the 26th of January, Shinti sending eight men to assist in carrying his luggage. He had now to quit the canoes and to proceed on ox-back, taking a northerly direction.

He and his party received the same kind treatment in the country as before, the villagers, by command of their chiefs, presenting them with an abundance of food. They found English cotton cloth more eagerly enquired after than beads and ornaments.

On arriving at a village the inhabitants lifted off the roofs of some of their huts, and brought them to the camp, to save the men the trouble of booth-making. On starting again the villagers were left to replace them at their leisure, no payment being expected.

Heavy rains now came on, and the doctor and his party were continually wet to the skin.

Polite as the people were, they were still fearful savages. Messengers arrived from the neighbouring town to announce the death of their chief, Matiamvo. That individual had been addicted to running a-muck through his capital and beheading any one he met, till he had a large heap of human heads in front of his hut. Men were also slaughtered occasionally, whenever the chief wanted part of a body to perform certain charms.

The Balonda appear to have some belief in the existence of the soul, and a greater feeling of reverence in their composition than the tribes to the eastward. Among their customs they have a remarkable one. Those who take it into their heads to become friends, cement their friendship. Taking their seats opposite one to the other, with a vessel of beer by the side of each, they clasp hands. They then make cuts on their clasped hands, the pits of their stomachs, their foreheads, and right cheeks. The point of a blade of grass is then pressed against the cuts, and afterwards each man washes it in his own pot of beer; exchanging pots, the contents are drunk, so that each man drinks the blood of the other. Thus they consider that they become blood relations and are bound in every possible way to assist each other.

These people were greatly surprised at the liberty enjoyed by the Makololo.

The travellers paid a visit to Katema, the chief of the district, who received them dressed in a snuff-brown coat, with a helmet of beads and feathers on his head, and in his hand a number of tails of gnus bound together. He also sent some of his men to accompany them on their journey.

The rains continued, and the doctor suffered much from having to sleep on the wet ground.

Having reached the latitude of Loanda, Dr Livingstone now directed his course to the westward.

On the 4th of March he reached the outskirts of the territory of the Chiboque.

As he approached the more civilised settlements, he found the habits of the people changed much for the worse: tricks of all sorts were played to detain him and obtain tribute; the guides also tried in every way to impose on him. Even his Makololo expressed their sorrow at seeing so beautiful a country ill cultivated and destitute of cattle.

He was compelled to slaughter one of his riding oxen for food, as none could be obtained.

The Chiboque coming round in great numbers, their chief demanded tribute, and one of their number made a charge at Dr Livingstone, but quickly retreated on having the muzzle of the traveller’s gun pointed at his head. The chief and his councillors, however, consenting to sit down on the ground, the Makololo, well drilled, surrounded them and thus got them completely in their power. A mutiny, too, broke out among his own people, who complained of want of food; but it was suppressed by the appearance of the doctor with a double-barrelled pistol in his hand. They never afterwards gave him any trouble.

Similar demands for payment to allow him to pass through the country were made by other chiefs, his faithful Makololo giving up their ornaments, as he had done nearly all the beads and shirts in his possession. The most extortionate of these chiefs was Ioaga Panza, whose sons, after receiving payment for acting as guides, deserted him.

All this time Dr Livingstone was suffering daily from the attacks of fever, which rendered him excessively weak, so that he could scarcely sit his ox.

The country appeared fertile and full of small villages, and the soil is so rich that little labour is required for its cultivation. It is, however, the chief district whence slaves are obtained, and a feeling of insecurity was evident amongst the inhabitants.

A demand was now made by each chief for a man, an ox, or a tusk as tribute. The first was of course refused, but nearly all the remainder of the traveller’s property had to be thus paid away.

On the 4th of April they reached the banks of the Quango, here a hundred and fifty yards wide. The chief of the district—a young man, who wore his hair curiously formed into the shape of a cone, bound round with white thread—on their refusing to pay him an extortionate demand, ordered his people not to ferry them across, and opened fire on them. At this juncture a half-caste Portuguese, a sergeant of militia, Cypriano Di Abreu arrived, and, obtaining ferrymen, they crossed over into the territory of the Bangala, who are subject to the Portuguese. They had some time before rebelled, and troops were now stationed among them, Cypriano being in command of a party of men. Next morning he provided a delicious breakfast for his guest, and fed the Makololo with pumpkins and maize, while he supplied them with farina for their journey to Kasenge, without even hinting at payment.

The natives, though they long have had intercourse with the Portuguese, are ignorant and superstitious in the extreme. Many parts of the country are low and marshy, and they suffer greatly from fever. Of the use of medicine they have no notion, their only remedies being charms and cupping. The latter operation is performed with a small horn, which has a little hole in the upper end. The broad end is placed on the flesh, when the operator sucks through the hole; as the flesh rises, he gashes it with a knife, then replaces the horn and sucks again, till finally he introduces a piece of wax into his mouth, to stop up the hole, when the horn is left to allow the blood to gush into it.

It took the travellers four days to reach Kasenge, a town inhabited by about forty Portuguese traders and their servants. Though told by the doctor that he was a Protestant minister, they treated him with the greatest kindness and hospitality.

Here the Makololo sold Sekeletu’s tusks, obtaining much better prices than they would have done from the Cape traders, forgetting, however, that their value was greatly increased by the distance they had been brought.

The Makololo here expressed their fears, from what they had heard, that they were about to be led down to the sea-coast to be sold, but when Livingstone asked them if he had ever deceived them, and that he would assure them of their safety, they agreed to accompany him.

The merchants of Kasenge treated the doctor with the most disinterested kindness, and furnished him with letters to their friends at Loanda.

He was escorted by a black corporal of militia, who was carried in a hammock by his slaves. He could both read and write, and was cleanly in all his ways; he was considerate also to his young slaves, and walked most of the way, only getting into his hammock on approaching a village, for the sake of keeping up his dignity. He, however, had the usual vices in a land of slaves, and did not fail to cheat those he was sent to protect.

Sleeping-places were erected on the road about ten miles apart, as there is a constant stream of people going to and coming from the coast.

Goods are either carried on the head or on one shoulder, in a sort of basket, supported by two poles five or six feet long. When the carrier feels tired and halts, he plants them on the ground, allowing his burden to rest against a tree, so that he has not to lift it up from the ground to the level of his head.

On arriving at a sleeping-place, the sheds were immediately taken possession of by the first comers, those arriving last having to make huts with long grass for themselves. Women might then be seen coming from their villages with baskets of manioc meal, yams, garlic, and other roots for sale.

As Dr Livingstone had supplied himself with calico at Kasenge, he was able to purchase what was necessary.

The district of Ambaca, through which he now passed, was excessively fertile. Large numbers of cattle exist on its pastures, which are well-watered by flowing streams, while lofty mountains rise in the distance. It is said to contain forty thousand souls.

The doctor was delighted with Golcongo Alto, a magnificent district—the hills bedecked with trees of various hues, the graceful oil-yielding palm towering above them.

Here the commandant, Lieutenant Castro, received him in a way which won the doctor’s affectionate regard.

He calculated that this district has a population of a hundred and four thousand.

The lieutenant regretted, as does every person of intelligence, the neglect with which this magnificent country has been treated.

As they proceeded, they passed streams with cascades, on which mills might easily be formed; but here numbers of carpenters were converting the lofty trees which grew around into planks, by splitting them with wedges.

At Trombeta the commandant had his garden ornamented with rows of trees, with pineapples and flowers growing between them. A few years ago he had purchased an estate for 16 pounds, on which he had now a coffee plantation and all sorts of fruit-trees and grape-vines, besides grain and vegetables growing, as also a cotton plantation.

As they approached the sea the Makololo gazed at it, spreading out before them, with feelings of awe, having before believed that the whole world was one extended plain. They again showed their fears that they might be kidnapped, but Dr Livingstone reassured them, telling them that as they had stood by each other hitherto, so they would do to the last.

On the 31st of May they descended a declivity leading to the city of Loanda, where Dr Livingstone was warmly welcomed by Mr Gabriel, the British commissioner for the suppression of the slave trade. Seeing him so ill, he benevolently offered the doctor his bed. “Never shall I forget,” says Dr Livingstone, “the luxurious pleasure I enjoyed in feeling myself again on a good English couch, after for six months sleeping on the ground.”

It took many days, however, before the doctor recovered from the exposure and fatigue he had endured. All that time he was watched over with the most generous sympathy by his kind host. The Portuguese Bishop of Angola, and numerous other gentlemen, called on him and tendered their services.

Her Majesty’s ship “Polyphemus” coming in, the surgeon, Mr Cockin, afforded him the medical assistance he so much required, and on the 14th of June he was sufficiently recovered to call on the bishop, attended by his Makololo followers. They had all been dressed in new robes of striped cotton cloth, and red caps, presented by Mr Gabriel.

The bishop, acting as head of the provisional government, received them in form, and gave them permission to come to Loanda and trade as often as they wished, with which they were greatly pleased.

The Makololo gazed with astonishment at all they witnessed, the large stone houses and churches especially, never before having seen a building larger than a hut. The commanders of the “Pluto” and “Philomel,” which came into the harbour, invited them on board. Knowing their fears, Dr Livingstone told them that no one need go should they entertain the least suspicion of foul play. Nearly the whole party, however, went.

Pointing to the sailors, the doctor said: “Now, these are all my countrymen, sent by our queen for the purpose of putting down the trade of those that buy and sell black men.”

They replied: “Truly they are just like you,” and all their fears vanished.

Going forward amongst the men, they were received much the same as the Makololo would have received them, the jolly tars handing them a share of the bread and beef they had for dinner. They were allowed to fire off a cannon, at which they were greatly pleased, especially when the doctor observed: “That is what they put down the slave trade with.”

This visit had a most beneficial effect, as it raised Dr Livingstone still more highly than ever in the opinion of the natives.

They were not so much struck at the high mass which they witnessed at the cathedral, observing that they had seen the white men charming their demons.

During August the doctor was again attacked by a severe fit of fever.

His men, while he was unable to attend to them, employed themselves in going into the country and cutting firewood, which they sold to the inhabitants of the town. Mr Gabriel also found them employment in unloading a collier, at sixpence a day. They continued at this work for upwards of a month, astonished at the vast amount of “stones that burn” which were taken out of her. With the money thus obtained they purchased clothing, beads, and other articles to carry home with them. In selecting calicoes they were well able to judge of the best, and chose such pieces as appeared the strongest, without reference to colour.

Saint Paul de Loanda, once a considerable city, has now fallen greatly into decay. There are, however, many large stone houses, and the palace of the governor, and the government offices, are substantial structures. Trees are planted throughout the town for the sake of shade. Though the dwellings of the native inhabitants are composed merely of wattle and daub, from the sea they present an imposing appearance.

Though at first the government lost its chief revenue from the suppression of the slave trade, it has again gradually increased by the lawful commerce now carried on by its merchants. The officers are, however, so badly paid that they are compelled to engage in mercantile pursuits, and some attempt by bribes to assist the slave-dealers.

From the kind and generous treatment Dr Livingstone received from the Portuguese, they rose deservedly high in his estimation.

He now prepared for his departure. The merchants sent a present to Sekeletu, consisting of specimens of all their articles of trade and two donkeys, that the breed might be introduced into his country, as the tsetse cannot kill those beasts of burden. The doctor was also furnished with letters of recommendation to the Portuguese authorities in Eastern Africa. The bishop likewise furnished him with twenty carriers, and sent forward orders to the commandants of the districts to the east to render him every assistance. He supplied himself with ammunition, and beads, and a stock of cloth, and he gave each of his men a musket. He had also purchased a horse for Sekeletu. His friends of the “Philomel” fitted him out also with a new tent, and, on the 20th of September, 1854, he and his party left Loanda, escorted by Mr Gabriel, who, from his unwearied attentions and liberality to his men, had become endeared to all their hearts.

Passing round by the sea, he ascended the River Bengo to Icollo-i-Bengo, once the residence of a native king. While Mr Gabriel returned to Loanda, Dr Livingstone and his party proceeded to Golcongo Alto, where he left some of his men to rest, while he took an excursion to Kasenge, celebrated for its coffee plantations. On his return he found several of them suffering from fever, while one of them had gone out of his mind, but in a short time recovered.

The doctor had the satisfaction of returning the kindness he received from Mr Canto, the commandant, by attending him during a severe attack of illness.

He had thus an opportunity of watching the workings of slavery. The moment their master was ill, the slaves ate up everything on which they could lay their hands, till the doctor himself could scarcely obtain even bread and butter. Here Sekeletu’s horse was seized with inflammation, and the poor animal afterwards died on its journey.

On the 28th of February they reached the banks of the Quango, where they were again received by Cypriano.

The coloured population of Angola are sunk in the grossest superstition. They fancy themselves completely in the power of spirits, and are constantly deprecating their wrath. A chief, named Gando, had lately been accused of witchcraft, and, being killed by the ordeal, his body was thrown into the river.

Heavy payment was demanded by the ferrymen for crossing in their wretched canoes; but the cattle and donkeys had to swim across.

Avoiding their friend with the comical head-dress, they made their way to the camp of some Ambakistas, or half-caste Portuguese, who had gone across to trade in wax. They are famed for their love of learning, and are keen traders, and, writing a peculiarly fine hand, are generally employed as clerks, sometimes being called the Jews of Angola.

The travellers were now in the country of the Bashinji, possessing the lowest negro physiognomy. At a village where they halted, they were attacked by the head man, who had been struck by one of the Makololo on their previous visit, although atonement had been made. A large body of the natives now rushed upon them as they were passing through a forest, and began firing, the bullets passing amid the trees. Dr Livingstone fortunately encountered the chief, and, presenting a six-barrelled revolver, produced an instant revolution in his martial feelings. The doctor then, ordering, him and his people to sit down, rode off.

They were now accompanied by their Portuguese friends, the Londa people, who inhabit the banks of the Loajima.

They elaborately dress their hair in a number of ways. It naturally hangs down on their shoulders in large masses, which, with their general features, give them a strong resemblance to the ancient Egyptians. Some of them twist their hair into a number of small cords, which they stretch out to a hoop encircling the head, giving it the resemblance of the glory seen in pictures round the head of the Virgin Mary. Others adorn their heads with ornaments of woven hair and hide, to which they occasionally suspend the tails of buffaloes. A third fashion is to weave the hair on pieces of hide in the form of buffalo horns, projecting on either side of the head. The young men twine their hair in the form of a single horn, projecting over their forehead in front. They frequently tattoo their bodies, producing figures in the form of stars. Although their heads are thus elaborately adorned, their bodies are almost destitute of clothing.

Reaching Calongo, Dr Livingstone directed his course towards the territory of his old friend, Katema.

They were generally well received at the villages.

On the 2nd of June they reached that of Kanawa. This chief, whose village consisted of forty or fifty huts, at first treated them very politely, but he took it into his head to demand an ox as tribute. On their refusing it, Kanawa ordered his people to arm. On this, Dr Livingstone directed his Makololo to commence the march. Some did so with alacrity, but one of them refused, and was preparing to fire at Kanawa, when the doctor, giving him a blow with his pistol, made him go too. They had already reached the banks of the river when they found that Kanawa had sent on ahead to carry off all the canoes. The ferrymen, supposing that the travellers were unable to navigate the canoes, left them, unprotected, on the bank. As soon as it was dark, therefore, the Makololo quickly obtained one of them, and the whole party crossed, greatly to the disgust of Kanawa when he discovered in the morning what had occurred.

They now took their way across the level plain, which had been flooded on their former journey. Numberless vultures were flying in the air, showing the quantity of carrion which had been left by the waters.

They passed Lake Dilolo, a sheet of water six or eight miles long and two broad.

The sight of the blue waters had a soothing effect on the doctor, who was suffering from fever, after his journey through the gloomy forest and across the wide flat.

Pitsane and Mohorisi, Livingstone’s chief men, had proposed establishing a Makololo village on the banks of the Leeba, near its confluence with the Leeambye, that it might become a market to communicate westward with Loanda, and eastward with the regions along the banks of the Zambesi.

Old Shinti, whose capital they now reached, received them as before in a friendly way, and supplied them abundantly with provisions.

The doctor left with him a number of plants, among which were orange, cashew, custard, apple, and fig-trees, with coffee, acacias, and papaws, which he had brought from Loanda. They were planted out in the enclosure of one of his principal men, with a promise that Shinti should have a share of them when grown.

They now again embarked in six small canoes on the waters of the Leeba. Paddling down it, they next entered the Leeambye. Here they found a party of hunters, who had been engaged in stalking buffaloes, hippopotami, and other animals. They use for this purpose the skin of a deer, with the horns attached, or else the head and upper part of the body of a crane, with which they creep through the grass till they can get near enough to shoot their prey.

The doctor, wishing to obtain some meat for his men, took a small canoe and paddled up a creek towards a herd of zebras seen on the shore. Firing, he broke the hind leg of one of them. His men pursued it, and, as he walked slowly after them, he observed a solitary buffalo, which had been disturbed by others of his party, galloping towards him. The only tree was a hundred yards off. The doctor cocked his rifle in the hope of striking the brute on the forehead. The thought occurred to him, but what should his gun miss fire? The animal came on at a tremendous speed, but a small bush a short distance off made it swerve and expose its shoulder. The doctor fired, and as he heard the ball crack, he fell flat on his face. The buffalo bounded past him towards the water, near which it was found dead. His Makololo blamed themselves for not having been by his side, while he returned thanks to God for his preservation.

On reaching the town of Lebouta, they were welcomed with the warmest demonstrations of joy, the women coming out, dancing and singing. Thence they were conducted to the kotlar, or house of assembly, where Pitsane delivered a long speech, describing the journey and the kind way in which they had been received at Loanda, especially by the English chief.

Next day Dr Livingstone held a service, when his Makololo braves, arrayed in their red caps and white suits of European clothing, attended, sitting with their guns over their shoulders.

As they proceeded down the Barotse Valley, they were received in the same cordial manner.

The doctor was astonished at the prodigious quantities of wild animals of all descriptions which he saw on this journey, and also when traversing the country further to the east—elephants, buffaloes, giraffes, zebras, antelopes, and pigs. Frequently the beautiful springbok appeared, covering the plain, sometimes in sprinklings and at other times in dense crowds, as far as the eye could reach.

The troops of elephants also far exceeded in numbers anything which he had ever before heard of or conceived. He and his men had often to shout to them to get out of their way, and on more than one occasion a herd rushed in upon the travellers, who not without difficulty made their escape. A number of young elephants were shot for food, their flesh being highly esteemed. To the natives the huge beasts are a great plague, as they break into their gardens and eat up their pumpkins and other produce; when disturbed they are apt to charge those interrupting their feast, and, following them, to demolish the huts in which they may have taken refuge, not unfrequently killing them in their rage.

Resting at Sesheke, they proceeded to Linyanti, where the wagon and everything that had been left in it in November, 1853, was found perfectly safe.

A grand meeting was called, when the doctor made a report of his journey and distributed the articles which had been sent by the governor and merchants of Loanda. Pitsane and others then gave an account of what they had seen, and, as may be supposed, nothing was lost in the description. The presents afforded immense satisfaction, and on Sunday Sekeletu made his appearance in church dressed in the uniform which had been brought down for him, and which attracted every man’s attention.

The Arab, Ben Habed, and Sekeletu arranged with him to conduct another party with a load of ivory down to Loanda; they also consulted him as to the proper presents to send to the governor and merchants. The Makololo generally expressed great satisfaction at the route which had been opened up, and proposed moving to the Barotse Valley, that they might be nearer the great market. The unhealthiness of the climate, however, was justly considered a great drawback to the scheme.

The doctor afterwards heard that the trading party which set out reached Loanda in safety, and it must have been a great satisfaction to him to feel that he had thus opened out a way to the enterprise of these industrious and intelligent people.

The donkeys which had been brought excited much admiration, and, as they were not affected by the bite of the tsetse, it was hoped that they might prove of great use. Their music, however, startled the inhabitants more than the roar of lions.

Chapter Twenty.

Travels of Dr Livingstone, continued.

Prepares for a journey to the East Coast—Leaves Linyanti—A storm—The Victoria and Mozioatunya Falls—From Kalai sets off for Lekone—Cross the Kafue—The Zambesi—Down its banks—Reach the confluence of the Loangwa—Mburuma’s Plot—Zumbo, a ruined Portuguese settlement—A curious reception—Arrival at Tete—A good breakfast—Tete described—Down the Quillimane—Embarks with Sekwebu on board the “Frolic”—Arrives at Mauritius—Sekwebu drowns himself—Livingstone arrives in England.

Dr Livingstone now began to make arrangements for performing another adventurous journey to the East Coast. In the mean time he was fully occupied in attending to the sick, as also in preaching the Gospel to the people generally.

He was advised to wait till the rains had fallen and cooled the ground; and as it was near the end of September, and clouds were collecting, it was expected that they would soon commence. The heat was very great: the thermometer, even in the shade of his wagon, was at 100 degrees, and, if unprotected, rose to 110 degrees; during the night it sank to 70 degrees.

His notes made during the time abound with descriptions of the habits and customs of the people. The children strongly resemble in many respects those of other nations. “They have merry times, especially in the cool of the evening. One of their games consists of a little girl being carried on the shoulders of two others. She sits with outstretched arms as they walk about with her, and all the rest clap their hands and, stopping before each hut, sing pretty airs, some beating time on their little skirts of cow-skin, and others making a curious humming sound between the songs. Excepting this and the skipping-rope, the play of the girls consists in imitating the serious work of their mothers—building little huts, making small pots and cooking, pounding corn in miniature mortars, or hoeing tiny gardens. The boys play with small spears and shields, or bows and arrows, or make little cattle-pens and cattle in clay, often showing much ingenuity in their imitations of the animals, especially of their horns.” However, we must accompany Dr Livingstone on his journey. Among other routes which were proposed, he selected that by the north bank of the Zambesi. He would, however, thus have to pass through territories in the possession of the Matabele, who, under the powerful Chief Mozelekatse, had driven away the Makololo, its original possessors.

Notwithstanding this he had no fears for himself, as that chief looked upon Mr Moffat, his father-in-law, as his especial friend. A considerable district, also, of the country was still inhabited by the Makololo, and by them he was sure to be kindly treated. The Makololo, it must be understood, are a mixed race, composed of tribes of Bechuanas who formerly inhabited the country bordering the Kalahara Desert. Their language, the Bechuana, is spoken by the upper classes of the Makololo, and into this tongue, by the persevering labours of Mr Moffat, nearly the whole of the scriptures have been translated. Thus means already existed of making known the Gospel among them. The bulk of the people are negroes, and are an especially fine, athletic, and skilful race.

As soon as Dr Livingstone announced his intention of proceeding to the east, numerous volunteers came forward to accompany him. From among them he selected a hundred and fourteen trustworthy men, and Sekeletu appointed two, Sekwebu and Kanyata, as leaders of the company. Sekwebu had been captured, when a child, from the Matabele, and his tribe now inhabited the country near Tete; he had frequently travelled along the banks of the Zambesi, and spoke the various dialects of the people residing on them, and was, moreover, a man of sound judgment and prudence, and rendered great service to the expedition.

On the 3rd of November Dr Livingstone, bidding farewell to his friends at Linyanti, set out, accompanied by Sekeletu and two hundred followers. On reaching a patch of country infested by the tsetse it became necessary to travel at night. A fearful storm broke forth, sometimes the lightning, spreading over the sky, forming eight or ten branches like those of a gigantic tree. At times the light was so great that the whole country could be distinctly seen, and in the intervals between the flashes it was as densely dark. The horses trembled, turning round to search for each other, while the thunder crashed with tremendous roars, louder than is heard in other regions, the rain pelting down, making the party feel miserably cold after the heat of the day. At length a fire, left by some previous travellers, appeared in the distance. The doctor’s baggage having gone on before, he had to lie down on the cold ground, when Sekeletu kindly covered him with his own blanket, remaining without shelter himself. Before parting at Sesheke, the generous chief supplied the doctor with twelve oxen, three accustomed to be ridden on, hoes and beads to purchase a canoe, an abundance of fresh butter and honey; and, indeed, he did everything in his power to assist him in his journey.

Bidding farewell to Sekeletu, the doctor and his attendants sailed down the river to its confluence with the Chobe. Having reached this spot, he prepared to strike across the country to the north-east, in order to reach the northern bank of the Zambesi. Before doing so, however, he determined to visit the Victoria or Mozioatunya Falls, of which he had often heard. The meaning of the word is: “Smoke does sound there,” in reference to the vapour and noise produced by the falls. After twenty minutes’ sail from Kalai they came in sight of five columns of vapour, appropriately called “smoke,” rising at a distance of five or six miles off, and bending as they ascended before the wind, the tops appearing to mingle with the clouds. The scene was extremely beautiful. The banks and the islands which appeared here and there amid the stream, were richly adorned with trees and shrubs of various colours, many being in full blossom. High above all rose an enormous baobab-tree surrounded by groups of graceful palms.

As the water was now low, they proceeded in the canoe to an island in the centre of the river, the further end of which extended to the edge of the falls. At the spot where they landed it was impossible to discover where the vast body of water disappeared. It seemed, indeed, suddenly to sink into the earth, for the opposite lip of the fissure into which it descends was only eighty feet distant. On peering over the precipice the doctor saw the stream, a thousand yards broad, leaping down a hundred feet and then becoming suddenly compressed into a space of fifteen or twenty yards, when, instead of flowing as before, it turned directly to the right, and went boiling and rushing amid the hills.

The vapour which rushes up from this cauldron to the height of two or three hundred feet, being condensed, changes its hue to that of dark smoke, and then comes down in a constant shower. The chief portion falls on the opposite side of the fissure, where grow a number of evergreen trees, their leaves always wet. The walls of this gigantic crack are perpendicular. Altogether, Dr Livingstone considered these falls the most wonderful sight he had beheld in Africa.

Returning to Kalai the doctor and his party met Sekeletu, and, bidding him a final farewell, set off northwards to Lekone, through a beautiful country, on the 20th of November. The further they advanced the more the country swarmed with inhabitants, and great numbers came to see the white man, invariably bringing presents of maize.

The natives of this region have a curious way of saluting a stranger. Instead of bowing they throw themselves on their backs on the ground, rolling from side to side and slapping the outsides of their thighs, while they utter the words “Kina bomba! kina bomba!” In vain the doctor implored them to stop. They, imagining him pleased, only tumbled about more fiercely and slapped their thighs with greater vehemence.

These villagers supplied the party abundantly with ground nuts, maize, and corn.

When the doctor addressed them and told them of Jesus as their Saviour—how He had come on earth to bring peace and goodwill to men—they replied: “We are tired of flight. Give us rest and sleep,”—though, of course, they could not understand the full import of the message.

These people appeared humbled by the scourgings they had received from their enemies, and seemed to be in a favourable state for the reception of the Gospel.

Their chief, Monze, came one Sunday morning, wrapped in a large cloth, when, like his followers, he rolled himself about in the dust, screaming out “Kina bomba!” He had never before seen a white man, but had met with black native traders, who came, he said, for ivory, but not for slaves. His wife would have been good-looking, had she not followed the custom of her country by knocking out her teeth. Monze soon made himself at home, and presented the travellers with as much food as they required.

As they advanced, the country became still more beautiful, abounding with large game. Often buffaloes were seen standing on eminences. One day, a buffalo was found lying down, and the doctor went to secure it for food. Though the animal received three balls they did not prove fatal, and it turned round as if to charge. The doctor and his companions ran for shelter to some rocks, but, before they gained them, they found that three elephants had cut off their retreat. The enormous brutes, however, turned off, and allowed them to gain the rocks. As the buffalo was moving rapidly away the doctor tried a long shot, and, to the satisfaction of his followers, broke the animal’s fore leg. The young men soon brought it to a stand, and another shot in its brain settled it. They had thus an abundance of food, which was shared by the villagers of the neighbourhood. Soon afterwards an elephant was killed by his men.

Leaving the Elephant Valley, they reached the residence of a chief named Semalembue, who, soon after their arrival, paid them a visit, and presented five or six baskets of meal and maize, and one of ground nuts, saying that he feared his guest would sleep the first night at his village hungry. The chief professed great joy at hearing the words of the Gospel of Peace, replying: “Now I shall cultivate largely, in the hopes of eating and sleeping in quiet.”

It is remarkable that all to whom the doctor spoke, eagerly caught up the idea of living in peace as the probable effect of the Gospel.

This region Sekwebu considered one of the best adapted for the residence of a large tribe. It was here that Sebituane formerly dwelt.

They now crossed the Kafue by a ford. Every available spot between the river and hills was under cultivation. The inhabitants select these positions to secure themselves and their gardens from their human enemies. They are also obliged to make pit-holes to protect their grounds from the hippopotami. These animals, not having been disturbed, were unusually tame, and took no notice of the travellers. A number of young ones were seen, not much larger than terrier dogs, sitting on the necks of their dams, the little saucy-looking heads cocked up between the old one’s ears; when older, they sit more on the mother’s back.

Meat being required, a full-grown cow was shot, the flesh of which resembled pork.

The party now directed their course to the Zambesi near its confluence with the Kafue. They enjoyed a magnificent view from the top of the outer range of hills. A short distance below them was the Kafue, winding its way over a forest-clad plain, while on the other side of the Zambesi lay a long range of dark hills. The plain below abounded in large game. Hundreds of buffalo and zebras grazed on the open spaces, and there stood feeding two majestic elephants, each slowly moving its proboscis. On passing amidst them the animals showed their tameness by standing beneath the trees, fanning themselves with their large ears. A number also of red-coloured pigs were seen. The people in the neighbourhood having no guns, they are never disturbed.

A night was spent in a huge baobab-tree, which would hold twenty men inside.

As they moved on, a herd of buffaloes came strutting up to look at their oxen, and only by shooting one could they be made to retreat. Shortly afterwards a female elephant, with three young ones, charged through, the centre of their extended line, when the men, throwing down their burdens, retreated in a great hurry, she receiving a spear for her temerity.

They were made aware of their approach to the great river by the vast number of waterfalls which appeared. It was found to be much broader than above the falls: a person might indeed attempt in vain to make his voice heard across it. An immense amount of animal life was seen both around and in it.

Pursuing their course down the left bank, they came opposite the island of Menyemakaba, which is about two miles long and a quarter broad. Besides its human population it supports a herd of upwards of sixty buffalo. The comparatively small space to which the animals have confined themselves shows the luxuriance of the vegetation. The only time that the natives can attack them is when the river is full and part is flooded: they then assail them from their canoes.

The inhabitants of the north side of the Zambesi are the Batonga; those on the south bank the Banyai.

Both buffalo and elephants are numerous. To kill them the natives form stages on high trees overhanging the paths by which they come to the water. From thence they dart down their spears, the blades of which are twenty inches long by two broad, when the motion of the handle, aided by knocking against the trees, makes fearful gashes which soon cause death. They form also a species of trap. A spear inserted in a beam of wood is suspended from the branch of a tree, to which a cord is attached with a latch. The cord being led along the path when struck by the animal’s foot, the beam falls, and, the spear being poisoned, death shortly ensues.

At each village they passed, two men were supplied to conduct them to the next, and lead them through the parts least covered with jungle.

The villagers were busily employed in their gardens. Most of the men have muscular figures. Their colour varies from a dark to a light olive. The women have the extraordinary custom of piercing the upper lip, and gradually enlarging the orifice till a shell can be inserted. The lip appears drawn out beyond the nose, and gives them a very ugly appearance. As Sekwebu remarked: “These women want to make their mouths like those of ducks.” The commonest of these rings are made of bamboo, but others are of ivory or metal. When the wearer tries to smile, the contraction of the muscles turns the ring upwards, so that its upper edge comes in front of the eyes, the nose appearing through the middle, while the whole front teeth are exposed by the motion, exhibiting the way in which they have been clipped to resemble the fangs of a cat or a crocodile.

On their next halt Seole, the chief of the village, instead of receiving them in a friendly way, summoned his followers and prepared for an attack. The reason was soon discovered. It appeared that an Italian, who had married the chief’s daughter, having armed a party of fifty slaves with guns, had ascended the river in a canoe from Tete, and attacked several inhabited islands beyond Makaba, taking large numbers of prisoners and much ivory. As he descended again with his booty, his party was dispersed and he himself was killed while attempting to escape on foot. Seole imagined that the doctor was another Italian.

This was the first symptom of the abominable slave trade they met with on the east side of the continent. Had not the chief with whom they had previously stayed arrived to explain matters, Seole might have given them much trouble.

Mburuma, another chief of the same tribe, had laid a plan to plunder the party by separating them, but the doctor, suspecting treachery, kept his people together. They had on a previous occasion plundered a party of traders bringing English goods from Mozambique.

On the 14th of January they reached the confluence of the Loangwa and the Zambesi.

Here the doctor discovered the ruins of a town, with the remains of a church in its midst. The situation was well chosen, with lofty hills in the rear and a view of the two rivers in front. On one side of the church lay a broken bell, with the letters IHS and a cross. This he found was a Portuguese settlement called Zumbo. The conduct of Mburuma and his people gave Dr Livingstone much anxiety, as he could not help dreading that they might attack him the next morning. His chief regret was that his efforts for the welfare of the teeming population in that great region would thus be frustrated by savages, of whom it might be said: “They know not what they do.”

He felt especially anxious that the elevated and healthy district which he had now discovered, stretching towards Tete, should become known. It was such a region as he had been long in quest of as a centre from which missionary enterprise might be carried into the surrounding country.

While the party were proceeding along the banks of the river, passing through a dense bush, three buffaloes broke through their line. The doctor’s ox galloped off, and, as he turned back, he saw one of his men tossed several feet in the air. On returning, to his satisfaction he found that the poor fellow had alighted on his face, and, although he had been carried twenty yards on the animal’s horns, he had in no way suffered. On the creature’s approaching him he had thrown down his load and stabbed it in the side, when it caught him and carried him off before he could escape.

Soon after this they had evidence that they were approaching the Portuguese settlements, by meeting a person with a jacket and hat on. From this person, who was quite black, they learned that the Portuguese settlement of Tete was on the other bank of the river, and that the inhabitants had been engaged in war with the natives for some time past.

This was disagreeable news, as Livingstone wished to be at peace with both parties.

As they approached the village of Mpende, that chief sent out his people to enquire who the travellers were. The natives, on drawing near, uttered strange cries and waved some bright red substance towards them. Having lighted a fire, they threw some charms into it and hastened away, uttering frightful screams, believing that they should thus frighten the strangers and render them powerless. The Makololo, however, laughed at their threats, but the doctor, fully believing that a skirmish would take place, ordered an ox to be killed to feast his men, following the plan Sebituane employed for giving his followers courage.

At last two old men made their appearance and enquired if the doctor was a Bazunga, or Portuguese. On showing his hair and white skin, they replied: “Ah, you must be one of the tribe that loves black men.”

Finally the chief himself appeared, and expressed his regret that he had not known sooner who they were, ultimately enabling them to cross the river.

After this they were detained for some time by the rains on the south bank.

In conversation with the people they exhibited the greatest hatred of the slave-traders.

Meeting with native traders, the doctor purchased some American calico in order to clothe his men. It was marked “Lawrence Mills, Lowell,” with two small tusks, an interesting fact.

Game laws existed even in this region. His party having killed an elephant, he had to send back a considerable distance to give information to the person in charge of the district, the owner himself living near the Zambesi. Their messenger returned with a basket of corn, a fowl, and a few strings of beads, a thank-offering to them for having killed it. The tusk of the side on which the elephant fell belonged to the owner, while the upper was the prize of the sportsman. Had they begun to cut up the animal before receiving permission they would have lost the whole. The men feasted on their half of the carcass, and for two nights an immense number of hyaenas collected round, uttering their loud laughter.

The people inhabiting the country on this side of the Zambesi are known as the Banyai. Their favourite weapon is a huge axe, which is carried over the shoulder. It is used chiefly for ham-stringing the elephant, in the same way as the Hamran Arab uses his sword. The Banyai, however, steals on the animal unawares, while the Hamran hunter attacks it when it is rushing in chase of one of his comrades, who gallops on ahead on a well-trained steed.

Those curious birds, the “honey guides,” were very attentive to them, and, by their means, the Makololo obtained an abundance of honey. Of the wax, however, in those districts no use appears to be made.

Though approaching the Portuguese settlement, abundance of game was still found. The Makololo killed six buffalo calves from among a herd which was met with.

They were warned by the natives that they ran a great risk of being attacked by lions when wandering on either side of the line of march in search of honey. One of the doctor’s head men, indeed, Monahin, having been suddenly seized with a fit of insanity during the night, left the camp, and, as he never returned, it was too probable that he had been carried off by a lion.

It was not till the 2nd of March that the neighbourhood of Tete was reached. Livingstone was then so prostrated that, though only eight miles from it, he could proceed no further. He forwarded, however, the letters of recommendation he received in Angola to the commandant. The following morning a company of soldiers with an officer arrived, bringing the materials for a civilised breakfast, and a litter in which to carry him. He felt so greatly revived by the breakfast, that he was able to walk the whole way.

He was received in the kindest way by Major Sicard, the commandant of Tete, who provided also lodging and provision for his men.

Tete is a mere village, built on a slope reaching to the water, close to which the fort is situated. There are about thirty European houses; the rest of the buildings, inhabited by the natives, are of wattle and daub.

Formerly, besides gold-dust and ivory, large quantities of grain, coffee, sugar, oil, and indigo were exported from Tete, but, on the establishment of the slave trade, the merchants found a more speedy way of becoming rich, by selling off their slaves, and the plantations and gold washings were abandoned, the labourers having been exported to the Brazils. Many of the white men then followed their slaves. After this, a native of Goa, Nyaude by name, built a stockade at the confluence of the Luenya and Zambesi, took the commandant of Tete, who attacked him, prisoner, and sent his son Bonga with a force against that town and burned it. Others followed his example, till commerce, before rendered stagnant by the slave trade, was totally obstructed.

On the north shore of the Zambesi several fine seams of coal exist, which Dr Livingstone examined. The natives only collect gold from the neighbourhood whenever they wish to purchase calico. On finding a piece or flake of gold, however, they bury it again, believing that it is the seed of the gold, and, though knowing its value, prefer losing it rather than, as they suppose, the whole future crop.

Dr Livingstone found it necessary to leave most of his men here, and Major Sicard liberally gave them a portion of land that they might cultivate it, supplying them in the mean time with corn. He also allowed the young men to go out and hunt elephants with his servants, that they might purchase goods with the ivory and dry meat, in order that they might take them back with them on returning to their own homes. He also supplied them with cloth. Sixty or seventy at once accepted his offer, delighted with the thoughts of engaging in so profitable an enterprise. He also supplied the doctor with an outfit, refusing to take the payment which was offered.

The forests in the neighbourhood abound with elephants, and the natives attack them in the boldest manner. Only two hunters sally forth together—one carrying spears, the other an axe of a peculiar shape, with a long handle. As soon as an elephant is discovered, the man with the spears creeps among the bushes in front of it, so as to attract its attention, during which time the axe-man cautiously approaches from behind, and, with a sweep of his formidable weapon, severs the tendon of the animal’s hock. The huge creature, now unable to move in spite of its strength and sagacity, falls an easy prey to the two hunters.

Among other valuable productions of the country is found a tree allied to the cinchona. The Portuguese believe that it has the same virtues as quinine.

As soon as the doctor had recovered his strength he prepared to proceed down the river to Kilimane, or Quillimane, with sixteen of his faithful Makololo as a crew. Many of the rest were out elephant hunting, while others had established a brisk trade in firewood.

Major Sicard lent him a boat, and sent Lieutenant Miranda to escort him to the coast.

On their way they touched at the stockade of the rebel, Bonga, whose son-in-law, Manoel, received them in a friendly way.

They next touched at Senna, which was found in a wretchedly ruinous condition. Here some of the Makololo accepted employment from Lieutenant Miranda to return to Tete with a load of goods. Eight accompanied the doctor, at their earnest request, to Quillimane.

He reached that village on the 20th of May, 1856, when it wanted but a few days of being four years since he started from Cape Town. He was hospitably received by Colonel Nunes. A severe famine had existed among the neighbouring population, and food was very scarce. He therefore advised his men to go back to Tete as soon as possible, and await his return from England. They still earnestly wished to accompany him, as Sekeletu had advised them not to part with him till they had reached Ma-Robert, as they called Mrs Livingstone, and brought her back with them.

With the smaller tusks he had in his possession he purchased calico and brass-wire, which he sent back to Tete for his followers, depositing the remaining twenty tusks with Colonel Nunes, in order that, should he be prevented from revisiting the country, it might not be supposed that he had made away with Sekeletu’s ivory. He requested Colonel Nunes, in case of his death, to sell the tusks and deliver the proceeds to his men, intending to purchase the goods ordered by Sekeletu in England with his own money, and, on his return, repay himself out of the price of the ivory.

He consented, somewhat unwillingly, to take Sekwebu with him to England.

After waiting about six weeks at Quillimane, HM brig “Frolic” arrived, on board which he embarked. A fearful sea broke over the bar, and the brig was rolling so much that there was great difficulty in reaching her deck. Poor Sekwebu looked at his friend, asking: “Is this the way you go?” The doctor tried to encourage him; but, though well acquainted with canoes, he had never seen anything like it.

Having been three and a half years, with the exception of a short interval in Angola, without speaking English, and for thirteen but partially using it, the doctor found the greatest difficulty in expressing himself on board the “Frolic.”

The brig sailed on the 12th of July for the Mauritius, which was reached on the 12th of August. Poor Sekwebu had become a favourite both with men and officers, and was gaining some knowledge of English, though all he saw had apparently affected his mind. The sight of a steamer, which came out to tow the brig into the harbour, so affected him that during the night he became insane and threatened to throw himself into the water. By gentle treatment he became calmer, and Dr Livingstone tried to get him on shore, but he refused to go. In the evening his malady returned; and, after attempting to spear one of the crew, he leaped overboard and, pulling himself down by the chain cable, disappeared. The body of poor Sekwebu was never found.

After remaining some time at the Mauritius, till he had recovered from the effects of the African fever, our enterprising traveller sailed by way of the Red Sea for old England, which he reached on the 12th of December, 1856.

Dr Livingstone, in the series of journeys which have been described, had already accomplished more than any previous traveller in Africa, besides having gained information of the greatest value as regards both missionary and mercantile enterprise. He had as yet, however, performed only a small portion of the great work his untiring zeal and energy have prompted him to undertake.

Chapter Twenty One.

Dr Livingstone’s second expedition to Africa, to explore the Zambesi.

Leaves England—Arrives at the East Coast—Up the Luawe—The little “Ma-Robert”—War—Commence the voyage for Tete—Senna—Arrives at Tete—The Kebrabasa Falls—Returns to Tete—Up the Shire, and return—The second trip up the Shire—Sets out for Lake Shirwa—Returns to Tete—Set out for Lake Nyassa—Treachery—Arrive at the Lake—Returns to the Kongone—Journey westward—A pondoro—Superstition—Passing Kebrabasa, arrive in Mpende’s territory—Reaches Moachemba—Sets out for Victoria Falls—Tuba, the smasher of canoes—Leave Sesheke—More Superstition—Reach Zunibo—Down the Kebrabasa Rapids—Canoes upset—Arrive at Tete—The chameleon.

After spending rather more than a year in England, Dr Livingstone again set out, on the 10th of March, 1858, on board HMS “Pearl,” at the head of a government expedition for the purpose of exploring the Zambesi and the neighbouring regions. He was accompanied by Dr Kirk, his brother Charles Livingstone, and Mr Thornton; and Mr T. Baines was appointed artist to the expedition.

A small steamer, which was called the “Ma-Robert,” in compliment to Mrs Livingstone, was provided by the government for the navigation of the river.

The East Coast was reached in May.

Running up the river Luawe, supposed to be a branch of the Zambesi, the “Pearl” came to an anchor, and the “Ma-Robert,” which had been brought out in sections, was screwed together. The two vessels then went together in search of the real mouth of the river, from which Quillimane is some sixty miles distant, the Portuguese having concealed the real entrance, if they were acquainted with it, in order to deceive the English cruisers in search of slavers.

The goods for the expedition brought out by the “Pearl” having been landed on a grassy island about forty miles from the bar, that vessel sailed for Ceylon, while the little “Ma-Robert” was left to pursue her course alone. Her crew consisted of about a dozen Krumen and a few Europeans.

At Mazaro, the mouth of a creek communicating with the Quillimane or Kilimane River, the expedition heard that the Portuguese were at war with a half-caste named Mariano, a brother of Bonga, who had built a stockade near the mouth of the Shire, and held possession of all the intermediate country. He had been in the habit of sending out his armed bands on slave-hunting expeditions among the helpless tribes to the north-west, selling his victims at Quillimane, where they were shipped as free emigrants to the French island of Bourbon. As long as his robberies and murders were restricted to the natives at a distance, the Portuguese did not interfere, but when he began to carry off and murder the people near them, they thought it time to put a stop to his proceedings. They spoke of him as a rare monster of inhumanity. He frequently killed people with his own hand in order to make his name dreaded. Having gone down to Quillimane to arrange with the governor, or, in other words, to bribe him, Colonel Da Silva put him in prison and sent him for trial to Mozambique. The war, however, was continued under his brother Bonga, and had stopped all trade on the river.

The expedition witnessed a battle at Mazaro, between Bonga and the Portuguese, when Dr Livingstone, landing, found himself in the sickening smell and among the mutilated bodies of the slain. He brought off the governor, who was in a fever, the balls whistling about his head in all directions. The Portuguese then escaped to an island opposite Shupanga, where, having exhausted their ammunition, they were compelled to remain.

There is a one-storied house at Shupanga, from which there is a magnificent view down the river. Near it is a large baobab-tree, beneath which, a few years later, the remains of the beloved wife of Dr Livingstone were to repose.

On the 17th of August the “Ma-Robert” commenced her voyage up the stream for Tete. It was soon found that her furnaces being badly constructed, and that from other causes she was ill adapted for the work before her. She quickly, in consequence, obtained the name of the “Asthmatical.”

Senna, which was visited on the way, being situated on low ground, is a fever-giving place. The steamer, of course, caused great astonishment to the people, who assembled in crowds to witness her movements, whirling round their arms to show the way the paddles revolved.

Tete was reached on the 8th of September. No sooner did Dr Livingstone go on shore, than his Makololo rushed down to the water’s edge, and manifested the greatest joy at seeing him. Six of the young men had foolishly gone off to make money by dancing before some of the neighbouring chiefs, when they fell into the hands of Bonga, who, declaring that they had brought witchcraft medicine to kill him, put them all to death.

The Portuguese at this place keep numerous slaves, whom they treat with tolerable humanity. When they can they purchase the whole of a family, thus taking away the chief inducement for running off.

The expedition having heard of the Kebrabasa Falls, steamed up the river, and on the 24th of November reached Panda Mokua, where the navigation ends, about two miles below them. Hence the party started overland, by a frightfully rough path among rocky hills, where no shade was to be found. At last their guides declared that they could go no further; indeed, the surface of the ground was so hot that the soles of the Makololos’ feet became blistered. The travellers, however, pushed on. Passing round a steep promontory, they beheld the river at their feet, the channel jammed in between two mountains with perpendicular sides, and less than fifty yards wide. There is a sloping fall of about twenty feet in height, and another at a distance of thirty yards above it. When, however, the river rises upwards of eighty feet perpendicularly, as it does in the rainy season, the cataract might be passed in boats.

After returning to Tete, the steamer went up the Shire, January, 1859. The natives, as they passed them, collected at their villages in large numbers, armed with bows and poisoned arrows, threatening to attack them. Dr Livingstone, however, went on shore, and explained to the chief, Tingane, that they had come neither to take slaves nor to fight, but wished to open up a path by which his countrymen could ascend to purchase their cotton. On this Tingane at once became friendly.

Their progress was arrested, after steaming up a hundred miles in a straight line, although, counting the windings of the river, double that distance, by magnificent cataracts known to the natives as those of the Mamvira, but called by the expedition the Murchison Falls.

Rain prevented them making observations, and they returned at a rapid rate down the river.

A second trip up it was made in March of the same year. They here gained the friendship of Chibisa, a shrewd and intelligent chief, whose village was about ten miles below the cataracts. He told the doctor that a few years before his little daughter had been kidnapped, and was now a slave to the padre at Tete, asking him, if possible, to ransom the child.

From hence Dr Livingstone and Dr Kirk proceeded on foot in a northerly direction to Lake Shirwa. The natives turned out from their villages, sounding notes of defiance on their drums; but the efforts to persuade them that their visitors came as friends were successful, and the lake was discovered on the 18th of April.

From having no outlet, the water is brackish, with hilly islands rising out of it. The country around appeared very beautiful and clothed with rich vegetation, with lofty mountains eight thousand feet high near the eastern shore.

On their return they found Quartermaster Walker, who had charge of the steamer, dangerously ill, though he ultimately recovered.

They returned to Tete on the 23rd of June, and thence, after the steamer had been repaired, proceeded to the Kongone, where they received provisions from HMS “Persian,” which also took on board their Krumen, as they were found useless for land journeys. In their stead a crew was picked out from the Makololo, who soon learned to work the ship, and who, besides being good travellers, could cut wood and required only native food.

Frequent showers fell on their return voyage up the Zambesi, and, the vessel being leaky, the cabin was constantly flooded, both from above and below.

They were visited on their way up by Paul, a relative of the rebel Mariano, who had just returned from Mozambique. He told them that the Portuguese knew nothing of the Kongone before they had discovered it, always supposing that the Zambesi entered the sea at Quillimane.

A second trip up the Shire was performed in the middle of August, when the two doctors set out in search of Lake Nyassa, about which they had heard.

The river, though narrow, is deeper than the Zambesi, and more easily navigated.

Marks of large game were seen, and one of the Makololo, who had gone on shore to cut wood, was suddenly charged at by a solitary buffalo. He took to flight, pursued by the maddened animal, and was scarcely six feet before the creature when he reached the bank and sprang into the river. On both banks a number of hippopotamus-traps were seen.

The animal feeds on grass alone, its enormous lip acting like a mowing machine, forming a path before it as it feeds. Over these paths the natives construct a trap, consisting of a heavy beam, five or six feet long, with a spear-head at one end, covered with poison. This weapon is hung to a forked pole by a rope which leads across the path, and is held by a catch, set free as the animal treads upon it. A hippopotamus was seen which, being frightened by the steamer, rushed on shore and ran immediately under one of these traps, when down came the heavy beam on its head.

The leaks in the steamer increased till the cabin became scarcely habitable.

The neighbourhood of Chibisa’s village was reached on the 25th of August.

The doctor had now to send word to the chief that his attempts to recover his child had failed, for, though he had offered twice the value of a slave, the little girl could not be found, the padre having sold her to a distant tribe of Bazizulu. Though this padre was better than the average, he appeared very indifferent about the matter.

On the 28th of August, an expedition consisting of four whites, thirty-six Makololo, and two guides left the ship in the hopes of discovering Lake Nyassa. The natives on the road were very eager to trade. As soon as they found that the strangers would pay for their provisions in cotton cloth, women and girls were set to grind and pound meal, and the men and boys were seen chasing screaming fowl over the village. A head man brought some meal and other food for sale; a fathom of blue cloth was got out, when the Makololo head man, thinking a portion was enough, was proceeding to tear it. On this the native remarked that it was a pity to cut such a nice dress for his wife, and he would rather bring more meal. “All right,” said the Makololo, “but look, the cloth is very wide, so see that the basket which carries the meal be wide too, and add a cock to make the meal taste nicely.”

The highland women of these regions all wear the pelele, or lip-ring, before described. An old chief, when asked why such things were worn, replied: “for beauty; men have beards and whiskers, women have none. What kind of creature would a woman be without whiskers and without the pelele?”

When, as they calculated, they were about a day’s march from Lake Nyassa, the chief of the village assured them positively that no lake had ever been heard of there, and that the river Shire stretched on, as they saw it, to a distance of two months, and then came out between two rocks which towered to the skies. The Makololo looked blank, and proposed returning to the ship.

“Never mind,” said the doctor, “we will go on and see these wonderful rocks.”

Their head man, Massakasa declared that there must be a lake, because it was in the white men’s books, and scolded the natives for speaking a falsehood. They then admitted that there was a lake. The chief brought them a present in the evening. Scarcely had he gone when a fearful cry arose from the river; a crocodile had carried off his principal wife. The Makololo, seizing their arms, rushed to her rescue; but it was too late.

The expedition moving forward, on the 16th of September, 1859, the long-looked-for Lake Nyassa was discovered, with hills rising on both sides of it.

Two months after this the lake was visited by Dr Roscher, who was unaware of Dr Livingstone’s and Dr Kirk’s discovery; unhappily he was murdered on his road back towards the Rovuma.

The travellers were now visited by the chief of a village near the confluence of the lake and the river, who invited them to form their camp under a magnificent banyan-tree among the roots of which, twisted into the shape of a gigantic arm-chair, four of the party slept. The chief told them that a slave party, led by Arabs, was encamped near at hand; and in the evening a villainous set of fellows, with long muskets, brought several young children for sale; but, finding that the travellers were English, they decamped, showing signs of fear. The people of the Manjanga tribe, amidst whom they were now travelling, showed much suspicion of their object, saying that parties had come before with the same sort of plausible story, and had suddenly carried off a number of their people. To allay these suspicions, Dr Livingstone thought it best at once to return to the ship.

Soon afterwards Dr Kirk and Mr Rae, the engineer, set off with guides to go across the country to Tete, the distance being about one hundred miles. From want of water they suffered greatly, while the tsetse infested the district.

Dr Livingstone had resolved to visit his old friend Sekeletu; but, finding that before the new crop came in, food could not be obtained beyond the Kebrabasa, he returned in the “Ma-Robert” once more to the Kongone.

They found Major Sicard at Mazaro, he having come there with tools and slaves to build a custom-house and fort.

After this trip, the poor “Asthmatic” broke down completely; she was therefore laid alongside the island of Kanyimbe, opposite Tete, and placed under charge of two English sailors. They were furnished with a supply of seeds to form a garden, both to afford them occupation and food.

Active preparations were now made for the intended journey westward; cloth, beads, and brass-wire were formed into packages, with the bearer’s name printed on each.

The Makololo who had been employed by the expedition received their wages. Some of those who had remained at Tete had married, and resolved to continue where they were. Others did not leave with the same good will they had before exhibited, and it was doubtful, if attacked, whether they would not run to return to their lately-formed friends.

All arrangements had been concluded by the 15th of May, 1860, and the journey was commenced.

As the Banyai, who live on the right bank, were said to levy heavy fines, the party crossed over to the left.

Dr Livingstone was stopping near the Kebrabasa village, when a man appeared, who pretended that he was a pondoro; that is, that he could change himself into a lion whenever he chose—a statement his countrymen fully believed. Sometimes the pondoro hunts for the benefit of the villagers, when his wife takes him some medicine which enables him to change himself back into a man. She then announces what game has been killed, and the villagers go into the forest to bring it home. The people believe also that the souls of the departed chiefs enter into lions. One night, a buffalo having been killed, a lion came close to the camp, when the Makololo declared that he was a pondoro, and told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself for trying to steal the meat of strangers. The lion, however, disregarding their addresses, only roared louder than ever, though he wisely kept outside the bright circle of the camp-fires. A little strychnine was placed on a piece of meat and thrown to him, after which he took his departure, and was never again seen.

Again passing Kebrabasa, the travellers enjoyed the magnificent mountain scenery in this neighbourhood, and came to the conclusion that not only it, but the Morumbwa could, when the river rises, be passed, so as to allow of a steamer being carried up to run on the upper Zambesi.

On the 20th of June they reached the territory of the chief Mpende, who had, on Dr Livingstone’s journey to the East Coast, threatened to attack him. Having in the mean time heard that he belonged to a race who love black men and did not make slaves, his conduct was now completely changed, and he showed every desire to be friendly.

Game was abundant, and lions were especially numerous.

After visiting Zumbo, Dr Kirk was taken dangerously ill. He got better on the high ground, but immediately he descended into the valley he always felt chilly. In six days, however, he was himself again, and able to march as well as the rest.

Again abundance of honey was obtained through the means of the “honey guide.” The bird never deceived them, always guiding them to a hive of bees, though sometimes there was but little honey in it.

On the 4th of August the expedition reached Moachemba, the first of the Batoka villages, which owe allegiance to Sekeletu. From thence, beyond a beautiful valley, the columns of vapour rising from the Victoria Falls, upwards of twenty miles away, could clearly be distinguished.

The Makololo here received intelligence of their families, and news of the sad termination of the attempt to plant a mission at Linyanti, under the Reverend H. Helmore. He and several white men had died, and the remainder had only a few weeks before returned, to Kuruman.

At the village opposite Kalai the Malokolo head man, Mashotlane, paid the travellers a visit. He entered the hut where they were seated, a little boy carrying a three-legged stool. In a dignified way the chief took his seat, presenting some boiled hippopotamus meat. Having then taken a piece himself, he handed the rest to his followers. He had lately been attacking the Batoka, and when the doctor represented to him the wrongfulness of the act, he defended himself by declaring that they had killed some of his companions. Here also they found Pitsane, who had been sent by Sekeletu to purchase horses from a band of Griquas.

As the new-comers were naturally anxious to see the magnificent falls, they embarked in some canoes belonging to Tuba Mokoro (“a smasher of canoes”), who alone, they were assured, possessed the medicine which would prevent shipwreck in the rapids. Tuba conducted them at a rapid rate down the river. It required considerable confidence in his skill not to feel somewhat uneasy as they navigated these roaring waters. They were advised not to speak, lest their talking might diminish the virtue of the medicine; few indeed would have thought of disobeying the orders of the canoe-smasher. One man stood at the head of the canoe, looking out for rocks and telling the steersman the course to take. Often it seemed as if they would be dashed to pieces against the dark rocks jutting out from the water, then in a moment the ready pole turned the canoe aside, and they quickly glided past the danger. As they went swiftly driving down, a black rock, with the foam flowing over it, rose before them; the pole slipped, the canoe struck and in a moment was half full of water. Tuba, however, speedily recovering himself, shoved off, and they reached a shallow place, where the water was bailed out. He asserted that it was not the medicine was at fault, but that he had started without his breakfast.

The travellers landed at the head of Garden Island, and, as the doctor had done before, peered over the giddy heights at the further end across the chasm. The measurement of the chasm was now taken; it was found to be eighty yards opposite Garden Island, while the waterfall itself was twice the depth of that of Niagara, and the river where it went over the rock fully a mile wide. Charles Livingstone, who had seen Niagara, pronounced it inferior in magnificence to the Victoria Falls.

The Batokas consider Garden Island and another further west as sacred spots, and here, in days gone by, they assembled to worship the Deity.

Dr Livingstone, on his former visit, had planted a number of orange-trees and seeds at Garden Island, but though a hedge had been placed round them, they had all been destroyed by the hippopotami. Others were now put in. They also, as was afterwards found, shared the same fate.

They now proceeded up the river, and, on the 13th, met a party from Sekeletu, who was now at Sesheke, and had sent to welcome them. On the 18th they entered his town. They were requested to take up their quarters at the old kotlar, or public meeting-place tree. During the day visitors continually called on them, all complaining of the misfortunes they had suffered. The condition of Sekeletu, however, was the most lamentable. He had been attacked by leprosy, and it was said that his fingers had become like eagles’ claws, and his face so fearfully distorted that no one could recognise him. One of their head men had been put to death, it being supposed that he had bewitched the chief. The native doctors could do nothing for him, but he was under the charge of an old doctress of the Manyeti tribe, who allowed no one to see him except his mother and uncle. He, however, sent for Dr Livingstone, who gladly went to him. He and Dr Kirk at once told him that the disease was most difficult to cure, and that he might rest assured he had not been bewitched. They applied lunar caustic externally and hydrate of potash internally, with satisfactory results; so that in the course of a short time the poor chief’s appearance greatly improved.

Although the tribe had been suffering from famine, the chief treated his visitors with all the hospitality in his power.

Some Benguela traders had come up to Sesheke, intending probably to return from the Batoka country to the east with slaves; but the Makololo, however, had secured all the ivory in that region. As the traders found that the trade in slaves without ivory did not pay, they knew it would not be profitable to obtain them, for Sekeletu would allow no slaves to be carried through his territory, and thus by his means an extensive slave-mart was closed.

Sekeletu was greatly pleased with the articles the doctor brought him from England, and enquired whether a ship could not bring up the remainder of the goods which had been left at Tete. On being told that possibly a steamer might ascend as far as Sinainanes, he enquired whether a cannon could not blow away the Victoria Falls, so as to enable her to reach Sesheke.

The Makololo, who had been sent down to Benguela, came to pay the travellers a visit, dressed in well-washed shirts, coats, and trousers, patent leather boots, and brown wideawakes on their heads. They had a long conversation with their men about the wonderful things they had all seen.

Sekeletu, who took a great fancy to Dr Kirk, offered him permission to select any part of the country he might chose for the establishment of an English colony. Indeed, there is sufficient uncultivated ground on the cool unpeopled highlands for a very large population.

The Makololo are apt to get into trouble by their propensity to lift cattle; for if their marauding is sanctioned by the chief, they do not look upon it as dishonourable. This custom must be put a stop to if any good is to be done to them, as must the gigantic evil of the slave trade among the tribes nearer the coast.

The expedition left Sesheke on the 17th of September, 1860, convoyed by Pitsane and Leshore. Pitsane was directed to form a hedge round the garden at the falls on his way.

When navigating the river the canoe-men kept close to the bank during the day for fear of being upset by the hippopotami, but at night, when those animals are found near the shore, they sailed down the middle of the stream.

The canoes were wretched, and a strong wind blew against them, but their Batoka boatmen managed them with great dexterity. Some of these men accompanied the expedition the whole way to the sea.

On their passage down the river, in approaching Kariba Rapids, they came upon a herd of upwards of thirty hippopotami. The canoe-men were afraid of venturing among them, asserting that there was sure to be an ill-tempered one who would take a malignant pleasure in upsetting the canoes. Several boys on the rocks were amusing themselves by throwing stones at the frightened animals. One was shot, its body floating down the current. A man hailed them from the bank, advising them to let him pray to the Kariba gods that they might have a safe passage down the rapids, for, without his assistance, they would certainly be drowned. Notwithstanding, having examined the falls, seeing that canoes might be carried down in safety, they continued their voyage. The natives were much astonished to see them pass in safety without the aid of the priest’s intercession.

Here they found the hippopotamus which had been shot, and, taking it in tow, told the villagers that if they would follow to their landing-place, they should have most of the meat. The crocodiles, however, tugged so hard at it, that they were compelled to cast it adrift and let the current float it down. They recovered the hippopotamus, which was cut up at the place where they landed to spend the night. As soon as it was dark, the crocodiles attacked the portion that was left in the water, tearing away at it and lashing about fiercely with their tails.

A day or two afterwards they encamped near some pitfalls, in which several buffaloes had shortly before been caught and one of the animals had been left. During the night the wind blew directly from the dead buffalo to their sleeping-place, and a hungry lion which came to feed on the carcass so stirred up the putrid mass and growled so loudly over his feast, that their slumbers were greatly disturbed.

They reached Zumbo by the 1st of November. Here their men had a scurvy trick played them by the Banyai. The Makololo had shot a hippopotamus, when a number of the natives came across, pretending to assist them in rolling it ashore, and advised them to cast off the rope, saying that it was an encumbrance. All were shouting and talking, when suddenly the carcass disappeared in a deep hole. The Makololo jumped in after it, one catching the tail, another a foot, but down it went, and they got but a lean fowl instead. It floated during the night, and was found about a mile below, on the bank. The Banyai, however, there disputed their right to it, and, rather than quarrel, the Makololo, after taking a small portion, wisely allowed them to remain with the rest.

Believing that there was sufficient depth of water, they ventured down the Kebrabasa Rapids. For several miles they continued onward till, the river narrowing, navigation became both difficult and dangerous. Two canoes passed safely down the narrow channel with an ugly whirlpool, caused by the water being divided by a rock in the centre. Dr Livingstone’s canoe came next, and while it appeared to be drifting broadside into the vortex, a crash was heard, and Dr Kirk’s canoe was seen dashed against the perpendicular rock by a sudden boiling-up of the river, which occurs at regular intervals. Dr Kirk grasped the rock and saved himself, while his steersman, holding on to the same ledge, preserved the canoe, but all its contents were lost, including the doctor’s notes of the journey, and botanical drawings of the fruit-trees of the interior. After this the party, having had enough of navigation, performed the remainder of the journey on shore.

On their march they met two large slave-trading parties on their way to Zumbo. Among them were a number of women with ropes round their necks, and all made fast to one long rope. They were to be sold for ivory.

Tete was reached on the 23rd of November, the expedition having been absent rather more than six months. They were glad to find that the two English sailors were in good health, and had behaved very well; but their farm had been a failure. A few sheep and fowls had been left with them: they had purchased more of the latter, and expected to have a good supply of eggs, but they unfortunately also bought two monkeys, who ate up all their eggs. One night a hippopotamus destroyed their vegetable garden, the sheep ate up their cotton-plants, while the crocodiles carried off the sheep, and the natives had stolen their fowls.

Having discovered that the natives have a mortal dread of the chameleon, one of which animals they had on board, they made good use of their knowledge. They had learned the market price of provisions, and determined to pay that and no more. When the traders, therefore, demanded a higher price and refused to leave the ship till it was paid, the chameleon was instantly brought out of the cabin, when the natives sprang overboard and made no further attempt to impose upon them.

The sailors had also performed a gallant act. They were aroused one night by a fearful shriek, when they immediately pushed off in their boat, supposing, as was found to be the case, that a crocodile had caught a woman and was dragging her across a shallow bank. Before they reached her, the reptile snapped off her leg. They carried her on board, bandaged up her limb, bestowed Jack’s usual remedy for all complaints, a glass of grog, on her, and carried her to a hut in the village. Next morning they found the bandages torn off and the poor creature left to die, their opinion being that it had been done by her master, to whom, as she had lost a leg, she would be of no further use, and he did not wish the expense of keeping her.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Dr Livingstone’s expedition to explore the Zambesi, continued.

Sets out again—Christmas at Chimba Island—Senna—Down the river to Congo—The “Pioneer”—Arrival of Bishop Mackenzie—Reaches the Rovuma—Back again and up the Zambesi to the Shire—Liberation of a party of slaves—News of the Ajawa Starts for Nyassa—Enters the Lake—Described—A storm on the Nyassa—Slavery—Returns to the Rovuma—Sets out with Bishop Mackenzie for Ruo—Reaches the Zambesi, and afterwards proceeds to the Great Luabo—Arrival of Mrs Livingstone and the “Lady Nyassa”—Bishop Mackenzie’s death—Explores the Rovuma—An adventure with the natives—Visits Johanna in the “Pioneer”—Steams up the Shire—Effects of the slave trade—Meets Mr Thornton—Attacked by fever—More of the slave trade—Start for the upper cataracts—Despatches from England—Visit Chia Lakelet—An Arab slave-dhow—Leaves the Zambesi, and arrives at Bombay.

Once more, on the 3rd of December, the leaky “Asthmatic” was got under way, but every day fresh misfortunes happened to her, till Rae declared: “She cannot be worse than she is, sir.”

He and his mate, Hutchings, had done their best to patch her up, but her condition was past their skill. On the morning of the 21st she grounded on a sandbank and filled. The river rising, all that was visible the next day was about six feet of her two masts. The property on board was, however, saved, and the expedition spent their Christmas of 1860 encamped on the island of Chimba.

Canoes having been procured, they reached Senna on the 27th. They here saw a large party of slaves belonging to the commandant, who had been up to trade with Mozelekatse, carrying a thousand muskets and a large quantity of gunpowder, and bringing back ivory, ostrich feathers, a thousand sheep and goats, and thirty head of fine cattle, and in addition a splendid white bull, to show that he and the traders parted friends. The adventure, however, was a losing one to the poor commandant: a fire had broken out in the camp, and the ostrich feathers had been burned; the cattle had died from the bite of the tsetse, as had the white bull, and six hundred of the sheep had been eaten by the slaves, they thinking more of their own comfort than their master’s gain.

This is one of the many proofs of the clearness of slave labour.

Proceeding down the river in boats, the expedition reached Congo on the 4th of January, 1861. Here a flagstaff and a custom-house (a floorless hut of mangrove stakes roofed with stakes) had been erected.

The garrison of the place being almost starved, the provisions of the expedition also ran short, though they obtained game in abundance.

On the 31st the “Pioneer,” the steamer which had been sent to replace the “Asthmatic,” appeared off the bar, but the bad weather prevented her entering. At the same time two men-of-war arrived, bringing Bishop Mackenzie at the head of the Oxford and Cambridge mission to the tribes of the Shire and Lake Nyassa. It consisted of six Englishmen and five coloured men from the Cape. The bishop wished at once to proceed up to Chibisa; but the “Pioneer” was under orders to explore the Rovuma, and it was ultimately arranged that the members of the mission should be carried over to Johanna in the “Lyra” man-of-war, while the bishop himself accompanied the expedition in the “Pioneer.”

They reached the mouth of the Rovuma on the 25th of February. The rainy season was already half over, and the river had fallen considerably.

The scenery was superior to that on the Zambesi.

Eight miles from the mouth the mangrove disappeared, and a beautiful range of well-wooded hills rose on either side.

Unhappily fever broke out, and the navigation of the “Pioneer” fell to the charge of Dr Livingstone and his companions.

The water falling rapidly, it was considered dangerous to run the risk of detention in the river for a year, and the ship returned down to the sea.

On their voyage back they touched at Mohilla, one of the Comoro Islands, and from thence went on to Johanna, where they received the Bishop’s followers, and proceeded back to the Kongone. Thence they at once directed their course up the Zambesi to the Shire. The “Pioneer,” it was found, drew too much water for the navigation of the river, and she in consequence frequently grounded.

Among his many duties, Charles Livingstone was engaged in collecting specimens of cotton, and upwards of three hundred pounds were thus obtained, at a price of less than a penny a pound, which showed that cotton of a superior quality could be raised by native labour alone, and that but for the slave trade a large amount might be raised in the country.

Wherever they went they gained the confidence of the people, and hitherto the expedition had been eminently successful. No sooner, however, did they come in contact with the Portuguese slave trade than sad reverses commenced. Marauding parties of the Ajawa were desolating the land, and a gang had crossed the river with slaves. Manjanga had gone away just before they got the ship up to Chibisa; but his deputy was civil, and supplied them with carriers to convey the bishop’s goods up the country.

They halted at the village of their old friend, Mpende, who supplied them with carriers, and informed them that a slave party on its way to Tete would soon pass through his village. They consulted together. Should they liberate the slaves? By a bold stroke they might possibly put a stop to the slave trade, which had followed in their footsteps. A few minutes afterwards a slave party, consisting of a long line of manacled men, women, and children, escorted by black drivers armed with muskets, adorned with articles of finery, and blowing horns, marched by them with a triumphant air. Directly, however, the rascals caught sight of the English, they darted off into the forest, with the exception of the leader, who was seized by the Makololo. He proved to be a slave of the late commandant of Tete, and was well-known to them. He declared that he had bought the slaves; but directly his hands were released he darted off. The captives now, kneeling down, expressed their thanks by clapping their hands. Knives were soon busily at work setting free the women and children. It was more difficult to liberate the men, who had each his neck in the fork of a stout stick, six or seven feet long, and kept in by an iron rod riveted at both ends across the throat. A saw, produced from the bishop’s baggage, performed the work. The men could scarcely believe what was said, when they were told to take the meal they were carrying and cook breakfast for themselves and children. Many of the latter were about five years of age and under. One of them observed to the men: “Those others tied and starved us; you cut the ropes, and tell us to eat! What sort of people are you?”

Two women had been shot the previous day for attempting to untie the thongs, and another had her infant’s brains knocked out because she could not at the same time carry her load and it. The rest were told that this was done to prevent them from attempting to escape. The bishop was not present, having gone to bathe just before; but when he returned, he approved of what had been done.

Eighty-four persons, chiefly women and children, were thus liberated; and being told that they might go where they liked, they decided on remaining with the English. The men willingly carried the bishop’s goods.

Eight others were freed in a hamlet on the road; but another party, with nearly a hundred slaves, though followed by Dr Kirk and four Makololo, escaped. Six more captives were soon afterwards liberated, and two slave-dealers were detained for the night, but being carelessly watched by two of the bishop’s black men, who had volunteered to stand guard over them, they escaped. The next day fifty more slaves were freed at another village and comfortably clothed.

At Chigunda a Manjanga chief had invited the bishop to settle in his country near Magomero, adding that there was room enough for both. This spontaneous invitation seemed to decide the bishop on the subject.

Marching forward, on the 22nd news was received that the Ajawa were near, burning villages; and at once the doctor and his companions advanced to seek an interview with these scourges of the country. On their way they met crowds of Manjangas flying, having left all their property and food behind them. Numerous fields of Indian corn were passed, but there was no one to reap them. All the villages were deserted. One, where on the previous visit a number of men had been seen peacefully weaving cloth, was burned, and the stores of grain scattered over the plain and along the paths. The smoke of burning villages was seen in front, and triumphant shouts, mingled with the wail of the Manjanga women lamenting over the slain, reached their ears. The bishop knelt and engaged in prayer, and on rising, a long line of Ajawa warriors with their captives was seen. In a short time the travellers were surrounded, the savages shooting their poisoned arrows and dancing hideously. Some had muskets, but, on shots being fired at them, they ran off. The main body in the mean time decamped with the captives, two only of whom escaped and joined their new friends. Most of the party proposed going at once to the rescue of the captive Manjanga; but this Dr Livingstone opposed, believing that it would be better for the bishop to wait the effect of the check given to the slave-hunters. It was evident that the Ajawa were instigated by the Portuguese agents from Tete. It was possible that they might by persuasion be induced to follow the better course, but, from their long habit of slaving for the Quillimane market, this appeared doubtful. The bishop consulted Dr Livingstone as to whether, should the Manjangas ask his assistance against the Ajawa, it would be his duty to give it? The reply was: “Do not interfere in native quarrels.” Leaving the members of the mission encamped on a beautiful spot, surrounded by stately trees, near the clear little stream of Magomero, the expedition returned to the ship to prepare for their journey to Lake Nyassa.

On the 6th of August, 1861, the two doctors and Charles Livingstone started in a four-oared gig, with one white sailor and twenty Makololo, for Nyassa. Carriers were easily engaged to convey the boat past the forty miles of the Murchison Cataracts. Numberless volunteers came forward, and the men of one village transported it to the next. They passed the little Lake of Pamalombe, about ten miles long and five broad, surrounded thickly by papyrus. Myriads of mosquitos showed the presence of malaria, and they hastened by it.

Again launching their boat, they proceeded up the river, and entered the lake on the 2nd of September, greatly refreshed by the cool air which came off its wide expanse of water. The centre appeared to be of a deep blue, while the shallow water along the edge was indicated by its light green colour. A little from the shore the water was from nine to fifteen fathoms in depth, but round a grand mountain promontory no bottom could be obtained with their lead-line of thirty-five fathoms. The lake was estimated to be about two hundred miles long and from twenty to sixty broad.

The lake appeared to be surrounded by mountains, but on the west they were merely the edges of high table-land.

It is visited by sudden and tremendous storms. One morning the sea suddenly rose around them, preventing them from advancing or receding, as the tremendous surf on the beach would have knocked their light boat to pieces, while the waves came rolling on in threes, their crests broken into spray. Had one of them struck the boat, nothing could have saved her from being swamped. For six hours they remained at anchor a little from the shore, thus exposed to the fury of the gale. The crew became sea-sick and unable to keep the boat’s head to the sea, while some of their party who had remained on shore watched them, the natives every moment exclaiming: “They are lost! they are all dead!”

After this, every night they hauled the boat up on the beach; and, had it not been supposed that these storms were peculiar to one season, they would have given the Nyassa the name of the “Lake of Storms.”

A dense population exists on the shores of the lake, some being a tribe of Zulus who came from the south some years ago. They own large herds of cattle, and are on the increase by uniting other people to themselves. The marshy spots are tenanted by flocks of ducks, geese, cranes, herons, and numerous other birds. The people cultivate the soil, growing large quantities of rice, sweet potatoes, maize, and millet. Those at the north end reap a curious harvest. Clouds of what appeared to be smoke rising from miles of burning grass were seen in the distance. The appearance was caused by countless millions of midges. As the voyagers’ boat passed through them, eyes and mouth had to be kept closed. The people collect these insects by night, and boil them into thick cakes, to be eaten as a relish. One of the cakes, which tasted like salted locusts, was presented to the doctor.

Abundance of fish were caught, some with nets and others with hook and line. Women were seen fishing, with babies on their backs.

Enormous crocodiles were seen, but, as they can obtain abundance of fish, they seldom attack men. When, however, its proper food is scarce, the crocodile, as is always the case, becomes very dangerous.

The lake tribes appear to be open-handed, and, whenever a net was drawn, fish was invariably offered. On one occasion the inhabitants, on their arrival, took out their seine, dragged it, and made their visitors a present of the entire haul. The chiefs treated them also with considerable kindness. One at the north of Marenga, who was living in a stockade in a forest surrounded by a wide extent of country, which he owned, made them beautiful presents. The doctor admiring an iron bracelet studded with copper which the chief wore, he took it off and presented to him, while his wife did the same with hers.

Wherever the slave trade is carried on, the people are dishonest and uncivil, and when they found that the English did not come to buy slaves, they immediately put on a supercilious air, and sometimes refused to sell them food. At one of these places a party of thieves stole into the camp and carried off most of their goods, no one awaking, though their rifles and revolvers were all ready. The cloth, having been used for pillows, escaped, but nearly all their clothing was lost, and even their note-books and specimens.

On the high lands at the northern end, a tribe of Zulus, known as the Mazitu, make sudden swoops on the villages of the plains, and carry off the inhabitants and burn villages; and putrid bodies slain by Mazitu spears were seen in all directions. In consequence of this the land party, composed of blacks, were afraid of proceeding, and Dr Livingstone accordingly landed to accompany them. While he struck inland to go round a mountain, the boat pursued her course; but a fresh gale compelled her to run in-shore. On continuing her voyage, a number of armed Mazitu were seen on a small island, with several large canoes belonging to them. It was evident that it was a nest of lake pirates. Further on they met a still larger band, and the voyagers were ordered to come on shore. On refusing, a number of canoes chased them, one with nine paddlers persevering a considerable time, till a good breeze enabled the gig to get away from them. This circumstance caused great anxiety about Dr Livingstone.

The boat party having sailed on for fifteen miles northward, he was still nowhere to be seen, and they therefore resolved to return. Another gale, however, compelled them to put into a harbour, where a number of wretched fugitives from the slave trade, who had crossed from the opposite shore, were found; but the ordinary inhabitants had been swept off by the Mazitu. In their deserted gardens cotton of a fine quality, with staple an inch and a half long, was seen growing, some of the plants deserving to be ranked with trees.

On returning, their former pursuers tried to induce them to come on shore.

Four days passed before Dr Livingstone with two of his party discovered them. He had in the mean time fallen in with the Mazitu, who were armed with spears and shields, and their heads fantastically dressed with feathers. By his usual courage and determination he prevented them from attacking him. When they demanded presents, he told them his goods were in the boat; and when they insisted on having a coat, the Makololo enquired how many of the party they had killed, that they thus began to divide the spoil; and at last, suspecting that he had support at hand, they took to their heels.

Numerous elephants, surprisingly tame, were seen on the borders of the lake even close to the villages, and hippopotami swarmed in all the creeks and lagoons. Several were shot for food during the journey. Sometimes food was thus abundant; at others, a few sardines served for dinner.

The slave trade on the lake was being pursued with fearful activity. A dhow had been built by two Arabs, who were running her regularly, crowded with slaves, across its waters. Part of the captives are carried to the Portuguese slave-exporting town of Iboe, while others go to Kilwa.

The chiefs showed but little inclination to trade, their traffic being chiefly in human chattels.

Colonel Rigby states that nineteen thousand slaves from the Nyassa country alone pass annually through the custom-house at Zanzibar.

They, however, represent but a small portion of the sufferers. Besides those actually captured, thousands are killed and die of their wounds and famine; thousands more perish in internecine war waged for slaves with their own clansmen and neighbours. The numerous skeletons seen among rocks and woods, by the pools, and on the paths of the wilderness, attest the awful sacrifice of human life.

The doctor saw that a small armed steamer on Lake Nyassa could, by furnishing goods in exchange for ivory and other products, exercise a powerful influence in stopping the traffic in that quarter.

The expedition had spent from the 2nd of September to the 27th of October in exploring the lake, and their goods being now expended, it was necessary to return to the ship.

On their way back they fell in with a number of Manjanga families, driven from their homes by Ajawa raids, taking shelter among the papyrus growing on Lake Pamalombe, supporting themselves on the fine fish which abound in it.

The party reached the ship on the 8th of November, but in a weak condition, having latterly suffered greatly from hunger.

On the 14th they received a visit from the bishop, who appeared in excellent spirits, and believed that all promised well for future success. Many of the Manjanga had settled round Magomero to be under his protection, and it was hoped that the slave trade would soon cease in the neighbourhood. He here arranged to explore the country, from Magomero to the mouth of the river, and it was agreed that the “Pioneer,” her draught being too great for the upper part of the Shire, should on her next trip not go higher than Ruo. The bishop’s hope was to meet his sisters and Mrs Burrup, whose husband was one of his assistants.

With three hearty cheers, the “Pioneer” steamed down the river. The rain ceasing, she unfortunately ran on a shoal, and was detained in an unhealthy spot for five weeks. Here the carpenter’s mate, a fine healthy young man, was seized with fever and died. A permanent rise in the river enabled them at last to get on.

On reaching Ruo, they heard that Mariano had returned from Mozambique, and was desolating the right bank of the river. He had lived in luxury during his nominal imprisonment, and was now able to set the Portuguese at defiance. An officer sent against him, instead of capturing the rebel, was captured himself, but soon returned to Tete with a present of ivory he had received.

The Zambesi was reached on the 11th of January, 1862, when the “Pioneer” proceeded to the Great Luabo mouth of the river.

On the 30th HMS “Gorgon” arrived, towing the brig which brought out Mrs Livingstone and some ladies about to join the University mission, as well as the sections of a new iron steamer intended for the navigation of Lake Nyassa. The name of the “Lady Nyassa” was given to the new vessel.

The “Pioneer,” with as large a portion of the vessel as she could carry, accompanied by two of the “Gorgon’s” paddle-box boats, steamed off for Ruo on the 10th of February. Captain Wilson, with several of his officers and men, went on board her to render assistance. The ladies also took their passage in her. Her progress was very slow, and six months were expended before Shupanga was reached. Here the sections of the “Lady Nyassa” were landed, and preparations were made to screw her together.

Captain Wilson had kindly gone on in his boat to Ruo, taking Miss Mackenzie and Mrs Burrup and others. On reaching Ruo, greatly to their dismay the chief declared that no white man had come to his village. They thence went on to Chibisa, where the sad news was received of the death of the bishop and Mr Burrup. Leaving the ladies under care of Dr Ramsay, the “Gorgon’s” surgeon, Captain Wilson and Dr Kirk hastened up the hills to render assistance to the survivors, they themselves suffering greatly, and Captain Wilson almost losing his life.

The sad tale of the bishop’s death has often been told. He had set off in the hopes of rescuing some of his flock who had been kidnapped, and, undergoing fatigue and exposure to rain far greater than his constitution could stand, having been upset in a canoe and sleeping afterwards in his wet clothes, had succumbed to fever when returning with his companion, Mr Burrup, to Ruo.

The Free Church of Scotland had sent out the Reverend J. Stewart to form a mission. Before doing so he wisely determined to survey the country thoroughly. After doing this he returned to England. He found mere remnants of a once dense population on the banks of the Shire, now scattered and destroyed by famine and slave-hunting.

Captain Wilson returning to the “Pioneer,” she, with the ladies on board, steamed down to Kongone, when the whole of the mission party except one left the country in the “Gorgon.”

The fever now attacked the crew of the “Pioneer,” and only one man remained fit for duty. She, however, continued carrying up the portions of the “Lady Nyassa” to Shupanga.

About the middle of April Mrs Livingstone was attacked by the disease. Notwithstanding the most skilful medical aid rendered to her, her eyes were closed in a Christian’s death as the sun set on a sabbath day, the 27th of April, 1862. Her grave was placed beneath the great baobab-tree in the spot before described, and the Reverend J. Stewart read the burial service. There rested the daughter of the Missionary Moffat, that Christian lady who had exercised such beneficial influence over the rude tribes of the interior, and might, it was hoped, have renewed her labours in the country to which she had come.

The “Lady Nyassa” was now screwed together and her stores got on board; but, as she could not be taken to the cataract before the rains in December, the “Pioneer” sailed for Johanna to obtain mules and oxen to convey her by land, after she had been taken to pieces, above the falls.

To fill up the time the doctor resolved, on the return of the “Pioneer,” to explore the Rovuma in boats. She arrived at its mouth, towed by HMS “Orestes.” Captain Gardner and several of his officers accompanied them two days in the the gig and cutter. The water was now low; but when filled by the rains, in many respects the Rovuma appears superior to the Zambesi. It would probably be valuable as a highway for commerce during three-fourths of each year.

Above Kichokomane was a fertile plain, studded with a number of deserted villages. Its inhabitants were living on low sandbanks, though they had left their property behind, fearing only being stolen themselves. They showed, however, an unfriendly spirit to the white men, not understanding their objects. The blacks assembled on the shore, and evidently intended to attack the party as they passed the high bank, but a stiff breeze swept the boats by. Attempts were made to persuade the natives that the travellers had only peaceable intentions, that they wished to be their friends, and that their countrymen bought cotton and ivory. Notwithstanding this, these savages were not satisfied, and their leader was seen urging them to fire. Many of them had muskets, while others, who were armed with bows, held them with arrows ready set to shoot. Still the doctor and his companions were exceedingly unwilling to come to blows, and half an hour was spent, during which, at any moment, they might have been struck by bullets or poisoned arrows. The English assured them that they had plenty of ammunition, that they did not wish to shed the blood of the children of the same Great Father, and that if there was a fight, the guilt would be theirs. At last their leader ordered them to lay down their arms, and he came, saying that the river was theirs, and that the English must pay toll for leave to pass. As it was better to do so than fight, the payment demanded was given, and they promised to be friends ever afterwards.

The sail was then hoisted, and the boats proceeded up, when they were followed by a large party, as it was supposed merely to watch them, but without a moment’s warning the savages fired a volley of musket-balls and poisoned arrows. Providentially they were so near that six arrows passed over their heads, and four musket-balls alone went through the sail. Their assailants immediately bolted, and did not again appear till the boats had got to a considerable distance. A few shots were fired over their heads, to give them an idea of the range of the Englishmen’s rifles. They had probably expected to kill some of the party, and then in the confusion to rob the boats.

They were more hospitably treated by a Makoa chief higher up, who had been to Iboe, and once to Mozambique with slaves.

His people refused to receive gaily-coloured prints, having probably been deceived by sham ones before, preferring the plain blue stuff of which they had experience.

Another old chief, on seeing them go by, laid down his gun, and when they landed approached them.

They proceeded up to the cataracts of the Rovuma, but finding that the distance overland was far greater to Lake Nyassa than that by Murchison’s Cataracts on the Shire, they considered it best to take their steamer up by that route.

After having been away a month, they reached the “Pioneer” on the 9th of October. The ship’s company had used distilled water, and not a single case of sickness had occurred on board, while those who had been in the boats had some slight attacks.

After this they put to sea and visited Johanna, returning to the fever-haunted village of Quillimane. Here they were kindly entertained by one of the few honourable Portuguese officials they met with in that region, Colonel Nunes. He came out as a cabin-boy, and, by persevering energy, has become the richest man on the East Coast.

On the 10th of January, 1863, the “Pioneer,” with the “Lady Nyassa” in tow, steamed up the Shire.

They soon met signs of the bandit slave-hunter Mariano’s expedition. Dead bodies floated by them in great numbers, and for scores of miles the entire population had been swept away. The river banks, once so populous, were all now silent. The remains of burnt villages were everywhere seen, and oppressive silence reigned where once crowds of eager sellers had before come off with the produce of their industry. Their friend Tingane had been defeated, and his people killed, kidnapped, or forced to fly. In every direction they encountered the sight and smell of dead bodies. The skeletons of those who had fallen in their flight lay everywhere on the roads, while the ghastly forms of boys and girls in the last stage of starvation were seen crouching beside the huts.

The grave of the good bishop was visited. How would his heart have bled had he lived to witness the scenes they did!

A hippopotamus was shot, and, at the end of three days after, it floated. As the boat was towing it, immense numbers of crocodiles followed, and it was necessary to fire at them to keep them off. It is said that the crocodile never eats fresh meat; indeed, the more putrid it becomes, the better he enjoys his repast, as he can thus tear the carcass more easily. The corpse of a boy was seen floating by. Several crocodiles dashed at it, fighting for their prey, and in a few seconds it disappeared. Sixty-seven of the repulsive reptiles were seen on one bank. The natives eat the animal, but few who had witnessed the horrible food on which they banquet would willingly feed on their flesh.

Their former companion, Mr Thornton, here rejoined them. Hearing that the remaining members of the bishop’s party were in want at Chibisa, he volunteered to carry over a supply of goats and sheep to them. Overcome by the fatigues of the journey, he was attacked by fever, which terminated fatally on the 21st of April, 1863.

The whole of the once pleasant Shire valley was now a scene of wide-spread desolation. Fearful famine had followed the slave raids, and the sights which met their eye in every direction were heart-rending. The ground was literally covered with human bones. “Many had ended their career under the shade of trees, others under projecting crags of the hills, while others lay in their huts with closed doors, which, when opened, disclosed the mouldering corpse with a few rags round the loins, the skull fallen off the pillow; the little skeleton of a child that had perished first, rolled up in a mat between two large skeletons.”

Hoping that the “Lady Nyassa” might be the means of putting a check on the slavers across the lake, they hurried on with their work. She was unscrewed at a spot about five hundred yards below the first cataract, and they began to make a road over the portage of forty miles, by which she was to be carried piecemeal.

Trees had to be cut down and stones removed. The first half-mile of road was formed up a gradual slope till two hundred feet above the river was reached, where a sensible difference in the climate was felt. Before much progress was made, Dr Kirk and Charles Livingstone were seized with fever, and it was deemed absolutely necessary that they should be sent home. Soon afterwards Dr Livingstone was himself attacked.

The “Pioneer” meantime was roofed over and left in charge of the trustworthy gunner, Mr Young.

One day, an empty canoe was seen floating down with a woman swimming near it. The boat put off and brought her on board, when she was found to have an arrow-head in the middle of her back. A native cut it out, and, notwithstanding the fearful character of the wound, being fed liberally by Mr Young, she recovered.

On the 16th of June the remaining members of the expedition started for the upper cataracts.

Cotton of superior quality was seen dropping off the bushes, with no one to gather it.

The huts in several villages were found entire, with mortars and stones for pounding and grinding corn, empty corn safes and kitchen utensils, water and beer-pots untouched, but the doors were shut, as if the inhabitants had gone to search for roots or fruits and had never returned; while in others, skeletons were seen of persons who died apparently while endeavouring to reach something to allay the gnawings of hunger.

Several journeys had been made over the portage, when, on returning to the ship on the 2nd of July, they received a despatch from Earl Russell, directing the return home of the expedition.

Considering the utter devastation caused by the slave-hunting, and the secret support given by the Portuguese officials to the slave-traders, notwithstanding the protestations of their government that they wished to put an end to the trade, it was impossible not to agree in the wisdom of this determination.

Arrangements therefore were made to screw the “Lady Nyassa” together again, as the “Pioneer” could not move till the floods in December. In the mean time it was determined to make another trip to the lake in a boat to be carried overland past the cataracts.

The same scenes were witnessed as before. Wild animals had taken possession of the ruins of a large village in which on their previous visit the inhabitants had been living in peace and plenty.

They had no idea, having before kept closer to the river, of the number of villages, always apparently selected with a view to shade, existing in that region, all of which were now deserted.

They at length reached a region which had hitherto escaped, where the people welcomed them with the greatest cordiality, and were willing to spare the small amount of food they had remaining for themselves. But even here news of war soon reached them, and they found that a tribe of Zulus, the Mazitu, were ravaging the country, and that the inhabitants were only safe within their stockades. They soon encountered men and women carrying grain towards these fortifications, and soon they came upon dead bodies, first one and then another, lying in postures assumed in mortal agony such as no painter can produce.

On their arrival at Chinsamba’s stockade, they were told that the Mazitu had been repulsed thence the day before, and the sad sight of the numerous bodies of the slain showed the truth of the report. The marauders had, however, carried off large numbers of women laden with corn, and, on being repulsed, cut off the ears of a male prisoner and sent him back, saying that they meant to return for the corn they had left, in a month or two.

Chinsamba urged them not to proceed to the north-west, where the Mazitu had occupied the whole region, and they accordingly remained with him till the 5th of September.

After this they visited Chia Lakelet. On their way they met men and women eagerly reaping the corn in haste, to convey it to the stockades, while so much was found scattered along the paths by the Mazitu and the fugitives that some women were winnowing it from the sand. Dead bodies and burned villages showed that they were close upon the heels of the invaders. Among the reeds on the banks of the lake was seen a continuous village of temporary huts in which the people had taken refuge from their invaders.

On visiting the village of an Arab chief, Juma, at Kota Bay, on the 10th of September, they found him engaged with his people in building a large dhow, or Arab vessel, fifty feet long and twelve broad. They offered to purchase the craft, but he refused to sell it for any amount. It was very evident that she was to be engaged for carrying slaves across the lake.

They now regretted the attempt to carry an iron vessel overland, as a wooden one might have been built at much less cost on the banks of the lake, and in a shorter time than the transit of the “Lady Nyassa” would have occupied.

Another extensive and interesting journey was taken in the neighbourhood of the lake, and, on their return along the shores, they found the reeds still, occupied by the unhappy fugitives, who were already suffering fearfully from famine. Numbers of newly-made graves showed that many had already perished, and others had more the appearance of human skeletons than living beings.

Altogether in this expedition they travelled seven hundred and sixty miles in a straight line, averaging about fifteen miles a day, and they reached the ship on the 1st of November, where all were found in good health and spirits. They were visited on board by an Ajawa chief named Kapeni, who asserted that he and his people would gladly receive the associates of Bishop Mackenzie as their teachers. It showed that he and his people had not been offended at the check which the bishop had given to their slaving, their consciences telling them that the course he had pursued was right.

About the middle of December news reached them of the arrival of the successor of Bishop Mackenzie, but that gentleman, after spending a few months on the top of a mountain as high as Ben Nevis, at the mouth of the Shire, where there were few or no people to be taught, returned home, while six of the boys who had been reared by Bishop Mackenzie had been deserted and exposed to the risk of falling back into heathenism. The poor boys, however, managed to reach the ship, expressing their sorrow that they no longer had one to look after them, remarking that Bishop Mackenzie had a loving heart, and had been more than a father to them.

On the 19th of January, 1864, the Shire suddenly rising, the “Pioneer” was once more got underway; but, her rudder being injured, she was delayed, and did not reach Morambala till the 2nd of February. Here they received on board about thirty orphan boys and girls, and a few helpless widows who had been attached to Bishop Mackenzie’s mission, and who could not be abandoned without bringing odium on the English name. The difference between shipping slaves and receiving these on board struck them greatly. The moment permission to embark was given, they all rushed into the boat, nearly swamping her in their eagerness to be safe on the “Pioneer’s” deck.

At the mouth of the Zambesi they found HM ships “Orestes” and “Ariel,” when the former took the “Pioneer” in tow, and the latter the “Lady Nyassa,” bound for Mozambique.

After encountering a heavy storm, when the little vessels behaved admirably, while the “Pioneer” was sent to the Cape, the “Lady Nyassa,” under charge of Dr Livingstone, proceeded by way of Zanzibar to Bombay, which they safely reached, though at times they thought their epitaph would be: “Left Zanzibar on the 30th of April, 1864, and never more heard of.”

Chapter Twenty Three.

Travels of Sir Samuel and Lady Baker.

Arrival in Egypt—Cross the Nubian Desert—Residence at Berber—Resolves to learn Arabic—Journey towards Abyssinia commenced—First meal on hippo-flesh.—A whirlwind—The river suddenly fills—Cause of the overflow of the Nile—Rainy season begins—Visit to camp of Abou Sinn—Residence at Son—Engage Germans—Hippopotamus hunting—Hamran elephant hunters—Mode of hunting—Abou Do a hippopotamus hunter—Exciting attack on a hippopotamus—Baker witnesses attack on an elephant by Aggageers—Rodur’s courage—The travellers reach Khartoum.

Sir Samuel, then Mr Baker, was already an experienced traveller and a practised sportsman, when in March, 1861, having resolved to devote his energies to the discovery of one of the sources of the Nile, he set forth from England to proceed up the mysterious river from its mouth, inwardly determined to accomplish the difficult task or to die in the attempt. He had, however, shortly before married a young wife. She, with a devoted love and heroism seldom surpassed, notwithstanding the dangers and difficulties she knew she must encounter, entreated to accompany her husband, in a way not to be denied.

Leaving Cairo on the 15th of April, they sailed up the Nile to Korosko, whence they crossed the Nubian Desert on camels, with the simoon in full force and the heat intense to Berber. Here Mr Baker, finding his want of Arabic a great drawback, resolved to devote a year to the study of that language, and to spend the time in the comparatively known regions to the north of Abyssinia, while he explored the various confluences of the Blue Nile.

They were kindly received at Berber by Halleem Effendi, the ex-governor, who gave them permission to pitch their tents in his gardens close to the Nile. It was a lovely spot, thickly planted with lofty date-groves and shady citron and lemon-trees, in which countless birds were singing and chirruping, and innumerable ring-doves cooing in the shady palms. The once sandy spot, irrigated by numerous water-wheels, had been thus transformed into a fruitful garden.

Here they received visits from their host and the governor, as well as from other officers, who expressed their astonishment when they announced their intention of proceeding to the head of the Nile.

“Do not go on such an absurd errand,” exclaimed Halleem Effendi. “Nobody knows anything about the Nile. We do not even know the source of the Atbara. While you remain within the territory of the Pacha of Egypt you will be safe; but the moment you cross the frontier you will be in the hands of savages.”

Mr Baker, though receiving the advice cum grano salis, profited by it.

Their host sent them daily presents of fruit by a charmingly pretty slave girl, whose numerous mistresses requested permission to pay the travellers a visit. In the evening a bevy of ladies approached through the dark groves of citron-trees, so gaily dressed in silks of the brightest dyes of yellow, blue, and scarlet, that no bouquet of flowers could have been more gaudy. They were attended by numerous slaves, the head of whom requested Mr Baker to withdraw while the ladies paid his wife a visit.

Many of them she described as young and pretty. By distributing a number of small presents among them, she completely won their confidence.

After a week spent at this pleasant spot, they commenced their journey on the evening of the 10th of June, attended by a guard of Turkish soldiers, who were to act in the double capacity of escort and servants.

Their dragoman was called Mahomet, and the principal guide Achmet. The former, though almost black, declared that his colour was of a light brown. He spoke very bad English, was excessively conceited, and irascible to a degree. Accustomed to the easy-going expeditions on the Nile, he had no taste for the rough sort of work his new master had undertaken.

The journey across the desert tract was performed on donkeys, the luggage being carried on camels or dromedaries.

In two days they reached the junction of the Atbara river with the Nile. Here, crossing a broad surface of white sand, which at that season formed the dry bed of the river, they encamped near a plantation of water-melons, with which they refreshed themselves and their tired donkeys. The river was here never less than four hundred yards in width, with banks nearly thirty feet deep. Not only was it partially dry, but so clear was the sand-bed that the reflection of the sun was almost unbearable.

They travelled along the banks of the river for some days, stopping by the side of the pools which still remained. Many of these pools were full of crocodiles and hippopotami. One of these river-horses had lately killed the proprietor of a melon-garden, who had attempted to drive the creature from his plantation. Mr Baker had the satisfaction of killing one of the monsters in shallow water. It was quickly surrounded by Arabs, who hauled it on shore, and, on receiving his permission to take the meat, in an instant a hundred knives were at work, the men fighting to obtain the most delicate morsels. He and his wife breakfasted that morning on hippopotamus flesh, which was destined to be their general food during their journey among the Abyssinian tributaries of the Nile.

Game abounded, and he shot gazelles and hippopotami sufficient to keep the whole camp well supplied with meat.

On the 23rd of June they were nearly suffocated by a whirlwind that buried everything in the tents several inches in dust.

The heat was intense; the night, however, was cool and pleasant. About half-past eight, as Mr Baker lay asleep, he fancied that he heard a rumbling like distant thunder. The low uninterrupted roll increasing in volume, presently a confusion of voices arose from the Arabs’ camp, his men shouting as they rushed through the darkness: “The river! the river!”

Mahomet exclaimed that the river was coming down, and that the supposed distant roar was the approach of water. Many of the people, who had been sleeping on the clean sand of the river’s bed, were quickly awakened by the Arabs, who rushed down the steep bank to save the skulls of two hippopotami which were exposed to dry.

The sound of the torrent, as it rushed by amid the darkness, and the men, dripping with wet, dragging their heavy burdens up the bank, told that the great event had occurred. The river had arrived like a thief in the night.

The next morning, instead of the barren sheet of clear white sand with a fringe of withered bush and trees upon its borders, cutting the yellow expanse of desert, a magnificent stream, the noble Atbara river flowed by, some five hundred yards in width, and from fifteen to twenty feet in depth. Not a drop of rain, however, had fallen; but the current gave the traveller a clue to one portion of the Nile mystery. The rains were pouring down in Abyssinia—these were the sources of the Nile.

The rainy season, however, at length began, during which it was impossible to travel.

The Arabs during that period migrate to the drier regions in the north.

On their way they arrived in the neighbourhood of the camp of the great Sheikh Achmet Abou Sinn, to whom Mr Baker had a letter of introduction. Having sent it forward by Mahomet, in a short time the sheikh appeared, attended by several of his principal people. He was mounted on a beautiful snow-white hygeen, his appearance being remarkably dignified and venerable. Although upwards of eighty years old, he was as erect as a lance, and of herculean stature; a remarkably arched nose, eyes like an eagle’s, beneath large, shaggy, but perfectly white eyebrows, while a snow-white beard of great thickness descended below the middle of his breast. He wore a large white turban, and a white cashmere robe reaching from the throat to the ankles. He was indeed the perfect picture of a desert patriarch. He insisted on the travellers accompanying him to his camp, and would hear of no excuses. Ordering Mahomet to have their baggage repacked, he requested them to mount two superb hygeens with saddle-cloths of blue and purple sheep-skins, and they set out with their venerable host, followed by his wild and splendidly-mounted attendants.

As they approached the camp they were suddenly met by a crowd of mounted men, armed with swords and shields, some on horses, others on hygeens. These were Abou Sinn’s people, who had assembled to do honour to their chief’s guests. Having formed in lines parallel with the approach of their guests, they galloped singly at full speed across the line of march, flourishing their swords over their heads, and reining in their horses so as to bring them on their haunches by the sudden halt. This performance being concluded, they fell into line behind the party.

Declining the sheikh’s invitation to spend two or three months at his camp, Mr and Mrs Baker travelled on to the village of Sofi, where they proposed remaining during the rainy season.

It was situated near the banks of the Atbara, on a plateau of about twenty acres, bordered on either side by two deep ravines, while below the steep cliff in front of the village flowed the river Atbara.

Their tents were pitched on a level piece of ground just outside the village, where the grass, closely nibbled by the goats, formed a natural lawn.

Here huts were built and some weeks were pleasantly spent. Mr Baker found an abundance of sport, sometimes catching enormous fish, at others shooting birds to supply his larder, but more frequently hunting elephants, rhinoceros, giraffes, and other large game.

He here found a German named Florian, a stone-mason by trade, who had come out attached to the Austrian mission at Khartoum, but preferring a freer life than that city afforded, had become a great hunter. Mr Baker, thinking that he would prove useful, engaged him as a hunter, and he afterwards took into his service Florian’s black servant Richarn, who became his faithful attendant. A former companion of Florian’s, Johann Schmidt, soon afterwards arrived, and was also engaged by Mr Baker to act as his lieutenant in his proposed White Nile expedition. Poor Florian, however, was killed by a lion, and Schmidt and Richarn alone accompanied him.

Mr Baker’s skill as a sportsman was frequently called into play by the natives, to drive off the elephants and hippopotami which infested their plantations. One afternoon he was requested to shoot a savage old bull hippopotamus which had given chase to several people. Accompanied by Mrs Baker he rode to the spot, about two miles off, where the hippopotamus lived in a deep and broad portion of the river. The old hippopotamus was at home.

“The river, about two hundred and fifty yards wide, had formed by an acute bend a deep hole. In the centre of this was a sandbank just below the surface. Upon this shallow bed the hippopotamus was reposing. On perceiving the party he began to snort and behave himself in a most absurd manner, by shaking his head and leaping half way out of the water. Mr Baker had given Bacheet, one of his attendants, a pistol, and had ordered him to follow on the opposite bank. He now directed him to fire several shots at the hippopotamus, in order if possible to drive the animal towards him. The hippo, a wicked, solitary, old bull, returned the insult by charging towards Bacheet with a tremendous snorting, which sent him scrambling up the steep bank in a panic. This gave the brute confidence; and the sportsman, who had hitherto remained concealed, called out according to Arabic custom: ‘Hasinth! hasinth!’ the Arabic for hippopotamus. The brute, thinking no doubt that he might as well drive the intruder away, gave a loud snort, sank, and quickly reappeared about a hundred yards from him. On this Mr Baker ordered Bacheet to shoot to attract the animal’s attention. As the hippopotamus turned his head, Mr Baker took a steady shot, aiming behind the ear, and immediately the saucy old hippo turned upon his back and rolled about, lashing the still pool into waves, until at length he disappeared.”

His intention of engaging a party of the Hamran Arabs, celebrated as hunters, to accompany him in his explorations of the Abyssinian rivers having become known, several of these men made their appearance at Son. They are distinguished from the other tribes of Arabs by an extra length of hair, worn parted down the centre and arranged in long curls. They are armed with swords and shields, the former having long, straight, two-edged blades, with a small cross for the handle, similar to the long, straight, cross-handled blades of the crusaders. Their shields, formed of rhinoceros, giraffe, or elephant-hide, are either round or oval. Their swords, which they prize highly, are kept as sharp as razors. The length of the blade is about three feet, and the handle six inches long. It is secured to the wrist by a leathern strap, so that the hunter cannot by any accident be disarmed.

These men go in chase of all wild animals of the desert; some are noted as expert hippopotamus slayers, but the most celebrated are the Aggageers, or elephant hunters. The latter attack the huge animal either on horseback, or on foot when they cannot afford to purchase steeds. In the latter case, two men alone hunt together. They follow the tracks of an elephant which they contrive to overtake about noon, when the animal is either asleep or extremely listless and easy to approach. Should the elephant be asleep, one of the hunters will creep towards its head, and with a single blow sever the trunk stretched on the ground, the result being its death within an hour from bleeding. Should the animal be awake, they will creep up from behind, and give a tremendous cut at the back sinew of the hind leg, immediately disabling the monster. It is followed up by a second cut on the remaining leg, when the creature becomes their easy prey.

When hunting on horseback, generally four men form a party, and they often follow the tracks of a herd from their drinking-place for upwards of twenty miles.

Mr Baker accompanied them on numerous hunting expeditions, and witnessed the wonderful courage and dexterity they displayed.

After spending three months at Son, he set out for the Settite River, he and his wife crossing the Atbara River on a raft formed of his large circular sponging bath supported by eight inflated skins secured to his bedstead.

A party of the Aggageers now joined him. Among them was Abou Do, a celebrated old hippopotamus hunter, who, with his spear of trident shape in hand, might have served as a representative of Neptune. The old Arab was equally great at elephant hunting, and had on the previous day exhibited his skill, having assisted to kill several elephants. He now divested himself of all his clothing, and set out, taking his harpoon in hand, in search of hippopotami.

This weapon consisted of a steel blade about eleven inches long and three-quarters of an inch in width, with a single barb. To it was attached a strong rope twenty feet long, with a float as large as a child’s head at the extremity. Into the harpoon was fixed a piece of bamboo ten feet long, around which the the rope was twisted, while the buoy was carried on the hunter’s left hand.

After proceeding a couple of miles, a herd of hippopotami were seen in a pool below a rapid surrounded by rocks. He, however, remarking that they were too wide-awake to be attacked, continued his course down the stream till a smaller pool was reached. Here the immense head of a hippopotamus was seen, close to a perpendicular rock that formed a wall to the river. The old hunter, motioning the travellers to remain quiet, immediately plunged into the stream and crossed to the opposite bank, whence, keeping himself under shelter, he made his way directly towards the spot beneath which the hippopotamus was lying. “Stealthily he approached, his long thin arm raised, with the harpoon ready to strike. The hippopotamus, however, had vanished, but far from exhibiting surprise, the veteran hunter remaining standing on the sharp ledge, unchanged in attitude. No figure of bronze could be more rigid than that of the old river king, as he thus stood, his left foot advanced, his right-hand grasping the harpoon above his head, and his left the loose coil of rope attached to the buoy.”

“Three minutes thus passed, when suddenly the right arm of the statue descended like lightening, and the harpoon shot perpendicularly into the pool with the speed of an arrow. In an instant an enormous pair of open jaws appeared, followed by the ungainly head and form of a furious hippopotamus, who, springing half out of the water, lashed the river into foam as he charged straight up the violent rapids. With extraordinary power he breasted the descending stream, gaining a footing in the rapids where they were about five feet deep, thus making his way, till, landing from the river, he started at full gallop along the shingly bed, and disappeared in the thorny jungle. No one would have supposed that so unwieldy an animal could have exhibited such speed, and it was fortunate for old Neptune that he was secure on the high ledge of rock, for had he been on the path of the infuriated beast, there would have been an end of Abou Do.”

The old man rejoined his companions, when Mr Baker proposed going in search of the animal. The hunter, however, explained that the hippopotamus would certainly return after a short time to the water. In a few minutes the animal emerged from the jungle and descended at full trot into the pool where the other hippopotami had been seen, about half a mile off. Upon reaching it, the party were immediately greeted by the hippopotamus, who snorted and roared and quickly dived, and the float was seen running along the surface, showing his course as the cork of a trimmer does that of a pike when hooked. Several times the hippo appeared, but invariably faced them, and, as Mr Baker could not obtain a favourable shot, he sent the old hunter across the stream to attract the animal’s attention. The hippo, turning towards the hunter, afforded Mr Baker a good chance, and he fired a steady shot behind the ear. The crack of the ball, in the absence of any splash from the bullet, showed him that the hippopotamus was hit, while the float remained stationary upon the surface, marking the spot where the grand old bull lay dead beneath. The hunter obtaining assistance from the camp, the hippopotamus, as well as another which had been shot, were hauled on shore. The old bull measured fourteen feet two inches, and the head was three feet one inch from the front of the ear to the edge of the lip, in a straight line.

Though hippopotami are generally harmless, solitary old bulls are sometimes extremely vicious, and frequently attack canoes without provocation.

Many of the elephant hunts in which Mr Baker engaged were exciting in the highest degree, and fraught with no small amount of danger.

Among the Aggageers was a hunter, Rodur Sherrif, who, though his arm had been withered in consequence of an accident, was as daring as any of his companions.

The banks of the Royan had been reached, where, a camp having been formed, Mr Baker and his companions set out in search of elephants. A large bull elephant was discovered drinking. The country around was partly woody, and the ground strewed with fragments of rocks, ill adapted for riding. The elephant had made a desperate charge, scattering the hunters in all directions, and very nearly overtaking Mr Baker. He then retreated into a stronghold composed of rocks and uneven ground, with a few small leafless trees growing in it. The scene must be described in the traveller’s own words. “Here the elephant stood facing the party like a statue, not moving a muscle beyond the quick and restless action of the eyes, which were watching on all sides. Two of the Aggageers getting into its rear by a wide circuit, two others, one of whom was the renowned Rodur Sherrif, mounted on a thoroughly-trained bay mare, rode slowly towards the animal. Coolly the mare advanced towards her wary antagonist until within about nine yards of its head. The elephant never moved. Not a word was spoken. The perfect stillness was at length broken by a snort from the mare, who gazed intently at the elephant, as though watching for the moment of attack. Rodur coolly sat with his eyes fixed upon those of the elephant.

“With a shrill scream the enormous creature then suddenly dashed on him like an avalanche. Round went the mare as though upon a pivot, away over rocks and stones, flying like a gazelle, with the monkey-like form of Rodur Sherrif leaning forward and looking over his left shoulder as the elephant rushed after him. For a moment it appeared as if the mare must be caught. Had she stumbled, all would have been lost, but she gained in the race after a few quick bounding strides, and Rodur, still looking behind him, kept his distance, so close, however, to the creature, that its outstretched trunk was within a few feet of the mare’s tail.

“The two Aggageers who had kept in the rear now dashed forward close to the hind quarters of the furious elephant, who, maddened with the excitement, heeded nothing but Rodur and his mare. When close to the tail of the elephant, the sword of one of the Aggageers flashed from its sheath as, grasping his trusty blade, he leaped nimbly to the ground, while his companion caught the reins of his horse. Two or three bounds on foot, with the sword clutched in both hands, and he was close behind the elephant. A bright glance shone like lightning as the sun struck on the descending steel. This was followed by a dull crack, the sword cutting through skin and sinew, and sinking deep into the bone about twelve inches above the foot. At the next stride the elephant halted dead short in the midst of his tremendous charge. The Aggageer who had struck the blow vaulted into the saddle with his naked sword in hand. At the same moment Rodur turned sharp round and, again facing the elephant, stooped quickly from the saddle to pick up from the ground a handful of dirt, which he threw into the face of the vicious animal, that once more attempted to rush upon him. It was impossible: the foot was dislocated and turned up in front like an old shoe. In an instant the other Aggageer leaped to the ground, and again the sharp sword slashed the remaining leg.”

Nothing could be more perfect than the way in which these daring hunters attack their prey. “It is difficult to decide which to admire most—whether the coolness and courage of him who led the elephant, or the extraordinary skill and activity of the Aggageer who dealt the fatal blow.”

Thus, hunting and exploring, Mr Baker, accompanied by his heroic wife, visited the numerous river-beds which carry the rains of the mountainous regions of Abyssinia into the Blue Nile, and are the cause of the periodical overflowing of the mighty stream, while its ordinary current is fed from other far-distant sources, towards one of which the traveller now prepared to direct his steps.

Speke and Grant were at this time making their way from Zanzibar, across untrodden ground, towards Gondokoro.

An expedition under Petherick, the ivory-trader, sent to assist them, had met with misfortune and been greatly delayed, and Mr Baker therefore hoped to reach the equator, and perhaps to meet the Zanzibar explorers somewhere about the sources of the Nile.

Proceeding along the banks of the Blue Nile, Mr and Mrs Baker reached Khartoum on the 11th of June, 1862. A beautiful view met their sight as they gazed across the waters of the Nile. “The morning sun was shining on this capital of the Soudan provinces; the dark green foliage of the groves of date-trees contrasted exquisitely with the numerous buildings of many colours which lined the margin of the river, while long lines of vessels with tapering spars gave light to the scene. But alas! this beauty soon vanished, both the sight and smell being outraged grievously as they entered the filthy and miserable town.”

Chapter Twenty Four.

Travels of Sir Samuel and Lady Baker, continued.

Preparations for journey to the south—Difficulties—The Shillooks—The Nuehr—Information about the slave trade—The Kytch—The sacred bullock—Arrive at Gondokoro—Attempts to shoot Baker—His escort mutiny—He meets Speke and Grant—Treachery among his servants—Encounter with slave-traders—Wins over Ibrahim, and arrives at Tarrangolle—The Latooka victory—Misbehaviour of the Turks, and threatened attack by the natives—A funeral dance—Returns to Obbo—Fever—Sets out for Karuma—Reaches Karuma Falls—Kamrasi—Proceeds to the Lake—A strange reception—Illness of Mrs Baker—Reach the village of Parkani—Arrive at the lake which Baker called Albert Nyanza—Surveys it—Reaches Magimgo—Proceeds to the Murchison Falls—Return to Magimgo—Deserted by his guide and carriers—Starvation—The guide reappears, and they arrive at Kamrasi’s camp—An invasion by Fowookas—Mr Baker prevents an attack—He at last sets off with Turkish traders, and arrives at Shooa—A march through the Bari—Reach Gondokoro—Voyage down the Nile—Welcomed at Khartoum—A dust-storm—Continuing their voyage, reach Berber, and at length arrive in England—Returns to Egypt—Organises an expedition to convey steamers up the Nile for Lake Nyanza, to oppose the slave trade.

At Khartoum Mr and Mrs Baker spent some months to recruit, occupying the house of the British Consul, who was then absent.

On the 17th of December their preparations for a fresh start were completed. Three vessels had been engaged, and were laden with large quantities of stores, with four hundred bushels of corn, and twenty-nine transport animals, including camels, horses, and donkeys. Their party consisted of ninety-six souls, including Johann Schmidt and the faithful black Richarn, and forty-nine well-armed men.

Khartoum was a nest of slave-traders, who looked with jealous eyes upon every stranger venturing within the precincts of their holy land, and, as Mr Baker observes: “sacred to slavery and to every abomination and villainy that man can commit.”

The Turkish officers pretended to discountenance slavery; at the same time every house was full of slaves, and Egyptian officers received a portion of their pay in slaves. The authorities, therefore, looked upon the proposed exploration of the White Nile by a European traveller as likely to interfere with their perquisites, and threw every obstacle in his way.

As the government of Soudan refused to supply him with properly-trained soldiers, the only men he could get for an escort were the miserable cut-throats of Khartoum, who had been accustomed all their lives to murder and pillage in the White Nile trade; yet, such as they were, he was compelled to put up with them, though he would undoubtedly have done better had he gone without such an escort.

The voyage alone to Gondokoro, the navigable limit of the Nile, was likely to occupy about fifty days, so that a large supply of provisions was necessary.

Difficulties were met with from the very beginning. The vessel’s yards were continually being carried away.

Poor Johann, who, though he had long been suffering, insisted on accompanying his employer, died a short time after the commencement of the voyage.

On the 2nd of January they were sailing past the country inhabited by the Shillooks, the largest and most powerful black tribe on the banks of the White Nile. They are very wealthy, and possess immense herds of cattle; are also agriculturists, fishermen, and warriors. Their huts are regularly built, looking at a distance like rows of button mushrooms. They embark boldly on the river in their raft-like canoes, formed of the excessively light ambatch-wood. The tree is of no great thickness, and tapers gradually to a point. It is thus easily cut down, and, several trunks being lashed together, a canoe is quickly formed. A war party on several occasions, embarking in a fleet of these rafts, have descended the river, and made raids on other tribes, carrying off women and children as captives, and large herds of cattle.

Nothing can be more melancholy and uninteresting than the general appearance of the banks of the river. At times vast marshes alone could be seen, at others an immense expanse of sandy desert, with huge ant-hills ten feet high rising above them. The inhabitants were naked savages. While stopping at a village on the right bank, they received a visit from the chief of the Nuehr tribe and a number of his followers. They were most unearthly-looking fellows; even the young women were destitute of clothing, though the married had a fringe made of grass round their loins. The men wore heavy coils of beads about their necks, two heavy bracelets of ivory on the upper portions of their arms, copper rings upon the wrist, and a horrible kind of bracelet of massive iron, armed with spikes about an inch in length, like leopards’ claws. The women had their upper lips perforated and wore ornaments on their heads, about four inches long, of beads, upon iron wires projecting like the horn of a rhinoceros.

The chief exhibited his wife’s arms and back, covered with jagged scars, to show the use of the spiked iron bracelet.

These were among the first blacks met with. They are almost too low in the scale of humanity to be fit for slaves. Mr Baker gained much information about the slave trade of this part of the world. Most of those engaged in this nefarious traffic are Syrians, Copts, Turks, Circassians, and some few Europeans. When a speculator has determined to enter into the trade, he engages a hundred and fifty to two hundred ruffians, and purchases guns and ammunition, and a few pounds of glass beads. With these he sails up to Gondokoro and, disembarking, marches into the interior till he arrives at the village of some negro chief, with whom he establishes an intimacy. The chief has probably an enemy to attack, and his new allies gladly assist him. Led by him, they approach some unsuspecting village about half an hour before daybreak. Surrounding it while the occupants are still sleeping, they fire the grass-huts in all directions, and pour volleys of musketry through the flaming thatch. Panic-struck, the unfortunate victims rush from their burning dwellings. The men are shot down, the women and children kidnapped and secured, while the herds of cattle are driven off. The women and children are then fastened together, the former secured by an instrument, called a sheba, made of a forked pole. The neck of the prisoner fits into the fork, secured by a cross-piece also behind, while the wrists, brought together in advance of the body, are tied to the pole. The children are then fastened by their necks with the rope attached to the women, and thus form a living chain, in which order they are marched to the head-quarters with the captured herds. Of course, all the ivory found in the place is carried off. The cattle are then exchanged with the negro chief for any tusks he may possess.

In many instances a quarrel is soon afterwards picked with him, and his village is treated in the same way as that of his foes. Should any slave attempt to escape, she is punished either by brutal flogging, or hanged as a warning to others. The slaves are then carried down the river, and landed a few days’ journey south of Khartoum, whence they are marched across the country, some to ports on the Red Sea, there to be shipped for Arabia and Persia, while others are sent to Cairo. In fact, they are disseminated throughout the slave dealing East.

Sailing on day after day, with marshes and dead flats alone in sight, mosquitos preventing rest even in the day, they at length arrived at the station of a White Nile trader, where large herds of cattle were seen on the banks.

They were here visited by the chief of the Kytch tribe and his daughter, a girl of about sixteen, better looking than most of her race. The father wore a leopard-skin across his shoulder, and a skull-cap of white beads, with a crest of white ostrich feathers. But this mantle was the only garment he had on. His daughter’s clothing consisted only of a piece of dressed hide hanging over one shoulder, more for ornament than use, as the rest of her body was entirely destitute of covering. The men, though tall, were wretchedly thin, and the children mere skeletons.

While the travellers remained here, they were beset by starving crowds, bringing small gourd shells to receive the expected corn. The natives, indeed, seem to trust entirely to the productions of nature for their subsistence, and are the most pitiable set of savages that can be imagined, their long thin legs and arms giving them a peculiar gnat-like appearance. They devour both the skin and bones of dead animals. The bones are pounded between stones, and, when reduced to powder, boiled to form a kind of porridge.

It is remarkable that in every herd they have a sacred bull, who is supposed to have an influence over the prosperity of the rest. His horns are ornamented with tufts of feathers, and frequently with small bells, and he invariably leads the great herd to pasture.

A short visit was paid to the Austrian mission stationed at Saint Croix, which has proved a perfect failure—indeed, that very morning it was sold to an Egyptian for 30 pounds.

It was here the unfortunate Baron Harnier, a Prussian nobleman, was killed by a buffalo which he had attacked in the hopes of saving the life of a native whom the buffalo had struck down.

The voyage terminated at Gondokoro on the 2nd of February.

The country is a great improvement to the interminable marshes at the lower part of the river, being raised about twenty feet above the water, while distant mountains relieve the eye, and evergreen trees, scattered in all directions, shading the native villages, form an inviting landscape. A few miserable grass-huts alone, however, form the town, if it deserves that name.

A large number of men belonging to the various traders were assembled here, who looked upon the travellers with anything but friendly eyes.

As Mr Baker heard that a party were expected at Gondokoro from the interior with ivory in a few days, he determined to await their arrival, in hopes that their porters would be ready to carry his baggage.

In the mean time he rode about the neighbourhood, studying the place and people.

“The native dwellings are the perfection of cleanliness. The domicile of each family is surrounded by a hedge of euphorbia, and the interior of the enclosure generally consists of a yard neatly plastered with a cement of ashes, cow-dung, and sand. Upon this cleanly-swept surface are one or more huts, surrounded by granaries of neat wicker-work, thatched, and resting upon raised platforms. The huts have projecting roofs, in order to afford a shade, and the entrance is usually about two feet high.

“The natives are of the Bari tribe. The men are well grown, and their features are good, the woolly hair alone denoting their negro blood.

“They use poisoned arrows, but, as their bows are inferior and they are bad marksmen, they do not commit much mischief with them.”

Gondokoro was a perfect hell—a mere colony of cut-throats. The Egyptians might easily have sent a few officers and two or three hundred men from Khartoum to form a military government, and thus impede the slave trade; but a bribe from the traders to the authorities was sufficient to ensure an uninterrupted asylum for any amount of villainy. The camps were full of slaves, and the Bari natives assured Mr Baker that there was a large depot of slaves in the interior, belonging to the traders, that would be marched to Gondokoro for shipment a few hours after his departure. He was looked upon as a stumbling-block to the trade. Several attempts were made to shoot him, and a boy was killed by a shot from the shore, on board his vessel. His men were immediately tampered with by the traders, and signs of discontent soon appeared among them. They declared that they had not sufficient meat, and that they must be allowed to make a razzia upon the cattle of the natives to procure oxen. This demand being refused, they became more insolent, and accordingly Mr Baker ordered the ringleader, an Arab, to be seized and to receive twenty-five lashes. Upon his vakeel approaching to capture the fellow, most of the men laid down their guns and, seizing sticks, rushed to his rescue. Mr Baker, on this, sprang forward, sent their leader by a blow of his fist into their midst, and then, seizing him by the throat, called to Saati for a rope to bind him. The men, still intent on their object, surrounded Mr Baker, when Mrs Baker, landing from the vessel, made her way to the spot. Her sudden appearance caused the mutineers to hesitate, when Mr Baker shouted to the drummer boy to beat the drum, and then ordered the men to fall in. Two-thirds obeyed him, and formed in line, while the remainder retreated with their ringleader. At this critical moment Mrs Baker implored her husband to forgive the mutineer, if he would kiss his hand and beg his pardon. This compromise completely won the men, who now called upon their ringleader to apologise, and all would be right. This he did, and Mr Baker made them rather a bitter speech and dismissed them.

This, unhappily, was only the first exhibition of their mutinous disposition, which nearly ruined the expedition, and might have led to the destruction of the travellers.

A few days afterwards guns were heard in the distance, and news arrived that two white men had arrived from “the sea”! They proved to be Grant and Speke, who had just come from the Victoria Nyanza. Both looked travel-worn. Speke, who had walked the whole distance from Zanzibar, was excessively lean, but in reality in good tough condition. Grant’s garments were well-nigh worn-out, but both of them had that fire in the eye which showed the spirit that had led them through many dangers.

They had heard of another lake to the westward of the the Nyanza, known as the Luta Nzige, which Speke felt convinced was a second source of the Nile.

Accordingly, he and Grant having generously furnished him with as perfect a map as they could produce, Baker determined to explore the lake, while his friends, embarking in his boats, sailed down the Nile on their voyage homeward. His men, notwithstanding the lesson they had received, still exhibited a determined mutinous disposition, and in every way neglected their duties. Happily for him, he had among his attendants a little black boy, Saati, who, having been brought as a slave from the interior, had been for a time in the Austrian mission, from which, with many other slaves, he was turned out. Wandering about the streets of Khartoum, he heard of Mr and Mrs Baker, and, making his way to their house, threw himself at the lady’s feet, and implored to be allowed to follow them. Hearing at the mission that he was superior to his juvenile companions, they accepted his services, and, being thoroughly washed, and attired in trousers, blouse, and belt, he appeared a different creature. From that time he considered himself as belonging entirely to Mrs Baker, and to serve her was his greatest pride. She in return endeavoured to instruct him, and gave him anecdotes from the Bible, combined with the first principles of Christianity.

Through the means of young Saati, Mr Baker heard of a plot among the Khartoum escort, to desert him with their arms and ammunition, and to fire at him should he attempt to disarm them. The locks of their guns had, by his orders, been covered with pieces of mackintosh. Directing Mrs Baker to stand behind him, he placed outside his tent, on his travelling bedstead, five double-barrelled guns loaded with buck-shot, a revolver, and a naked sabre. A sixth rifle he kept in his own hands, while Richarn and Saati stood behind him with double-barrelled guns. He then ordered the drum to beat, and all the men to form in line of marching order, while he requested Mrs Baker to point out any man who should attempt to uncover his lock when he gave the order to lay down their arms. In the event of the attempt being made, he intended to shoot the man immediately. At the sound of the drum only fifteen assembled. He then ordered them to lay down their arms. This, with insolent looks of defiance, they refused to do.

“Down with your guns this moment!” he shouted.

At the sharp click of the locks, as he quickly capped the rifle in his hand, the cowardly mutineers widened their line and wavered; some retreated a few paces, others sat down and laid their guns on the ground, while the remainder slowly dispersed, and sat in twos or singly under the various trees about eighty paces distant. On the vakeel and Richarn advancing, they capitulated, agreeing to give up their arms and ammunition on receiving a written discharge. They were immediately disarmed. The discharge was made out, when upon each paper Mr Baker wrote the word “mutineer” above his signature. Finally, nearly the whole of the escort deserted, taking service with the traders.

Not to be defeated, Baker obtained a Bari boy as interpreter, determined at all hazards to start from Gondokoro.

A party of traders under Koorshid, who had lately arrived from Latooka and were about to return, not only refused to allow the travellers to accompany them, but declared their intention of forcibly driving them back, should they attempt to advance by their route.

This served as an excuse to the remainder of his escort for not proceeding.

Saati discovered another plot, his men having been won over by Mahomet Her, the vakeel of Chenooda, another trader.

Notwithstanding the danger he was running, Mr Baker compelled his men to march, and by a clever manoeuvre got ahead of the party led by Ibrahim, Koorshid’s vakeel.

Finally, by wonderful tact, assisted by Mrs Baker, he won over Ibrahim, and induced him to render him all the assistance in his power.

Aided by his new friend, he arrived at Tarrangolle, one of the principal places in the Latooka country, a hundred miles from Gondokoro, which, though out of his direct route, would, he hoped, enable him with greater ease finally to reach Unyoro, the territory of Kamrasi.

In the mean time, however, several of his men had deserted and joined Mahomet Her. He had warned them that they would repent of their folly. His warnings were curiously fulfilled.

News soon arrived that Mahomet Her, with a party of a hundred and ten armed men, in addition to three hundred natives, had made a razzia upon a certain village among the mountains for slaves and cattle. Having succeeded in the village and capturing a number of slaves, as they were re-ascending the mountain to obtain a herd of cattle they had heard of, they were attacked by a large body of Latookas, lying in ambush among the rocks on the mountain side.

In vain the Turks fought; every bullet aimed at a Latooka struck a rock, while rocks, stones, and lances were hurled at them from all sides and from above. Compelled to retreat, they were seized with a panic, and took to flight.

Hemmed in by their foes, who showered lances and stones on their heads, they fled down the rocky and perpendicular ravines. Mistaking their road, they came to a precipice from which there was no retreat.

The screaming and yelling savages closed round them. All was useless; not an enemy could they shoot, while the savages thrust them forward with wild yells to the very verge of a precipice five hundred feet high. Over it they were driven, hurled to destruction by the mass of Latookas pressing onward. A few fought to the last; but all were at length forced over the edge of the cliff, and met the just reward of their atrocities. No quarter had been given, and upwards of two hundred of the natives who had joined the slave-hunters in the attack, had fallen with them.

Mahomet Her had not accompanied his party, and escaped, though utterly ruined.

The result of this catastrophe was highly beneficial to Mr Baker.

“Where are the men who deserted me?” he asked of those who still remained with him.

Without speaking, they brought two of his guns covered with clotted blood mixed with sand. Their owners’ names were known to him by the marks on the stocks. He mentioned them.

“Are they all dead?” he asked.

“All dead,” the men replied.

“Food for the vultures,” he observed. “Better for them had they remained with me and done their duty.”

He had before told his men that the vultures would pick the bones of the deserters.

From that moment an extraordinary change took place in the manner both of his own people and those of Ibrahim towards him. Unhappily, however, the Latookas exhibited a change for the worse. The Turks, as usual, insulted their women, and treated the natives with the greatest brutality; and had he not exercised much caution and vigilance, both his own party and Ibrahim’s would in all probability have been cut off. Ibrahim had been compelled to go back to Gondokoro for ammunition, and Mr Baker waited at Tarrangolle for his return.

On one occasion, in consequence of the misbehaviour of the Turks, the whole of the natives deserted the town, and vast numbers collected outside, threatening to attack it and destroy their guests. Mr Baker, gaining information of their intention, took command of the Turks, and with his own men showed so bold a front that the natives saw clearly that they would be the sufferers should they attempt to carry their purpose into execution.

Their chief, Comonoro, came into the town, and seeing the preparations made for its defence, agreed to persuade his people to act in a peaceable manner. The next morning they dispersed, and the inhabitants returned to the town.

The Turks, after their alarm, behaved better, though they threatened, when Ibrahim arrived with reinforcements and ammunition, that they would have their revenge.

Mr Baker after this moved his camp to a secure position some distance from the town, near a stream of water. Here he formed a garden, and lived in a far more independent way than before.

The debased state of morality prevailing among the natives was exhibited in a variety of ways. One of their chiefs, Adda by name, came to him one day and requested him to assist in attacking a village, for the purpose of procuring some iron hoes which he wanted. Mr Baker asked whether it was in an enemy’s country. “Oh, no!” was the reply; “it is close here, but the people are rather rebellious, and it will do them good to kill a few. If you are afraid, I will ask the Turks to do it.”

A funeral dance a short time after this took place in honour of those who had been killed in the late fight. The dancers were grotesquely got up, and are amusingly described by Mr Baker. “Each man had about a dozen huge ostrich feathers in his helmet, a leopard or monkey-skin hung from his shoulders, while a large iron bell was strapped to his loins like a woman’s bustle. This he rang during the dance, by jerking the hinder part of his body in the most absurd manner. All the time a hubbub was kept up by the shouting of the crowd, the blowing of horns, and the beating of seven nogaras, or drums, all of different notes, while each dancer also blew an antelope’s horn suspended round his neck, the sound partaking of the braying of a donkey and the screeching of an owl. Meantime crowds of men rushed round and round, brandishing their lances and iron-headed maces, following a leader, who headed them, dancing backwards. The women outside danced at a slower pace, screaming a wild and inharmonious chant, while beyond them a string of young girls and small children beat time with their feet, and jingled numerous iron rings which adorned their ankles. One woman attended upon the men, running through the crowd with a gourd full of wood-ashes, handfuls of which she showered over their heads, powdering them like millers. The leader among the women was immensely fat; notwithstanding this she kept up the pace to the last, quite unconscious of her general appearance.”

Notwithstanding the dangers of his position, Mr Baker frequently went out shooting, and, among other animals, he killed an enormous elephant, but the natives carried off the tusks and flesh. He was able, however, with his gun, to supply his camp with food, which was fortunate, as the natives would not sell him any of their cattle.

Soon after Ibrahim’s return, the Turks, at the request of Comonoro, attacked the town of Kayala, but were driven back by the natives, whose cattle, however, they carried off.

It became dangerous to remain longer in the country, in consequence of the abominable conduct of the Turks, which so irritated the natives that an attack from them was daily expected.

They were therefore compelled to return to Obbo, the chief of which, old Katchiba, had before received them in a friendly manner.

Here, in consequence of their exposure to wet, Mr and Mrs Baker were attacked with fever. By this time all their baggage animals as well as their horses had died. Mr Baker purchased from the Turks some good riding oxen for himself and his wife, and, having placed his goods under the charge of old Katchiba and two of his own men, he set out on the 8th of January, 1864, with a small number of attendants, to proceed to Karuma, the northern end of Kamrasi’s territory, which Speke and Grant had visited.

The Shooa country, through which he passed, is very beautiful, consisting of mountains covered with fine forest trees, and picturesquely dotted over with villages. Several portions presented the appearance of a park watered by numerous rivulets and ornamented with fine timber, while it was interspersed with high rocks of granite, which at a distance looked like ruined castles.

Here they found an abundance of food: fowls, butter, and goats were brought for sale.

They had obtained the services of a slave woman called Bacheeta, belonging to Unyoro, and who, having learned Arabic, was likely to prove useful as an interpreter and guide. She, however, had no desire to return to her own country, and endeavoured to mislead them, by taking them to the country of Rionga, an enemy of Kamrasi. Fortunately Mr Baker detected her treachery, and he and his Turkish allies reached the Karuma Falls, close to the village of Atada. A number of Kamrasi’s people soon crossed the river to within parleying distance, when Bacheeta, as directed, explained that Speke’s brother had arrived to pay Kamrasi a visit, and had brought him valuable presents. Kamrasi’s people, however, showed considerable suspicion on seeing so many people, till Baker appeared dressed in a suit similar to that worn by Speke, when they at once exhibited their welcome, by dancing and gesticulating with their lances and shields in the most extravagant manner. The party, however, were not allowed to cross till permission was obtained from Kamrasi. That very cautious and cowardly monarch sent his brother, who pretended to be Kamrasi himself, and for some time Baker was deceived, fully believing that he was negotiating with the king. Notwithstanding his regal pretensions, he very nearly got knocked down, on proposing that he and his guest should exchange wives, and even Bacheeta, understanding the insult which had been offered, fiercely abused the supposed king.

His Obbo porters had before this deserted him, and he was now dependent on Kamrasi for others to supply their places.

The king, however, ultimately became more friendly, and gave orders to his people to assist the stranger, granting him also permission to proceed westward to the lake he was so anxious to visit.

A few women having been supplied to carry his luggage, he and his wife, with their small party of attendants, at length set out.

On approaching a considerable village, about six hundred strangely-dressed men rushed out with lances and shields, screaming and yelling as if about to attack them. His men cried out: “Fire. There is a fight! there is a fight!”

He felt assured that it was a mere parade. The warriors were dressed either in leopard or white monkey-skins, with cows’ tails strapped on behind, and two antelope horns fixed on their heads, while their chins were ornamented with false beards made of the bushy ends of cows’ tails.

These demon-like savages came round them, gesticulating and yelling, pretending to attack them with spears and shields, and then engaged in sham fights with each other.

Mr Baker, however, soon got rid of his satanic escort. Poor Mrs Baker was naturally alarmed, fearing that it was the intention of the king to waylay them and perhaps carry her off.

Soon after this, while crossing the Kafue river, the heat being excessive, what was Mr Baker’s horror to see his wife sink from her ox as though shot dead. He, with his attendants, carried her through the yielding vegetation, up to their waists in water, above which they could just keep her head, till they reached the banks. He then laid her under a tree, and now discovered that she had received a coup de soleil. As there was nothing to eat on the spot, it was absolutely necessary to move on. A litter was procured, on which Mrs Baker was carried, her husband mechanically following by its side. For seven days continuously he thus proceeded on his journey. Her eyes at length opened, but, to his infinite grief, he found that she was attacked by a brain fever.

One evening they reached a village. She was in violent convulsions. He believed all was over, and, while he sank down insensible by her side, his men went out to seek for a spot to dig her grave. On awakening, all hope having abandoned him, as he gazed at her countenance her chest gently heaved; she was asleep. When at a sudden noise she opened her eyes, they were calm and clear: she was saved.

Having rested for a couple of days, they continued their course, Mrs Baker being carried on her litter. At length they reached the village of Parkani. To his joy, as he gazed at some lofty mountains, he was told that they formed the western side of the Luta Nzige, and that the lake was actually within a march of the village. Their guide announced that if they started early in the morning, they might wash in the lake by noon. That night Baker hardly slept.

The following morning, the 14th of March, starting before sunrise, on ox-back, he and his wife, with their attendants, following his guide, in a few hours reached a hill from the summit of which “he beheld beneath him a grand expanse of water, a boundless sea horizon on the south and south-west, glittering in the noonday sun, while on the west, at fifty or sixty miles distant, blue mountains rose from the bosom of the lake to a height of about seven thousand feet above its level.”

Hence they descended on foot, supported by stout bamboos, for two hours, to the white pebbly beach on which the waves of the lake were rolling.

Baker, in the enthusiasm of the moment, rushed into the lake, and, thirsty with heat and fatigue, with a heart full of gratitude, drank deeply from what he supposed to be one of the sources of the Nile, not dreaming of the wonderful discoveries Livingstone was making at that very time many degrees to the southward. He now bestowed upon this lake the name of the Albert Nyanza.

The dwellers on the borders of the lake are expert fishermen, and in one of their villages, named Vakovia, the travellers now established themselves.

His followers, two of whom had seen the sea at Alexandria, and who believed that they should never reach the lake, were astonished at its appearance, unhesitatingly declaring that though it was not salt, it must be the sea.

Salt, however, is the chief product of the country, numerous salt-pits existing in the neighbourhood, and in its manufacture the inhabitants are chiefly employed.

Vakovia is a miserable place, and, in consequence of its damp and hot position, the whole party suffered from fever.

Here they were detained eight days waiting for canoes, which Kamrasi had ordered his people to supply. At length several were brought, but they were merely hollowed-out trunks of trees, the largest being thirty-two feet long. Baker selected another, twenty-six feet long, but wider and deeper, for himself and his wife and their personal attendants, while the luggage and the remainder of the people embarked in the former. He raised the sides of the canoe, and fitted up a cabin for his wife, which was both rain and sun-proof.

Having purchased some provisions, he started on a voyage to survey the lake.

Vakovia is about a third of the way from the northern end of the lake. His time would not allow him to proceed further south. He directed his course northward, towards the part out of which the Nile was supposed to flow.

The difficulties of the journey were not yet over. The first day’s voyage was delightful, the lake calm, the scenery lovely. At times the mountains on the west coast were not discernible, and the lake appeared of indefinite width. Sometimes they passed directly under precipitous cliffs of fifteen hundred feet in height, rising abruptly out of the water, while from the deep clefts in the rocks evergreens of every tint appeared, and wherever a rivulet burst forth it was shaded by the graceful and feathery wild date. Numbers of hippopotami were sporting in the water, and crocodiles were numerous on every sandy beach.

Next night, however, the boatmen deserted, but, not to be defeated, Baker induced his own people to take to the paddles. He fitted a paddle to his own boat, to act as a rudder, but the men in the larger boat neglected to do as he had directed them.

A tremendous storm of rain came down while he was at work. His own canoe, however, being ready, he started. He was about to cross from one headland to another, when he saw the larger canoe spinning round and round, the crew having no notion of guiding her. Fortunately it was calm, and, on reaching the shore, he induced several natives to serve as his crew, while others went off in their own boats to assist the large canoe.

He now commenced crossing a deep bay, fully four miles wide. He had gained the centre when a tremendous storm came on, and enormous waves rolled in over the lake. The canoe laboured heavily and occasionally shipped water, which was quickly bailed out. Had this not been done, the canoe would inevitably have been swamped. Down came the rain in torrents, while the wind swept over the surface with terrific force, nothing being discernible except the high cliffs looming in the distance. The boatmen paddled energetically, and at last a beach was seen ahead. A wave struck the canoe, washing over her. Just then the men jumped out, and, though they were rolled over, they succeeded in hauling the boat up the beach.

The shore of the lake, as they paddled along it, was thinly inhabited, and the people very inhospitable, till they reached the town of Eppigoya. Even here the inhabitants refused to sell any of their goats, though they willingly parted with fowls at a small price.

At each village the voyagers changed their boatmen, none being willing to go beyond the village next them. This was provoking, as delays constantly occurred.

At length they reached Magimgo, situated inside an immense bed of reeds, at the top of a hill, above the mouth of a large river. Passing up a channel amidst a perfect wilderness of vegetation, they reached the shore below the town. Here they were met by their guide, who had brought their riding oxen from Vakovia, and reported them all well.

The chief of Magimgo and a large number of natives were also on the shore waiting for them, and brought them down a plentiful supply of goats, fowls, eggs, and fresh butter.

Proceeding on foot to the height on which Magimgo stands, they thence enjoyed a magnificent view, not only over the lake, but to the north, towards the point where its waters flow into the Nile.

Baker’s great desire was to descend the Nile in canoes, from its exit from the lake to the cataracts in the Madi country, and thence to march direct, with only guns and ammunition, to Gondokoro. This plan he found impossible to carry out.

Before their return to the canoes, Mr Baker himself was laid prostrate with fever, and most of his men were also suffering.

They had heard, however, of a magnificent waterfall up the river. They accordingly proceeded up it, and, as they got about eighteen miles above Magimgo, a slight current was perceived. The river gradually narrowed to about a hundred and eighty yards, and now, when the paddles ceased working, the roar of water could be distinctly heard. Continuing on, the noise became louder. An enormous number of crocodiles were seen, and Mr Baker counted, on one sandbank alone, twenty-seven of large size.

Reaching a deserted fishing village, the crew at first refused to proceed further, but, on Mr Baker explaining that he merely wished to see the falls, they paddled up the stream, now strong against them.

On rounding a point, a magnificent sight burst upon them. On either side of the river were beautifully-wooded cliffs, rising abruptly to a height of about three hundred feet, rocks jutting out from the intensely green foliage, while, rushing through a gap which cleft the rock exactly before them, was the river. It is here contracted from a grand stream to the width of scarcely a hundred and fifty feet. Roaring fiercely through the rock-bound pass, it plunged, in one leap of about a hundred and twenty feet, perpendicularly into the dark abyss below, the snow-white sheet of water contrasting superbly with the dark cliff that walled the river, while the graceful palms of the tropics, and wild plantains, perfected the beauty of the scene.

This was the great waterfall of the Nile, and was named the Murchison Falls, in compliment to the president of the Royal Geographical Society. To the river itself he gave the name of the Victoria Nile.

Having taken a view of the falls, and remained for some time admiring them, narrowly escaping being upset by a huge bull hippopotamus, they returned down the river to Magimgo.

Starting the next morning, both Mr and Mrs Baker suffering from fever, while all their quinine was exhausted, they found that their oxen had been bitten by the tsetse-fly, and were in a wretched condition, unlikely to live. Their guide also deserted them, and the whole of their carriers went off, leaving them on the Island of Patooam, in the Victoria River, to which they had been ferried across.

It was now the 8th of April, and within a few days the boats in which they had hoped to return down the Nile would leave Gondokoro. It was, therefore, of the greatest importance that they should set out at once, and take a direct route through the Shooa country.

The natives, not to be tempted even by bribes, positively refused to carry them. Their own men were also ill, and there was a great scarcity of provisions. War, indeed, was going on in the country to the east, Patooam being in the hands of Kamrasi’s enemies. It was on this account that no Unyoro porters could be found.

They might have starved had not an underground granary of seed been discovered, by the means of Bacheeta, in one of the villages burned down by the enemy. This, with several varieties of wild plants, enabled them to support existence.

The last of their oxen, after lingering for some time, lay down to die, affording the men a supply of beef, and Saati and Bacheeta occasionally obtained a fowl from one of the neighbouring islands, which they visited in a canoe.

At length both Mr and Mrs Baker fully believed that their last hour was come, and he wrote various instructions in his journal, directing his head man to deliver his maps and observations to the British Consul at Khartoum.

The object, it appeared, of Kamrasi in thus leaving them, was to obtain their assistance against his enemies, and at length their guide, Rehonga, made his appearance, having been ordered to carry them to Kamrasi’s camp.

The journey was performed, in spite of their weak state; and on their arrival they found ten of the Turks left as hostages with Kamrasi by Ibrahim, who had returned to Gondokoro. The Turks received them with respect and manifestations of delight and wonder at their having performed so difficult a journey.

A hut was built for their reception, and an ox, killed by the Turks, was prepared as a feast for their people.

The next day the king notified his readiness to receive the traveller, who, attiring himself in a Highland costume, was carried on the shoulders of a number of men into the presence of the monarch. The king informed him that he had made arrangements for his remaining at Kisoona.

As now all hope of reaching Gondokoro in time for the boats had gone, Mr Baker, yielding to necessity, prepared to make himself at home. He had a comfortable hut built, surrounded by a court-yard with an open shed in which he and his wife could spend the hot hours of the day. Kamrasi sent him a cow which gave an abundance of milk, also amply supplying him with food.

Here the travellers were compelled to spend many months. Their stay was cut short, in consequence of the invasion of the country by Fowooka’s people, accompanied by a large band of Turks under the trader Debono. Kamrasi proposed at once taking to flight; but Baker promised to hoist the flag of England, and to place the country under British protection. He then sent a message to Mahomet, Debono’s vakeel, warning him that should a shot be fired by any of his people, he would be hung, and ordering them at once to quit the country; informing them, besides, that he had already promised all the ivory to Ibrahim, so that, contrary to the rules of the traders, they were trespassing in the territory.

This letter had its due effect. Mahomet deserted his allies, who were immediately attacked by Kamrasi’s troops, and cut to pieces, while the women and children were brought away as captives. Among them, Bacheeta, who had once been a slave in the country, recognised her former mistress, who had been captured with the wives and daughters of their chief, Rionga.

After this Ibrahim returned, bringing a variety of presents for Kamrasi, which, in addition to the defeat of his enemies, put him in excellent humour.

Mr Baker was able to save the life of an old chief, Kalloe, who had been captured; but some days afterwards the treacherous Kamrasi shot him with his own hand.

At length the Turkish traders, having collected a large supply of ivory, were ready to return to Shooa; and Mr Baker, thankful to leave the territory of the brutal Kamrasi, took his leave, and commenced the journey with his allies, who, including porters, women, and children, amounted to a thousand people.

At Shooa he spent some months more encamped among the friendly Madi.

As they were marching thence through the country inhabited by the Bari tribe, they were attacked in a gorge by the natives. The latter were, however, driven back; but the following night the camp was surrounded, and poisoned arrows shot into it. One of the natives, who had ventured nearer than the rest, was shot, when the rest, who could not be seen on account of the darkness, retired. In the morning a number of arrows were picked up.

On reaching Gondokoro, only three boats had arrived, while the trading parties were in consternation at hearing that the Egyptian authorities were about to suppress the slave trade and with four steamers had arrived at Khartoum, two of which had ascended the White Nile and had captured many slavers. Thus the three thousand slaves who were then assembled at Gondokoro would be utterly worthless.

The plague also was raging at Khartoum, and many among the crews of the boats had died on the passage. Mr Baker, however, engaged one of them, a diabiah, belonging to Koorshid Pacha.

Bidding farewell to his former opponent, Ibrahim, who had since, however, behaved faithfully, Mr Baker and his devoted wife commenced their voyage down the Nile.

Unhappily the plague, as might have been expected, broke out on board, and several of their people died among them. They chiefly regretted the loss of the faithful little boy, Saati.

At Khartoum, which they reached on the 5th of May, 1865, they were welcomed by the whole European population, and hospitably entertained.

Here they remained two months. During the time the heat was intense, and the place was visited by a dust-storm, which in a few minutes produced an actual pitchy darkness. At first there was no wind, and when it came it did not arrive with the violence that might have been expected. So intense was the darkness, that Mr Baker and his companions tried in vain to distinguish their hands placed close before their eyes: not even an outline could be seen. This lasted for upwards of twenty minutes, and then rapidly passed away. They had, however, felt such darkness as the Egyptians experienced in the time of Moses.

The plague had been introduced by the slaves landed from two vessels which had been captured, and in which the pestilence had broken out. They contained upwards of eight hundred and fifty human beings. Nothing could be more dreadful than the condition in which the unhappy beings were put on shore. The women had afterwards been distributed among the soldiers, and, in consequence, the pestilence had been disseminated throughout the place.

Mr Baker had the satisfaction of bringing Mahomet Her, who had instigated his men to mutiny at Latooka, to justice. He was seized and carried before the governor, when he received one hundred and fifty lashes. How often had the wretch flogged women to excess! What murders had he not committed! And now how he howled for mercy! Mr Baker, however, begged that the punishment might be stopped, and that it might be explained to him that he was thus punished for attempting to thwart the expedition of an English traveller by instigating his escort to mutiny.

The Nile having now risen, the voyage was recommenced; but their vessel was very nearly wrecked on descending the cataracts.

On reaching Berber, they crossed the desert east to Sonakim on the Red Sea. Hence, finding a steamer, they proceeded by way of Suez to Cairo, where they left the faithful Richarn and his wife in a comfortable situation as servants at Shepherd’s Hotel, and Mr Baker had the satisfaction of hearing that the Royal Geographical Society had awarded him the Victoria Gold Medal, a proof that his exertions had been duly appreciated. He also, on his arrival in England, received the honour of knighthood.

Sir Samuel and Lady Baker, after a short stay at home, returned to Egypt; Sir Samuel there having received the rank of pacha from the Khedive, organised an expedition to convey steamers up the Nile, to be placed on the waters of Lake Albert Nyanza, and with a strong hand to put a stop to the slave trade, the horrors of which he had witnessed. For many weary months he laboured in his herculean task, opposed in every possible way by the slave-traders, and the treachery and open hostility of the natives, overcoming obstacles which would have daunted any but the most courageous and determined of men.

Reports of his defeat and destruction reached England; but happily they proved to be false, and it is to be hoped that he and his heroic wife will, ere long, return in safety to give an account of their adventures.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Dr Livingstone’s third great expedition.

Dr Livingstone, with thirty followers, lands near mouth of Rovuma—Proceeds up bank of river—Misconduct of Sepoys—Loss of animals—Reaches Lake Nyassa—The Babisa Chief—Roguish Arab—Proceeds westward—Visits the Chambezi—Arrives at Kazembe’s city—Londa—Receptions by the King and his wife—Lake Mopo—Lake Moero—The Lualaba River—Proceeds down it—Other large lakes heard of—Compelled to return east—Treachery of a Moor—Three years occupied in exploring—Severe illness—Mild character of natives—Cruelties of the Arabs—Returns to Ujiji.

Notwithstanding the dangers and hardships he had endured during the many years spent in penetrating into the interior of Africa and exploring the Zambesi, Dr Livingstone, unwearied and undaunted, felt an ardent desire to make further discoveries, to open up a road for commerce, and, more than all, to prepare the way for the the spread of the Gospel among the benighted inhabitants of the mighty continent.

A year after he performed his adventurous voyage in the “Lady Nyassa” to Bombay, he returned to Zanzibar to make arrangements for another expedition.

For the particulars of the expedition we have to depend on the brief letters he sent home at distant periods, and more especially on the deeply-interesting account of Mr Stanley, who, when many had begun to despair of the traveller’s return, made his adventurous journey to find him.

See “How I Found Livingstone,” by Henry M Stanley. Sampson, Low and Company, 1872.

The Governor of Bombay had given Dr Livingstone permission to take twelve Sepoys, who, being provided with Enfield rifles, were to act as guards to the expedition. He had brought nine men from Johanna, and these, with seven liberated slaves and two Zambesi men, making thirty in all, formed his attendants, and were considered sufficient to enable him to pass through the country without having to fear any marauding attacks from the natives.

Leaving Zanzibar in March, 1866, he landed in a bay to the north of the mouth of the Rovuma River, early in the following month.

On the 7th of April he began his journey into the interior, moving along the left bank of the river. His baggage consisted of bales of cloth and bags of beads, with which to enable him to purchase food and pay tribute to the chiefs through whose territories he might pass. He had, besides, his chronometer, sextant, artificial horizon, and thermometers carried in cases, as also medicines, and the necessary clothing and other articles for himself. To carry the luggage he had also brought six camels, three horses, two mules, and three donkeys.

The route he had chosen was beset with difficulties. For miles on the bank of the river he found the country covered with dense jungle, through which the axe was required to hew a way. There was, indeed, a path which twisted and turned about in every direction, formed by the natives, sufficient for the passage of persons unencumbered by luggage, but which it was found the camels could not possibly pass along, unless the branches overhead were first cut down.

Greatly to his disappointment the Sepoys and Johanna men, unaccustomed to such sort of labour, showed from the first a great dislike to be employed in it, and, soon after they started, they began to use every means in their power to ruin the expedition, in order to compel their leader to return to the coast. So cruelly did they neglect and ill treat the unfortunate camels and other animals, that in a short time they all died. The doctor, however, obtained natives to carry on the loads. They then tried to prejudice him in the minds of the natives by bringing all sorts of false accusations against him. They likewise behaved ill in a variety of other ways. To lighten their own shoulders, they laid hands on any woman or boy they could find, and compelled them to carry their arms and ammunition. Frequently also, after marching a short distance, they would throw themselves down on the ground, declaring that they were too much fatigued to move, and refused to advance, often not making their appearance till the camp was formed in the evening.

The doctor, feeling that even should he be attacked, they would probably desert him, at length dismissed the whole of the Sepoys, and, providing them with provisions, sent them back to the coast.

For several days together he and his remaining men travelled through an uninhabited wilderness, and, being unable to obtain food, they suffered much from hunger, while several of the men deserted. Reaching, however, the village of a Wahiyou chief, situated on high ground above Lake Nyassa, their wants were supplied.

Early next month he arrived at the village of another chief, named Mpende, near the shore of Lake Nyassa. Here one of his attendants, in whom he thought he could place confidence, and whom he had liberated from slavery, insisted on leaving him, making various excuses for doing so. He also tried to induce another youth, named Chumah, to desert; but the latter coming to the doctor, who suspected that he would only be made a slave of, persuaded him to remain.

The next halt was made at the residence of a Babisa chief, who was suffering from sickness; and here the doctor remained till he had seen him restored to health.

While at this place an Arab arrived, and declared that he had escaped from a marauding band of Mazitu, who had plundered him of his property. He so worked on Musa, the captain of the Johanna men, who pretended to believe his account, that Musa entreated the doctor to return; but when the Babisa chief denounced the Arab as an impostor, Musa confessed that his great object was to get back to his family at Johanna.

On finding that the doctor persevered in his intention to proceed westward, Musa and his followers deserted him.

Thus was Livingstone left with only three or four attendants to prosecute his journey, while those who had gone off had robbed him of much of his property and even the greater part of his own clothes.

Leaving the Nyassa, he proceeded westward, passing through the territories of numerous chiefs, who generally treated him hospitably, though he had numerous difficulties to encounter, and constantly met with misfortunes.

Continuing his course west and north-west, he came to a large river flowing west, called the Chambezi, and, in consequence of the similarity of its name to that of the stream he had so long navigated, he concluded, trusting to the accounts given by Dr Lacerda, that it was but the head water of the Zambesi. He pushed on therefore, without paying it the attention he otherwise would have done. He subsequently discovered that it fell into a large lake called Bangueolo, to the south of which are a range of mountains which cut it off completely from the Zambesi.

Directing his course to the north-west, through the large province of Londa, he reached the town of a chief named Kazembe, of whom he had heard through Dr Lacerda.

This prince was a very intelligent man, with a fine commanding figure. He received Dr Livingstone, dressed in a kilt of crimson stuff, surrounded by his nobles and guards.

The doctor had previously received a visit from a chief, who called to enquire the objects he had in view, and who now announced in due form the reply he had received. He stated that the white man had arrived for the purpose of ascertaining what rivers and lakes existed in the country, though, as he observed, it was difficult to comprehend why he wished to gain such information. The king then, having put various questions to the doctor, the answers to which seemed to satisfy him, gave him leave to travel wherever he liked throughout his dominions, and assured him that he could do so without the risk of interference from any of his subjects. He had never before seen an Englishman, and he was pleased to see one for whom he already felt a regard. Soon after the doctor received the announcement that the queen would honour him by a visit, and a dignified fine-looking young woman, holding a spear in her hand, and followed by a number of damsels also with spears, made her appearance, evidently intending to produce an effect upon the white stranger. Her costume, however, and the enormous weapon she carried in her hand, seems so to have tickled the doctor’s fancy, that he burst into a fit of laughter. The lady herself and her attendant maidens, unable to resist the influence of the doctor’s laugh, joined in the fun, and, wheeling about, rapidly beat a retreat. The doctor quickly made himself at home with his new friends, and under their protection commenced a series of researches which occupied him for many months.

Londa, Kazembe’s capital, is situated on the small Lake Mopo. To the north of it is a very much larger lake called Moero, surrounded by lofty mountains, clothed to their summits with the rich vegetation of the tropics. The whole scenery is indeed beautiful and magnificent in the extreme.

This is, however, only one of a series of lakes which the doctor discovered in the wide-extending province of Londa. The most southern is the large lake of Bangueolo, four thousand feet above the level of the sea, its area almost equal to that of Lake Tanganyika. It is into this lake that the Chambezi and a vast number of other smaller streams empty themselves.

As the Chambezi rises in the lofty plateau of Lobisa, six thousand six hundred feet above the level of the sea, the doctor is inclined, from the discoveries he afterwards made, to consider that it is the true source of the Nile, which, if such is the case, would give that river a length in direct latitude of upwards of two thousand miles, making it only second to the Mississippi, the longest river on the face of the globe.

This will be seen as we proceed with the account of his interesting discoveries.

The next important fact to be observed is that a larger river than any of them, called the Luapula, runs out of the lake into Lake Moero. Out of the northern end of the Lake Moero again another large river, the Lualaba, runs thundering forth through a vast chasm, and then, expanding into a calm stream of great width, winds its way north and west till it enters a third large lake, the Kamolondo. The doctor gave it the additional name of Webb’s River. In some places he found it to be three miles broad. He perseveringly followed it down its course, and found it again making its exit from Lake Kamolondo, till it was joined by other large rivers, some coming from the south and others from the east, till he reached the village of Nyangwe, in latitude 4 degrees south. Here, having exhausted the means of purchasing fresh provisions, and his followers refusing to proceed further, he was compelled to bring his journey northward to a termination. This was not till the year 1871.

He, however, heard of another enormous lake to the northward, into which the Lualaba empties itself, bounded by a range to the westward called the Balegga mountains. From the information he received, he believed that this last-mentioned lake is connected by a series of small lakes, or by a somewhat sluggish stream, with the Albert Nyanza, the waters of which undoubtedly flow into the Nile.

Of course it is possible that the waters which flow out of this large unknown lake, instead of running to the north-east into the Albert Nyanza, may have a westerly or north-westerly course, in which case, instead of making their way into the Nile, they may be feeders of the Congo river.

To the south-west of Lake Kamolondo the doctor discovered another large lake, to which he gave the name of Lake Lincoln, after the President of the United States, the liberator of their negro population.

Another large river, the Lomame, flowing from the southward, enters this lake, and, passing out again at its northern end, joins the Luaba, which after this takes an almost, northerly course.

These discoveries occupied Dr Livingstone three years. After his discovery of Lake Moero, while residing with Kazembe, he unfortunately became acquainted with a half-caste Moor, named Mahommed Ben Sali, who had been detained as a prisoner by the king. The doctor obtained his release, and allowed the Arab to accompany him. The villainous old fellow, in return, did his utmost to ruin Dr Livingstone, by inducing his attendants to desert him, and even Susi and Chumah for a time were won over, though they ultimately returned to the doctor.

During his journeys, now to the west, now to the east, he met, in the latter quarter, a large sheet of water, which he discovered to be the southern end of Lake Tanganyika, and, after remaining some time with Kazembe, he set off, and crossed over to Ujiji, which he reached about the middle of March, 1869. After resting here till June, he again crossed the lake, and proceeded westward with a party of traders till he reached the large village of Bambarra, in Manyema.

It is the chief ivory depot in that province, where large quantities are obtained.

He was here detained six months, suffering severely from ulcers in his feet, which prevented him putting them to the ground, and from thence it was, when again able to set out, that he discovered the course of the Lualaba, which occupied him till the year 1871.

From Nyangwe, as before mentioned, he was compelled to return eastward to Ujiji, a distance of seven hundred miles. Manyema, in the province of Ruo, lying directly to the south of it, is inhabited by heathens, each village governed by its own chief, holding little or no communication with their neighbours. The people appear to be mild and inoffensive, though perfect pagans. They posses a considerable amount of ingenuity, and manufacture a most beautiful fabric from fine grass, equal to the finest grass cloth of India.

So numerous are the elephants which range through the wilds of this region, that until the Arabs unhappily made their way into it, the people were accustomed to form their door-posts and partially to build their houses with ivory tusks. The inhabitants, who were then unacquainted with firearms, were so terrified at hearing the reports of the Arabs’ muskets and feeling their effects, that they did not attempt to defend themselves, and already great numbers had been carried off into slavery by the abominable kidnappers.

Dr Livingstone witnessed a horrible massacre committed by one of these wretches, a half-caste Arab, Tagamoyo by name, with his armed slaves, on a number of the helpless inhabitants collected in a market-place on the bank of the Lualaba. While the people, unsuspicious of danger, were assembled, to the number of two thousand, eagerly carrying on their trade, the wretch Tangamoyo suddenly appeared, and opened fire upon them. Numbers were shot down, others rushed to their canoes, and, in their terror, made off without their companions, while many, throwing themselves headlong into the water, were seized by the voracious crocodiles. Upwards of four hundred women and children were killed, while a greater number were carried off into slavery.

The doctor describes the people as of light colour, with well-formed features. Being of gentle manners, they are eagerly sought for by the Arabs, whose wives they sometimes become.

Further to the north he met with a race not darker than the Portuguese, and a remarkably handsome people, who seemed to have a peculiar aptitude for commerce.

In Ruo he discovered some rich copper mines.

On reaching Ujiji, on the 16th of October, 1871, greatly to his dismay he found that Sherrif, into whose charge he had committed his goods, had, believing him to be dead, sold the whole of them for ivory, which he had appropriated.

Thus, the doctor, already suffering fearfully from illness, found himself deprived of the means of purchasing food or paying his way back to the coast. The letters, stores, and provisions sent to him from Zanzibar had been detained on the road.

What might have been his fate had he not been succoured by Mr Stanley, who, as we are about to relate, at the head of the “New York Herald” expedition, so nobly and gallantly made his way across to find him, it is impossible to say.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Stanley’s expedition in search of Dr Livingstone.

Stanley sent out by Mr Bennett, of the “New York Herald”—Reaches Zanzibar—Dr Kirk—His white and native attendants—Bombay engaged—Boats prepared—Crosses to Bagomoyo—Jesuit mission—Finds caravan for relief of Livingstone detained—Difficulties to be surmounted—Porters abscond—Misconduct of white men—A strongly fortified town—Attacked by fever—Sends Farquhar sick to Mpwapwa, where he dies—Shaw fires at Stanley—Stanley’s cool conduct—Expedition enters Ugogo with Arab caravan—Heavy tribute demanded by Sultan of Mvumi—Donkeys die—Journey through jungle—Country laid waste by Arab slave-traders—Well received by Mkaswa—Livingstone caravan arrives—Prepares to start for Ujiji—Some of his men join Arabs in an attack on a town, and are defeated—Stanley and Shaw narrowly escape—Returns to Kivihara—The place threatened—Preparations for defence—Hears news of Livingstone—Receives present of a slave boy, Kiulu—Followers prove refractory—Sets out—Sends Shaw back—Narrow escape from a crocodile—Donkey seized by crocodile—Meet Caravan from Ujiji—More news of Livingstone—Threatened by Wahha—Pass village at night—Nearly discovered—Lake Tanganyika seen—Dr Livingstone found at last—Livingstone recovers—Character of Livingstone—Voyage on Lake Tanganyika—The Rusizi River—Livingstone and Stanley set off from Ujiji together—Journey to Mkaswa, and stay there—Livingstone remains, and Stanley proceeds to Zanzibar to fit out an expedition to assist him—Finds Kisalungo destroyed by a flood—Dreadful floods—Adventures on journey—Meets with the Livingstone relief expedition—It is disbanded—Disbands his own, and fits out a fresh one—Starts it off, and sails for England via the Seychelles—Noble liberality of Mr Bennett.

The spirited proprietor of the “New York Herald,” James Gordon Bennett, having become deeply interested in the fate of Dr Livingstone, determined to send out one of his special correspondents, Mr Henry M. Stanley, then at Madrid, to Africa, in search of the traveller.

Arriving in Paris, Stanley received his instructions, which were, first to ascertain in Egypt what Sir Samuel Baker—then about to start up the Nile—intended to do, and, after visiting a good many other places, to make his way via Bombay, Mauritius, and the Seychelles, to Zanzibar.

He carried out his instructions, and arrived in January, 1871, at Zanzibar, which he found to be a much more beautiful and fertile island than he had supposed.

He soon introduced himself to Dr Kirk, and, without delay, set about making the necessary preparations for his journey.

The great difficulty was to obtain information as to the amount of food, or rather the articles for purchasing it, which would be required for the hundred men he proposed enlisting in his service.

He had engaged at Jerusalem a Christian Arab boy named Selim, who was to act as his interpreter, and he had also on the voyage attached to the expedition two mates of merchantmen, Farquhar and Shaw, who were very useful in constructing tents and arranging two boats and the pack-saddles and packages for the journey, but who proved in other respects very poor travellers. He also secured the services of that now well-known hero, Bombay, captain of Speke’s faithfuls, and five of his other followers, Uledi, Grant’s valet, and the bull-headed Mabruki, who had in the mean time lost one of his hands, but, notwithstanding, was likely to prove useful. They were the only remains of the band to be found, the rest having died or gone elsewhere. These six still retained their medals for assisting in the discovery of the source of the Nile.

The boats, one of which was capable of carrying twenty people and the other six, were stripped of their planks, the timbers and thwarts only being carried. Instead of the planking it was proposed to cover them with double canvas skin, well tarred. They and the rest of the baggage were carried in loads, none exceeding sixty-eight pounds in weight. Two horses and twenty-seven donkeys were purchased, and a small cart, while the traveller had brought with him a watch-dog, which he hoped would guard his tent from prowling thieves. An ample supply of beads, cloth, and wire were also laid in, with tea, sugar, rice, and medicine. To Bombay and his faithfuls were added eighteen more free men, who were all well-armed, and when mustered appeared an exceedingly fine-looking body of soldiers. These were to act as escort to the pagazis, or carriers.

On the 4th of February, 1871, the expedition was ready, and on the 5th embarked in four dhows, which conveyed it across to Bagomoyo on the mainland.

Here it was detained five weeks while its persevering leader was combatting the rogueries of Ali Ben Salim and another Arab, Hadji Palloo, who had undertaken to secure one hundred and forty pagazis. The packages were rearranged, the tents improved, and other necessary arrangements made.

He found here a caravan which had been despatched by the British Consul a hundred days before to the relief of Dr Livingstone; but which, its leader making as an excuse that he was unable to obtain a fresh number of pagazis, had hitherto remained inactive.

The climate of Bagomoyo is far superior to that of Zanzibar.

In its neighbourhood a French Jesuit mission has been for some time established, with ten priests and as many sisters, who have been very successful in educating two hundred boys and girls. The priests sumptuously entertained Mr Stanley with excellent champagne and claret, while some of their pupils, among whom they had formed an excellent brass band, amused them with instrumental music and French songs.

He divided his expedition into five caravans, the first of which he started off on the 18th of February, although it was not till March 21st that he with the largest was able to commence his journey westward. Altogether the expedition numbered on the day of departure, besides the commander and his two white attendants, twenty-three soldiers, four chiefs, one hundred and fifty-three pagazis, and four supernumeraries. Every possible care had been bestowed on the outfit, and in nothing that it needed was it stinted.

Bombay proved to be as honest and trustworthy as formerly, while Ferajji and Mabruki turned out true men and staunch, the latter, on one occasion, finding a difficulty in dragging the cart, having brought it along on his head rather than abandon it.

The Kinganni river was reached by a bridge rapidly formed with American axes, the donkeys refusing to pass through the water.

The country due west of Bagomoyo was found to be covered with towns and villages which were previously unknown.

Soon after starting, Omar, the watch-dog was missing, when Mabruki, hastening back, found him at the previous halting-place.

One of the caravans at the same place was detained by the sickness of three of the pagazis, whose places it was necessary to supply.

Stanley soon had to experience the invariable troubles of African travellers. His two horses died within a few hours of each other, both, however, from disease of long standing, and not from the climate.

Few men were better able to deal with the rogueries of the petty chiefs he met with than Mr Stanley. He had always a ready answer, and invariably managed to catch them in their own traps, while the “great master,” as he was called, managed to keep all his subordinates in pretty good order.

One of his pagazis, Khamisi, under Shaw’s command, having absconded, Uledi and Ferajji found him, having fallen into the hands of some plundering Washensi, who were about to kill him. A court of eight soldiers and eight pagazis, having been convened, condemned him to be flogged with the “great master’s” donkey-whip. As Shaw ought to have kept a better look out, he was ordered to give him one blow and the pagazis and soldiers the remainder. This being done, the man was pardoned.

Moving on, the expedition passed Simbamwenni, the capital of Useguhha, the fortifications of which are equal to any met with in Persia. The area of the town is about half a square mile, while four towers of stone guard each corner. There are four gates, one in each wall, which are closed with solid square doors of African teak, and carved with complicated devices.

It is ruled by the daughter of the infamous Kisalungo, notorious as a robber and kidnapper, another Theodore on a small scale.

Before long Stanley was attacked with fever, which greatly prostrated his strength, though he quickly recovered by taking strong dozes of quinine.

The most painful event which occurred was the flight of Bunda Selim, who had been punished for pilfering rations. The men sent after him were seized and imprisoned by the Sultana of Simbamwenni, and, though ultimately liberated by the interference of an Arab sheikh, nothing could be found of the missing cook. Shaw also fell ill, and left the task of urging on the floundering caravan through marshes and rivers to his superior. Several of the others followed his example, and even Bombay complained of pains and became unserviceable.

The report from Farquhar’s caravan was most unsatisfactory, he, as far as Stanley could make out, having lost all his donkeys. The unhappy man, indeed, he found on overtaking him, was suffering from dropsy. He had also given to the pagazis and soldiers no small amount of the contents of the bales committed to his charge, as payment for the services he had demanded of them, and in purchasing expensive luxuries. As he could not walk and was worse than useless, Stanley was obliged to send the sick man, under the charge of Mabruki, thirty miles away to the village of Mpwapwa, to the chief of which place he promised an ample reward if he would take care of him.

Worse than all the wretched Shaw, after a dispute, during the night fired into his tent, too evidently with the intention of killing him. He found the intended murderer pretending to be asleep, with a gun by his side yet warm. Unable to deny that he had fired, he declared that in his dreams he had seen a thief pass his door; and then asked what was the matter? “Oh, nothing,” answered Stanley; “but I would advise you in future, in order to avoid all suspicion, not to fire into my tent, or at least, so near me. I might get hurt, in which case ugly reports would get about, and this, perhaps, would be disagreeable, as you are probably aware. Good night!”

On reaching Mpwapwa the Chief Lencolo positively refused to take charge of the white man unless an interpreter was left with him, and Jako, who was the only one of the party besides Bombay and Selim who could speak English, was ordered to remain in that capacity.

The expedition was now about to enter Ugogo. During the passage of the intervening desert, five out of the nine donkeys died, the cart having some time before been left behind.

The expedition was now joined by several Arab caravans, so that the number of the party amounted to about four hundred souls, strong in guns, flags, horns sounding, drums, and noise. This host was to be led by Stanley and Sheikh Hamed through the dreaded Ugogo.

On the 26th of May they were at Mvumi, paying heavy tribute to the sultan. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. Stanley suggested that as he had twenty Wazunga armed with Winchester repeating rifles, he might make the sultan pay tribute to him. The sheikh entreated that he would act peaceably, urging that angry words might induce the sultan to demand double the tribute.

While here five more donkeys died, and their bones were picked clean before the morning by the hyaenas.

The tribute was paid to preserve peace, and on the 27th, shaking the dust of Mvumi off their feet, the party proceeded westward. The country was one vast field of grain, and thickly populated.

Between that place and the next sultan’s district twenty-five villages were counted. Whenever they halted large groups of people assembled and greeted with peals of laughter the dress and manner of the mzungu, or white man, and more than once had to be kept at a distance by Stanley’s rifle or pistols, sometimes his thick whip coming into play.

After this a dense jungle was entered, the path serpentining in and out of it; again open tracts of grass bleached white were passed: now it led through thickets of gums and thorns, producing an odour as rank as a stable; now through clumps of wide-spreading mimosa and colonies of baobab-trees across a country teeming with noble game, which, though frequently seen, were yet as safe from their rifles as if they had been on the Indian Ocean. But the road they were on admitted of no delay; water had been left behind at noon; until noon the next day not a drop was to be obtained, and unless they marched fast and long, raging thirst would demoralise everybody.

After this wearisome journey Stanley was again attacked by fever, which it required a whole day’s halt and fifty grains of quinine to cure.

As may be supposed they were thankful when Ugogo was passed, and they entered Unyanyembe.

As the caravan resumed its march after halting at noon, the Wanyamuezi cheered, shouted, and sang, the soldiers and pagazis shouting in return, and the kirangoza blew his horn much more merrily than he had been wont to do in Ugogo.

A large district, however, presented the sad spectacle of numerous villages burnt down, cattle carried off, and the grain-fields overrun with jungle and rank weeds—too common a sight in that part of the country.

The expedition at length entered Kivihara, the capital of the province ruled over by the aged Sultan Mkaswa, who received Stanley in a friendly way. The Sheikh Said Ben Salim invited him to take up his quarters in his tembe, or house, a comfortable-looking place for the centre of Africa. Here his goods were stored, and his carriers paid off.

His three other caravans had arrived safely. One had had a slight skirmish, a second having shot a thief, and the third having lost a bale when attacked by robbers.

This is the place, to the southward of Victoria Nyanza, where Captains Burton, Speke, and Grant remained for a considerable time at different periods during their expeditions.

Soon after, the Livingstone caravan arrived, and the goods were stored with those of Stanley, the men being quartered with his. The chief of the caravan brought Stanley a package of letters directed to Dr Livingstone at Ujiji, when, to his surprise, he found that it was marked outside: “November 1st, 1871.” What a cruel delay was this!

After his long journey, Stanley was now laid completely prostrate, and for two weeks was perfectly senseless. The unhappy Shaw was also again taken ill. The fever rapidly destroyed both his memory and his reason. Selim, who had hitherto faithfully watched over his master and treated him according to the written directions he had received, was also prostrated, and in a state of delirium for four days.

On the 28th of July, however, all had again recovered, and on the 29th fifty pagazis were ready to start with bales, beads, and wire for Ujiji.

Three days after this, Shaw again broke down, asserting he was dying, and he had to be carried on the backs of his men till brought into his leader’s hut.

The road, however, ahead was closed by the chief Mirambo, who declared that no Arab caravan should pass that way. The Arabs, therefore, had resolved to attack him, and mustered an army of upwards of two thousand men. Stanley, with his followers, determined to join them, to assist in bringing the war to a speedy conclusion.

The palace was soon surrounded, and, though the party were received with a volley, the fire of the defenders was soon silenced. They took to flight, and the village was entered.

Notwithstanding the heavy fire which had been kept on it, twenty dead bodies only were found.

Other villages were attacked and burned.

A more serious affair occurred soon afterwards. When Stanley was again attacked with fever, a number of his men, notwithstanding his orders to the contrary, joined the Arabs in an attack on a more important place, Wilyankuru, commanded by Mirambo himself. The result was that, though the place was taken, the Arabs fell into an ambush, laid by Mirambo, and were completely defeated, many of them, including some of Stanley’s soldiers, being killed. Mirambo, following up his successes, pursued the Arabs, and Stanley had to mount his donkey, Shaw being lifted on his, and to fly at midnight for their lives. His soldiers ran as fast as their legs could carry them, the only one of his followers who remained by his master’s side being young Selim. At length they reached Mfuto, from which they had issued forth so valiantly a short time before.

Stanley had felt it his duty to assist the Arabs, though he had now cause to regret having done so.

From the last-mentioned place he returned to Kivihara. Here he was detained a considerable time, during which he received authentic news of Livingstone from an Arab, who had met with him travelling into Manyema, and who affirmed that, having gone to a market at Liemba in three canoes, one of them, in which all his cloth had been placed, was upset and lost. The news of Farquhar’s death here reached him.

As he had expected, Mirambo advanced; and one of the leading Arabs and his adopted son, who had gone out with their slaves to meet him, the slaves having deserted, were killed.

The neighbouring village of Tabora was burned, and Kivihara itself was threatened. Stanley made preparations for defence, and, having collected a hundred and fifty armed men, bored loopholes for the muskets in the clay walls of the tembe, formed rifle-pits round it, torn down the huts, and removed everything which might afford shelter to the enemy, felt little fear for the consequences. Mirambo, however, seemed to have thought better of it, and marched away with his troops, satisfied with the plunder he had obtained.

Month after month passed away, and he had great difficulty in obtaining soldiers to supply the places of those who had been killed or died, which was the fate of several.

He one day received a present of a little slave boy from an Arab merchant, to whom, at Bombay’s suggestion, the name of Klulu, meaning a young antelope, was given.

On the 9th of September Mirambo received a severe defeat, and had to take to flight, several of his chief men being slain.

Shaw gave Stanley a great deal of trouble. Again he himself was attacked with fever, but his white companion in no degree sympathised with him, even little Klulu showing more feeling. Weak as he was, he, however, recommenced his march to the westward, with about forty men added to his old followers.

Bombay, not for the first time, proving refractory and impudent, received a thrashing before starting, and when Stanley arrived at his camp at night, he found that upwards of twenty of the men had remained behind. He, therefore, sent a strong body back, under Selim, who returned with the men and some heavy slave-chains, and Stanley declared that if any behaved in the same way again he would fasten them together and make them march like slaves. Shaw also showed an unwillingness to go forward, and kept tumbling from his donkey, either purposely or from weakness, till at last Stanley consented to allow him to return to Unyanyembe.

On the 1st of October, while he and his party lay encamped under a gigantic sycamore-tree, he began to feel a contentment and comfort to which he had long been a stranger, and he was enabled to regard his surroundings with satisfaction.

Though the sun’s rays were hot, the next day’s march was easily performed. On the roadside lay a dead man; indeed, skeletons or skulls were seen every day, one, and sometimes two, of men who had fallen down and died, deserted by their companions.

While encamped near the Gambe, its calm waters, on which lotus-leaves rested placidly, all around looking picturesque and peaceful, invited Stanley to take a bath. He discovered a shady spot under a wide-spreading mimosa, where the ground sloped down to the still water, and having undressed, was about to take a glorious dive, when his attention was attracted by an enormously long body which shot into view, occupying the spot beneath the surface which he was about to explore by a header. It was a crocodile! He sprang back instinctively. This proved his salvation, for the monster turned away with a disappointed look, and he registered a vow never to be tempted again by the treacherous calm of an African river.

As war was going on in the country, it was necessary to proceed with caution. Some of his followers also showed a strong inclination to mutiny, which he had to quell by summary proceedings, and Bombay especially sank greatly in his good opinion.

As they approached Lake Tanganyika all got into better humour, and confidence returned between them. They laughed joyously as they glided in Indian file through the forest jungle beyond the clearing of Mrera, and boasted of their prowess.

An ambassador from Simba, the Lion of Kasera, received two gorgeous cloths, and other articles, as tribute—Stanley thus making that chief a friend for ever.

After having encamped one evening, Stanley went out with his rifle, accompanied by Klulu, to shoot some animal or other for supper. After in vain searching, he was returning, when he encountered a wild boar, which, although it received several bullets after it had fallen, at the last moment started up, and escaped into the wood. On his return to the camp, from which he was then three miles off, he was followed by some large animal, which it was too dark to see plainly, but it must have been either a lion or the ghost of the dead boar. At all events, during the night, the party were startled by the roar of a lion, which was soon joined by another and another. He turned out to shoot them, but not a bullet took effect. At length he went to sleep with the roar of the monster as a lullaby.

On the evening of the 2nd of November the left bank of the Malagarazi river was reached. The greater part of the day had been occupied in negotiating with the ambassador of the great Mzogera, chief of the greedy Wavinza tribe, who demanded an enormous hongo. This being settled, the ferrymen demanded equally preposterous payment for carrying across the caravan. These demands, however, having at length been settled, the next business was to swim the donkeys across. One fine animal, Simba, was being towed with a rope round its neck, when, just as it reached the middle of the stream, it was seen to struggle fearfully. An enormous crocodile had seized the poor animal by the throat; in vain it attempted to liberate itself. The black in charge tugged at the rope, but the donkey sank and was no more seen. Only one donkey now remained, and this was carried across by Bombay the next morning, before the voracious monsters were looking out for their breakfasts.

The next day was an eventful one. Just before starting, a caravan was seen approaching, consisting of a large party of the Waguhha tribe, occupying a tract of country to the south-west of Lake Tanganyika.

The news was asked. A white man had been seen by them who had lately arrived at Ujiji from Manyema. He had white hair and a white beard, and was sick. Only eight days ago they had seen him. He had been at Ujiji before, and had gone away and returned. There could be no doubt that this was Livingstone. How Stanley longed for a horse! for on a good steed he could reach Ujiji in twelve hours.

In high spirits he started, pushing on as fast as his men could move. There were dangers, however, still in the way. A war party of Wavinza was out, who would not scruple even to rob their own villages when returning victorious from battle.

Next day they travelled on in silence, but on the 5th fell in with a party of the Wahha, who soon brought a band of warriors down upon them, at the head of which appeared a fine-looking chief, Mionvu by name, dressed in a crimson robe, with a turban on his head, he and his people being armed with spears, and bows and arrows. He asked whether it should be peace or war? The reply was, of course, peace. At the same time Stanley hinted that his rifles would quickly give him the victory should war be declared. Notwithstanding this Mionvu demanded a hundred cloths as hongo. Ten were offered. Rather than pay the hundred, Stanley asked his followers if they would fight, but Bombay urged pacific measures, remarking that the country was open—no places to hide in, and that every village would rise in arms.

“Pay, Bana, pay: it is better to get along quietly in this country,” he observed.

Mabruki and Asmani agreed with him. The hongo was paid. Stanley wisely resolved, if possible, not to come back that way.

A night march was determined on, and sufficient grain was purchased to last the caravan six days through the jungle. They hoped thus to escape the extortions of other chiefs to the westward. The men bravely toiled on, without murmuring, though their feet and legs bled from the cutting grass.

The jungle was alive with wild animals, but no one dared fire.

As they were halting in the morning near the Rusugi river, a party of natives were seen, who detected them in their hiding-place, but who fled immediately to alarm some villages four miles away. At once the caravan was ordered to move on, but one of the women took to screaming, and even her husband could not keep her quiet till a cloth was folded over her mouth.

At night they bivouacked in silence, neither tent nor hut being erected, each soldier lying down with his gun loaded by his side, their gallant leader, with his Winchester rifle and its magazine full, ready for any emergency.

Before dawn broke, the caravan was again on its march. The guide having made a mistake, while it was still dark, they arrived in front of the village of Uhha. Silence was ordered; goats and chickens which might have made a noise had their throats cut, and they pushed boldly through the village. Just as the last hut was passed, Stanley bringing up the rear, a man appeared from his hut, and uttered a cry of alarm.

They continued their course, plunging into the jungle. Once he believed that they were followed, and he took post behind a tree to check the advance of their foes; but it proved a false alarm.

Turning westward, broad daylight showed them a beautiful and picturesque country, with wild fruit-trees, rare flowers, and brooks tumbling over polished pebbles.

Crossing a streamlet, to their great satisfaction they left Uhha and its extortionate inhabitants behind, and entered Ukaranga.

Their appearance created great alarm as they approached the village, the king and his people supposing them to be Rugruga, the followers of Mirambo, but, discovering their mistake, they welcomed them cordially.

On the 10th of November, just two hundred and thirty-six days after leaving Bagomoyo, and fifty-one since they set out from Unyanyembe, surmounting a hill, Tanganyika is seen before them. Six hours’ march will bring them to its shores.

On they push, the air fresh and cool—a glorious morning. The “stars and stripes” float out in the breeze; repeated volleys are fired. The village is reached. The faithful Chumah and Susi, Dr Livingstone’s old followers, rush out to see who the stranger is, and in a short time Stanley is rewarded for all the dangers and hardships he has gone through by meeting the long-looked-for traveller face to face.

His own book must give the description of the meeting; it is not the least graphic portion of his deeply interesting work.

At the time, when reduced almost to death’s door by sickness and disappointment, the assistance thus brought to Dr Livingstone was of inestimable worth. What might have been his fate had he not been relieved, it is impossible to say. The society of his new friend, the letters from home, the well-cooked meal which the doctor was able to enjoy, and the champagne quaffed out of silver goblets, and brought carefully those hundreds of miles for that especial object, had a wonderfully exhilarating influence.

Some days were spent at Ujiji, during which the doctor continued to regain health and strength. Future plans were discussed, and his previous adventures described. The longer the intercourse Stanley enjoyed with Livingstone, the more he rose in his estimation.

He formed, indeed, a high estimate of his character, though, he fully believed, a just one.

“Dr Livingstone,” he says, “is about sixty years old. His hair has a brownish colour, but here and there streaked with grey lines over the temples. His beard and moustache are very grey. His eyes, which are hazel, are remarkably bright: he has a sight keen as a hawk’s. His frame is a little over the ordinary height; when walking, he has a firm but heavy tread, like that of an over-worked or fatigued man. I never observed any spleen or misanthropy about him. He has a fund of quiet humour, which he exhibits at all times when he is among friends. During the four months I was with him I noticed him every evening making most careful notes. His maps evince great care and industry. He is sensitive on the point of being doubted or criticised. His gentleness never forsakes him, his hopefulness never deserts him; no harassing anxiety or distraction of mind, though separated from home and kindred, can make him complain. He thinks all will come out right at last, he has such faith in the goodness of Providence. Another thing which especially attracted my attention was his wonderfully retentive memory. His religion is not of the theoretical kind, but it is constant, earnest, sincere, practical; it is neither demonstrative nor loud, but manifests itself in a quiet, practical way, and is always at work. In him religion exhibits its loveliest features; it governs his conduct not only towards his servants, but towards the natives. I observed that universal respect was paid to him; even the Mahommedans never passed his house without calling to pay their compliments, and to say: ‘The blessing of God rest on you!’ Every Sunday morning he gathers his little flock around him, and reads prayers and a chapter from the Bible in a natural, unaffected, and sincere tone, and afterwards delivers a short address in the Kisawahili language, about the subject read to them, which is listened to with evident interest and attention.

“His consistent energy is native to him and his race. He is a very fine example of the perseverance, doggedness, and tenacity which characterises the Anglo-Saxon spirit. His ability to withstand the climate is due not only to the happy constitution with which he was born, but to the strictly temperate life he has ever led.

“It is a principle with him to do well what he undertakes to do, and, in the consciousness that he is doing it, despite the yearning for his home, which is sometimes overpowering, he finds to a certain extent contentment, if not happiness.

“He can be charmed with the primitive simplicity of Ethiopia’s dusky children, with whom he has spent so many years of his life. He has a sturdy faith in their capability—sees virtue in them, where others see nothing but savagery; and wherever he has gone among them, he has sought to ameliorate the condition of a people who are apparently forgotten of God and Christian men.”

In another place Stanley says: “Livingstone followed the dictates of duty. Never was such a willing slave to that abstract virtue. His inclinations impel him home, the fascinations of which it requires the sternest resolution to resist. With every foot of new ground he travelled over he forged a chain of sympathy which should hereafter bind the Christian nations in bonds of love and charity to the heathen of the African tropics. If he were able to complete this chain of love by actual discovery, and, by a description of them, to embody such people and nations as still live in darkness, so as to attract the good and charitable of his own land to bestir themselves for their redemption and salvation, this Livingstone would consider an ample reward.

“Surely, as the sun shines on both Christian and infidel, civilised and pagan, the day of enlightenment will come; and though the apostle of Africa may not behold it himself, nor we younger men, nor yet our children, the hereafter will see it, and posterity will recognise the daring pioneer of its civilisation.”

Yes, and Stanley might have added: with his enlarged and far-seeing mind, this it is what encourages Livingstone to persevere in his task to do what he knows no other man can do as well. It might be far pleasanter to tell crowded congregations at home about the wrongs of the sons and daughters of Africa, but, with the spirit of a true apostle, he remains among those whose wrongs it is the ardent desire of his soul to right, that he may win their love and confidence, and open up the way by which others may with greater ease continue the task he has commenced.

After they had been some weeks together at Ujiji, Stanley and Livingstone agreed to make a voyage on Lake Tanganyika, one of the chief objects of which was to settle the long mooted point as to whether the Rusizi river is an effluent or an influent. They embarked in a somewhat cranky canoe, hollowed-out of a mvule-tree, which carried sixteen rowers, Selim, Ferajji, the cook, and two guides, besides themselves.

The lake was calm, its waters of a dark green colour, reflecting the serene blue sky above. The hippopotami came up to breathe in close proximity to the canoe, and then plunged down again, as if playing at hide and seek with them.

At one place where they sounded, the depth was found to be thirty-five fathoms near the shore, and further out a hundred and fifteen fathoms of line was let down without finding bottom, and the doctor stated that he had sounded opposite the lofty Kabogo, and attained the depth of three hundred fathoms.

A range of hills, beautifully wooded and clothed with green grass, sloping abruptly—almost precipitately—into the depth of the fresh-water, towered above them, and as they rounded the several capes or points, high expectations of some new wonder or some exquisite picture being revealed to them were aroused: nor were they disappointed.

However, we must not venture to attempt a description of the magnificent scenery of this enormous lake. Each night they landed and encamped, continuing their voyage the next day.

Generally they were well received by the natives, though they had to avoid one or two spots where the people were said to be treacherous and quarrelsome.

On reaching the mouth of the Rusizi, they pushed up it a short distance, but were stopped by its shallowness, it not being navigable for anything but the smallest canoes. It, however, abounds in crocodiles, though not one hippopotamus was seen.

The most important point, however, which they discovered was that the current was flowing, at the rate of six to eight miles an hour, into the lake. Still the doctor asserted that there must be an outlet somewhere to the Tanganyika, from the fact which he adduced that all fresh-water lakes have outlets.

Coasting round the north shore, they paddled down the west coast till nearly opposite the island of Muzimu, when they crossed back to the shore from whence they had come, and steered southward beyond Ujiji till they reached nearly the sixth degree of latitude, at a place called Urimba.

Their voyage, altogether, took twenty-eight days, during which time they traversed over three hundred miles of water.

On their return to Ujiji, they resolved to carry out one of the several plans which Stanley had suggested to Livingstone. One of them was to return to Unyanyembe to enlist men to sail down the Victoria Nyanza in Stanley’s boats, for the purpose of meeting Sir Samuel Baker; but this, with several others, was dismissed. Livingstone’s heart was set on endeavouring to settle numerous important points in Manyema connected with the supposed source of the Nile. He, therefore, finally agreed to allow Stanley to escort him to Unyanyembe, where he could receive his own goods and those which Stanley proposed to deliver up to him, and where he could rest in a comfortable house, while his friend would hurry down to the coast, and organise a new expedition, composed of fifty or sixty men, well-armed, by whom an additional supply of needful luxuries might be sent.

Christmas Day was kept with such a feast as Ujiji could furnish them, the fever from which Stanley had lately been suffering having left him the night before.

On the 27th of December they embarked in two canoes, the one bearing the flag of England, the other that of America; and their luggage being on board, and having bidden farewell to Arabs and natives, together they commenced their voyage on the lake, steering for the south. At the same time the main body of their men, under Asmani and Bombay, commenced their journey, which was to be performed on foot, along the shores of the lake. It had been arranged that the canoes should meet them at the mouth of every river, to transport them across from bank to bank. Their intention was to land at Cape Tongwe, when they would be opposite the village of Itaga, whence, by traversing the uninhabited districts to the east, they would avoid the exactions of the roguish Wavinza and the plundering Wahha, and then strike the road by which Stanley had come. This plan was completely carried out. Stanley had procured a strong donkey at Ujiji, that the doctor might perform the journey on its back.

Pouring rain, however, came down during the whole journey, and it was to their intense satisfaction that at length the two friends walked into Stanley’s old quarters, who said: “Doctor, we are at home.”

Here they were again busily employed in examining stores, and the doctor in writing despatches and letters to his friends.

Mirambo still held out, and probably the Arabs would not conquer him for many months to come.

Here the doctor resolved to remain, while Stanley went down to the coast to enlist men and collect such further stores as were required, and to send them back. On their arrival, Livingstone purposed returning with them to Ujiji, and from thence crossing over into Manyema, to make further researches in that province and Ruo; among other things, to examine the underground habitations which he had heard of on a previous journey.

On the 14th of March, Stanley and Livingstone breakfasted together, and then the order was given to raise the flag and march. Livingstone accompanied him some way, but they had to part at last.

The return journey was not performed without many adventures and a considerable amount of suffering by the enterprising traveller.

Passing the stronghold of Kisalungo, a large portion had disappeared. The river had swept away the entire front wall and about fifty houses, several villages having suffered disastrously, while at least a hundred people had perished. The whole valley, once a paradise in appearance, had been converted into a howling waste.

Further on, a still more terrible destruction of human life and property had occurred. It was reported that a hundred villages had been swept away by a volume of water which had rushed over the banks of the Ungerengeri.

Passing a dense jungle, and wading for several miles through a swamp, on the 6th of May the caravan was again en route, at a pace its leader had never seen equalled. At sunset the town of Bagomoyo was entered.

His first greeting was with Lieutenant Henn, who had come out as second in command of the proposed Livingstone search and relief expedition. He next met Mr Oswald Livingstone, the doctor’s second son. The two proposed shortly starting on their journey, having come over with no less than a hundred and ninety loads of stores, which they would have had no small difficulty in conveying. Two other members of the expedition, Lieutenant Dawson, RN, and the Reverend C New, had resigned, for reasons which Mr Stanley fully explains. He himself was not over well pleased with some of the remarks made in the papers about himself, some having regarded his expedition into Africa as a myth.

“Alas!” he observes, justly, “it has been a terrible, earnest fact with me: nothing but haul, conscientious work, privations, sickness, and almost death.”

However, welcomed cordially by numerous friends at Zanzibar, which he reached the following day, he soon recovered his spirits, and, having disbanded his own expedition, he set to work to arrange the one he had promised to form for the assistance of Dr Livingstone, Mr Henn having in the mean time resigned, and Mr Oswald Livingstone being compelled from ill health to abandon the attempt to join his father.

Fifty guns, with ammunition, stores, and cloth, were furnished by Mr Oswald Livingstone out of the English expedition. Fifty-seven men, including twenty of those who had followed Stanley, were also engaged, the services of Johari, chief dragoman to the American consulate, being also obtained to conduct them across the inundated plains of the Kinganni.

Stanley did not perform his duty by halves. Having engaged a dhow, he saw them all on board, and again urged them to follow the “great master,” as they called Livingstone, wherever he might lead them, and to obey him in all things.

“We will! we will!” they cried out.

He then shook hands with them, and, ordering them to take up their loads, marched them down to the beach, seeing them on board, and watched the dhow as she sped westward on her way to Bagomoyo.

Those who had accompanied him had been handsomely rewarded, and he states to their credit, though Bombay and many others had at first annoyed him greatly, that from Ujiji to the coast, they had all behaved admirably.

After being detained at the Seychelles for a month, Mr Stanley reached Marseilles, via Aden, when Mr Bennett, in order to fulfil Mr Stanley’s promise that he would post Dr Livingstone’s letters to his family and friends in England twenty-four hours after he had seen his public ones published in the London journals, telegraphed two of them by cable, at an expense of nearly two thousand pounds—“one of the most generous acts,” as he observes, “that could be conceived, after all he had done in originating and sustaining the enterprise.”

Chapter Twenty Seven.

Conclusion.

Travels of Burton—Du Chaillu—Baines—Andersson—Galton—Expeditions up the Niger—Dr Baikie’s voyage in the “Pleiad”—Journeys of missionaries, sportsmen, and others—Concluding remarks.

We must now bid farewell to that land of savagism, so large a portion of which we have seen opened out to the view of the civilised world by the gallant and enterprising men whose footsteps we have traced. We would gladly have accompanied many others who have contributed their quota to our knowledge of the continent. Among the first stands Burton, who ranks as a great traveller in all parts of the world, and who, besides his trip on Lake Tanganyika, has visited Dahomy, the Cameroon Mountains, Abeokuta, and many other places.

We regret to have to omit the travels and wonderful adventures of Du Chaillu through the gorilla country and other portions of tropical Africa.

Interesting journeys have been made by the enterprising travellers, Andersson, the artist Baines, and Mr Galton, who, starting from Walvisch Bay on the West Coast to the north of Cape Colony, visited the Damaras, the Namaquas, the Bechuanas, and other tribes to the west of Lake Ngami.

Several expeditions also have been made to explore the Niger, and open up commerce with the teeming population on its banks. One of the first, sent out a few years after the return of the Landers, proved most disastrous, the greater number of officers and men having perished from fever.

Another, however, which was organised in 1854 by the Government, was far more successful. A small steamer, the “Pleiad,” was fitted out with a black crew and a few white officers, and in consequence of the death of Mr Beecroft, who had been appointed to lead the expedition, it was placed under the command of Dr Baikie, R.N. He proceeded up the Quorra, the proper name of the Niger, and entering the mouth of the Binue, known as the Tsadda, discovered by Dr Barth, steamed up that magnificent stream till the falling waters compelled him to return.

Numerous other expeditions have been made on the West Coast by missionaries, for the purpose of extending the blessings of the Gospel. Still more numerous have been the journeys, with the same object in view, made from the southern part of Africa.

In this direction also no small number of sportsmen, with Gordon dimming at their head, have penetrated far into the interior, many of them having given accounts of their exploits to the world.

The travels of Mansfield Parkyns, and his description of life in Abyssinia, as well as Plowden’s, Stern’s, and many others, are of the deepest interest.

We would gladly also have given an account of the travels of the enterprising ivory-trader, Mr Petherick, who has visited many of the districts we have gone over, as well as those on both sides of the Nile.

They have all added to our knowledge of Africa; yet a considerable amount of the interior remains unexplored.

Livingstone, undoubtedly, will have solved the problem of the sources of the Nile; but the source of the Congo is still to be discovered, unless the expedition which started from the West Coast to the relief of Livingstone has ere this settled the question: while Sir Samuel Baker, when once he gets his steamers launched on the waters of the Albert Nyanza, is not likely to stop till he has made further discoveries to the west and south of his vast lake.

If he is correct in his belief that the Albert Nyanza and Tanganyika are portions of one vast lake, or united by a broad channel, a direct highway by water exists, nine hundred miles in length, through the interior of the continent, which cannot fail greatly to assist in the civilisation of the teeming population in its neighbourhood. We, however, must await the return of Sir Samuel Baker and Dr Livingstone, to be enlightened on this and many other deeply interesting points.

We shall rest satisfied if the work we have now brought to a conclusion excites the interest of our readers in the numberless black races spread over the continent, and induces them to exert all the influence they may possess in forwarding measures for suppressing the nefarious slave trade throughout the length and breadth of the land, and in aiding those who go forth to carry the blessings of the Gospel to its long benighted people.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Happy Jack"

A Tale of the Sea.

Chapter One.

The “Naiad.”

I go to sea in rather unromantic surroundings.

Have any of you made a passage on board a steamer between London and Leith? If you have, you will have seen no small number of brigs and brigantines, with sails of all tints, from doubtful white to decided black—some deeply-laden, making their way to the southward, others with their sides high out of the water, heeling over to the slightest breeze, steering north.

On board one of those delectable craft, a brig called the Naiad, I found myself when about fourteen summers had passed over my head. She must have been named after a negress naiad, for black was the prevailing colour on board, from the dark, dingy forecastle to the captain’s state cabin, which was but a degree less dirty than the portion of the vessel in which I was destined to live. The bulwarks, companion-hatch, and other parts had, to be sure, once upon a time been painted green, but the dust from the coal, which formed her usual cargo, had reduced every portion to one sombre hue, which even the salt seas not unfrequently breaking over her deck had failed to wash clean.

Captain Grimes, her commander, notwithstanding this, was proud of the old craft; and he especially delighted to tell how she had once carried a pennant when conveying troops to Corunna, or some other port in Spain.

I pitied the poor fellows confined to the narrow limits of her dark hold, redolent of bilge water and other foul odours. We, however, had not to complain on that score, for the fresh water which came in through her old sides by many a leak, and had to be pumped out every watch, kept her hold sweet.

How I came to be on board the Naiad I’ll tell you—

I had made up my mind to go to sea—why, it’s hard to say, except that I thought I should like to knock about the world and see strange countries. I was happy enough at home, though I did not always make others happy. Nothing came amiss to me; I was always either laughing or singing, and do not recollect having an hour’s illness in my life. Now and then, by the elders of the family, and by Aunt Martha especially, I was voted a nuisance; and it was with no small satisfaction, at the end of the holidays, that they packed me off again to school. I was fond of my brothers and sisters, and they were fond of me, though I showed my affection for them in a somewhat rough fashion. I thought my sisters somewhat demure, and I was always teasing them and playing them tricks. Somehow or other I got the name among them and my brothers of “Happy Jack,” and certainly I was the merriest of the family. If I happened, which was not unfrequently the case, to get into a scrape, I generally managed to scramble out of it with flying colours; and if I did not, I laughed at the punishment to which I was doomed. I was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built boy, and could beat my elder brothers at running, leaping, or any other athletic exercise, while, without boasting, I was not behind any of them in the school-room. My father was somewhat proud of me, and had set his mind on my becoming a member of one of the learned professions, and rising to the top of the tree. Why should I not? I had a great-uncle a judge, and another relative a bishop, and there had been admirals and generals by the score among our ancestors. My father was a leading solicitor in a large town, and having somewhat ambitious aspirations for his children, his intention was to send all his sons to the university, in the hopes that they would make a good figure in life. He was therefore the more vexed when I declared that my firm determination was to go to sea. “Very well, Jack,” he said, “if such is your resolve, go you shall; but as I have no interest in the navy, you must take your chance in the merchant service.”

“It’s all the same to me, sir,” I replied; “I shall be just as happy in the one as in the other service;” and so I considered the matter settled.

When the day of parting came, I was as merry and full of fun as ever, though I own there was a strange sensation about the heart which bothered me; however, I was not going to show what I felt—not I.

I slyly pinched my sisters when we were exchanging parting kisses, till they were compelled to shriek out and box my ears—an operation to which I was well accustomed—and I made my brothers roar with the sturdy grip I gave their fingers when we shook hands; and so, instead of tears, there were shouts of laughter and screeches and screams, creating a regular hullaballoo which put all sentimental grief to flight. “No, no, Jack, I will have none of your tricks,” cried Aunt Martha, when I approached with a demure look to bid her farewell, so I took her hand and pressed it to my lips with all the mock courtesy of a Sir Charles Grandison. My mother! I had no heart to do otherwise than to throw my arms round her neck and receive the fond embrace she bestowed upon me, and if a tear did come into my eye, it was then. But there was another person to whom I had to say good-bye, and that was dear little Grace Goldie, my father’s ward, a fair, blue-eyed girl, three or four years younger than myself. I did not play her any trick, but kissed her smooth young brow, and promised that I would bring her back no end of pearls and ivory, and treasures of all sorts, from across the seas. She smiled sweetly through her tears. “Thank you, Jack, thank you! I shall so long to see you back,” she whispered; and I had to bolt, or I believe that I should have begun to pipe my eye in a way I had no fancy for. My father’s voice summoned me.

“Now, Jack,” he said, “as you have chosen your bed, you must lie on it. But remember—after a year’s trial—if you change your mind, let me know.”

“No fear of that, sir,” I answered.

“We shall see, Jack,” he replied. He wrung my hand, and gave me his blessing. “I have directed Mr Junk to provide your outfit, and you will find it all right.” Who Mr Junk was I had no conception; but as my father said it was all right, I troubled my head no more about the matter.

My father’s old clerk, Simon Munch, was waiting for me at the door, and hurried me off to catch the Newcastle coach. On our arrival there he took me to the office of Junk, Tarbox and Company, shipbrokers.

“Here is the young gentleman, Mr Junk,” he said, addressing a one-eyed, burly, broad-shouldered personage, with a rubicund countenance, in a semi-nautical costume. “You know what to do with him, and so I leave him in your hands. Good-bye, Jack, I hope you may like it.”

“No fear of that, Mr Munch,” I answered; “and tell them at home that you left me as jolly and happy as ever.”

“So, Master Brooke, you want to go to sea?” said Mr Junk, squirting a stream of tobacco-juice across his office, and eyeing me with his sole bloodshot blinker; “and you expect to like it?”

“Of course I do; I expect to be happy wherever I am,” I answered in a confident tone.

“We shall see,” he replied. “I have sent your chest aboard of the Naiad. Captain Grimes will be here anon, and I’ll hand you over to him.”

The person he spoke of just then made his appearance. I did not particularly like my future commander’s outside. He was a tall, gaunt man, with a long weather-beaten visage and huge black or rather grizzled whiskers; and his voice, when he spoke, was gruff and harsh in the extreme. I need not further describe him; only I will observe that he looked considerably cleaner then than he usually did, as I afterwards found on board the brig. He took but little notice of me beyond a slight nod, as he was busy with the ship’s papers. Having pocketed them, he grasped me by the hand with a “Come along, my lad; I am to make a seaman on ye.” He spoke in a broad Northumbrian accent, and in a harsh guttural tone. I was not prepossessed in his favour, but I determined to show no signs of unwillingness to accompany him.

We were soon seated in the stern of an excessively dirty boat, with coal-dust-begrimed rowers, who pulled away with somewhat lazy strokes towards a deeply-laden brig lying out in mid-stream. “Get on board, leddie, with you,” said the captain, who had not since my first introduction addressed a single word to me. I clambered up on deck. The boat was hoisted in, the topsails let fall, and the crew, with doleful “Yeo-yo-o’s,” began working round the windlass, and the Naiad in due time was gliding down the Tyne.

She was a very different craft to what I had expected to find myself on board of. I had read about the white decks and snowy canvas, the bright polish and the active, obedient crew of a man-of-war; and such I had pictured the vessel I had hoped to sail in. The Naiad was certainly a contrast to this; but I kept to my resolve not to flinch from whatever turned up. When I was told to pull and haul away at the ropes, I did so with might and main; and, as everything on board was thickly coated with coal-dust, I very soon became as begrimed as the rest of the crew.

I was rather astonished, on asking Captain Grimes when tea would be ready—for I was very hungry—to be told that I might get what I could with the men forward. I went down accordingly into the forecastle, tumbling over a chest, and running my head against the stomach of one of my new shipmates as I groped my way amid the darkness which shrouded it. A cuff which sent me sprawling on the deck was the consequence. “Where are your eyes, leddie?” exclaimed a gruff voice. “Ye’ll see where ye are ganging the next time.”

I picked myself up, bursting into a fit of laughter, as if the affair had been a good joke. “I beg your pardon, old fellow,” I said; “but if you had had a chandelier burning in this place of yours it would not have happened. How do you all manage to see down here?”

“As cats do—we’re accustomed to it,” said another voice; and I now began to distinguish objects around me. The watch below were seated round a sea-chest, with three or four mugs, a huge loaf of bread, and a piece of cheese and part of a flitch of fat cold bacon. It was rough fare, but I was too hungry not to be glad to partake of it.

A boy whom I had seen busy in the caboose soon came down with a kettle of hot tea. My inquiry for milk produced a general laugh, but I was told I might take as much sugar as I liked from a jar, which contained a dark-brown substance unlike any sugar I had before seen.

“Ye’ll soon be asking for your bed, leddie,” said Bob Tubbs, the old man whose acquaintance I had so unceremoniously formed. “Ye’ll find it there, for’ard, if ye’ll grope your way. It’s not over airy, but it’s all the warmer in winter.”

After supper, I succeeded in finding the berth Bob had pointed out. It was the lowest berth, directly in the very bows of the vessel—a shelf-like space, about five feet in length, with height scarcely sufficient to allow me to sit upright,—Dirty Dick, the ship’s boy I have mentioned, having the berth above me. Mine contained a mattress and a couple of blankets. My inquiry for sheets produced as much laughter as when I asked for milk. “Well, to be sure, as I suppose you have not a washerwoman on board, they would not be of much use,” I sang out; “and so, unless the captain wants me to steer the ship, I will turn in and go to sleep. Good night, mates.”

“The leddie has got some spirit in him,” I heard Bob Tubbs observe. “What do you call yourself, boy?”

“Happy Jack!” I sang out; “and it’s not this sort of thing that’s going to change me.”

“You’ll prove a tough one, if something else doesn’t,” observed Bob from his berth. “But gang to sleep, boy. Ye’ll be put into a watch to-morrow, and it’s the last time, may be, that ye’ll have to rest through the night till ye set foot on shore again.” I little then thought how long a time that would prove; but, rolling myself up in my blanket, I soon forgot where I was.

Next morning I scrambled on deck, and found the brig plunging away into a heavy sea, with a strong southerly wind, the coast just distinguishable over our starboard quarter. The captain gave me a grim smile as I made my way aft.

“Well, leddie, how do you like it?” he inquired.

“Thank you, pretty well,” I answered; “but I hope we sha’n’t have to wait long for breakfast.”

He smiled again. “And you don’t feel queer?”

“No, not a bit of it,” I replied. “But I say, captain, I thought I was to come as a midshipman, and mess with the other young gentlemen on board.”

He now fairly laughed outright; and looking at me for some time, answered, “We have no young gentlemen on board here. You’ll get your breakfast in good time; but you are of the right sort, leddie, and little Clem shall show you what you have got to do,” pointing as he spoke to a boy who just then came on deck, and whom I took to be his son.

“Thank you, captain,” I observed; “I shall be glad of Clem’s instruction, as I suppose he knows more about the matter than I do.”

“Clem can hand, reef, and steer as well as any one, as far as his strength goes,” said the captain, looking approvingly at him.

“I’ll set to work as soon as he likes, then,” I observed. “But I wish those fellows would be sharp about breakfast, for I am desperately hungry.”

“Well, go into the cabin, and Clem will give you a hunch of bread to stay your appetite.”

I followed Clem below. “Here, Brooke, some butter will improve it,” he said, spreading a thick slice of bread. “And so you don’t seem to be seasick, like most fellows. Well, I am glad of that. My father will like you all the better for it, and soon make a sailor of you, if you wish to learn.”

I told Clem that was just what I wanted, and that I should look to him to teach me my duties.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “Take my advice and dip your hands in the tar bucket without delay, and don’t shirk anything the mate puts you to. My father is pretty gruff now and then, but old Growl is a regular rough one. He does not say much to me, but you will have to look out for squalls. Come, we had better go on deck, or old Growl will think that I have been putting you up to mischief. He will soon pick a quarrel with you, to see how you bear it.”

“I’ll take good care to keep out of his way, then,” I said, bolting the last piece of bread and butter. “Thank you, Clem, you and I shall be good friends, I see that.”

“I hope so,” answered my young companion with a sigh. “I have not many on board, and till you came I had no one to speak to except father, and he is not always in the mood to talk.”

Clem’s slice of bread and butter enabled me to hold out till the forecastle breakfast was ready. I did ample justice to it. Directly I made my re-appearance on deck, old Growl set me to work, and I soon had not only my hands but my arms up to the elbows in tar. Though the vessel was pitching her head into the seas, with thick sheets of foam flying over her, he quickly sent me aloft to black down the main rigging. Clem showed me how to secure the bucket to the shrouds while I was at work, and in spite of the violent jerks I received as the vessel plunged her bluff bows into the sea, I got on very well. Before the evening was over I had been out on the yards with little Clem to assist in reefing the topsails, and he had shown me how to steer and box the compass.

Nothing particular occurred on the voyage, though we were ten days in reaching the mouth of the Thames. Clem and I became great friends. The more I saw of him the more I liked him, and wondered how so well-mannered a lad could be the son of such a man as Captain Grimes.

I saw nothing of London. I should, indeed, have been ashamed to go on shore in my now thoroughly begrimed condition. We were but a short time in the Thames, for as soon as we had discharged our cargo we again made sail for the Tyne.

Before this time old Growl, the mate, had taught me what starting meant. He had generally a rope’s end in his fist, and if not, one was always near at hand. If I happened not to do a thing well enough or fast enough to please him, he was immediately after me, laying the rope across my shoulders, or anywhere he could most conveniently reach. I generally managed to spring out of his way, and turn round and laugh at him. If he followed me, I ran aloft, and, as I climbed much faster than he could, I invariably led him a long chase.

“I’ll catch you, youngster, the next time. Mark me, that I will,” he shouted out to me one day, when more than usually angry.

“Wait till the next time comes, mate,” I sang out, and laughed more heartily than before.

The men sympathised with me, especially Dirty Dick. His shoulders, till I came on board, had been accustomed to suffer most from the mate’s ill temper. Now and then old Growl, greatly to his delight, caught me unawares; but, suffering as I did from his blows, I never let him see that I cared for them, and used to laugh just as heartily as when I had escaped from him. On this, however, he would grin sardonically, and observe, “You may laugh as you like, young master, I know what a rope’s end tastes like; it’s a precious deal bitterer than you would have me fancy. I got enough of it when I was a youngster, and haven’t forgotten yet.”

One day when old Growl had treated me as I have described, and had gone below, Clement came up to me. “I am so sorry the mate has struck you, Brooke,” he said. “It’s a great shame. He dare not hit me; and when I told father how he treats you, he told me to mind my own business, and that it was all for your good.”

“I don’t know how that can be,” I answered; “but I don’t care for it, I can assure you. It hurts a little at the time, I’ll allow, but I have got used to it, and I don’t intend to let him break my spirit or make me unhappy.”

Clement all the time was doing his best to teach me what he knew, and I soon learned to steer in smooth water, and could hand and reef the topsails and knot and splice as well almost as he could. Some things I did better, as I was much stronger and more active. I was put to do all sorts of unpleasant work, such as blacking down the rigging, greasing the masts, and helping Dirty Dick to clean the caboose and sweep out the forecastle. Though I didn’t like it, I went about the duty, however, as if it was the pleasantest in the world. Pleasant or not, I was thus rapidly becoming a seaman.

Chapter Two.

A storm.

I had as before, on reaching the Tyne, to remain and keep ship, though little Clem went on shore and did not return till we had a fresh cargo on board, and were just about sailing.

Scarcely were we clear of the river than a heavy gale sprang up and severely tried the old collier. The seas came washing over her deck, and none of us for’ard had a dry rag on our backs. When my watch below came, I was glad to turn in between my now darkly-tinted blankets; but they soon became as wet as everything else, and when I went on deck to keep my watch, I had again to put on my damp clothes. The forecastle was fearfully hot and steamy. We had to keep the fore hatch closed to prevent the seas which, washing over our decks, would otherwise have poured down upon us. In a short time, as the ship strained more and more while she struggled amid the waves, the water made its way through the deck and sides till there was not a dry space to lie on in our berths. Then I began really to understand the miseries of forecastle life on board a collier, and many other craft too, in which British seamen have to sail; with bad food, bad water, and worse treatment. Ay, I speak the truth, which I know from experience, they have to live like dogs, and, too often, die like dogs, with no one to care for them.

Day after day this sort of work continued. I wondered that the captain did not run back, till I heard him say that the price of coals was up in the London market, and he wanted to be there before other vessels arrived to lower it; so, tough seaman as he was, he kept thrashing the old brig along against the south-westerly gale, which seemed to increase rather than show any signs of moderating. We had always, during each watch, to take a spell at the pumps, and now we had to keep them going without intermission. I took my turn with the rest, and my shoulders ached before I had done; still I sang and laughed away as usual.

“It’s no laughing matter, youngster,” said old Growl, as he passed me. “You will be laughing the wrong side of your mouth before long.”

“Never fear, mate,” I replied; “both sides are the same to me.”

The captain and mate at last took their turns with the rest of us, for the crew were getting worn out. I did not know the danger we were in, but I was beginning to get tired of that dreadful “clank, clank, clank.”

At last, by dint of keeping at it, we had got a good way to the southward, when one night, just as we had gone about hoping to lay our course for the Thames, the wind shifted and came again right in our teeth. I had turned into my wet bunk all standing, when, having dropped off to sleep, I was awoke by a tremendous crash, and on springing up on deck I found that the mainmast had gone by the board. The gale had increased, and we were driving before it. As I made my way aft, the flashes of lightning revealed the pale faces of the crew, some endeavouring to clear away the wreck of the mast, others working with frantic energy at the pumps. The leaks had increased. As may be supposed, the deeply-laden collier had but a poor chance under such circumstances. Presently the vessel gave a heavy lurch. A sea rolled up. The next instant I found myself struggling in the midst of the foaming surges. All around was dark; I felt for the deck of the vessel, it was not beneath me; I had been washed overboard. I struck out for life, and in another minute I was clinging to the mainmast, which had been cut clear. I clambered up on it, and looked out for the brig. She was nowhere to be seen; she must have gone down beneath the surge which washed me from her deck. What had become of my shipmates? I shouted again and again at the top of my voice. There was a faint cry, “Help me; help me.” I knew the voice; it was Clement’s. Leaving the mast, I swam towards him; he was lashed to a spar. The old captain’s last act had been to try and save the young boy’s life ere he himself sank beneath the waves. I caught hold of the spar, bidding Clement keep his head above the water while I towed it to the mast. I succeeded, and then clambering on it, and casting off the lashings, dragged him up and placed him beside me. We hailed again and again, but no voice replied. It may seem strange that we, the two youngest on board, should have survived, while all the men were drowned, but then, not one of them could swim. We could, and, under Providence, were able to struggle for our lives.

I did my best to cheer up little Clem, telling him that if we could manage to hold on till daylight, as a number of vessels were certain to pass, we should be picked up. “I am very, very sorry, Clem, for your father,” I said; “for though he was somewhat gruff to me, he was a kind-hearted man, I am sure.”

“That indeed he was,” answered Clement, in a tone of sorrow. “He was always good to me; but he was not my father, as you fancy—the more reason I have to be grateful to him.”

“Not your father, Clem!” I exclaimed. “I never suspected that.”

“No, he was not; though he truly acted the part of one to me. Do you know, Brooke, this is not the first time that I have been left alone floating on the ocean? I was picked up by him just as you hope that we shall be picked up. I was a very little fellow, so little that I could give no account of myself. He found a black woman and me floating all alone on a raft out in the Atlantic. She died almost immediately we were rescued, without his being able to learn anything from her. He had to bury her at sea, and when he got home he in vain tried to find out my friends, though he preserved, I believe, the clothes I had on, and most of her clothes. He sent me to an excellent school, where I was well taught; and Mrs Grimes, who was a dear, kind lady, far more refined than you would suppose his wife to have been, acted truly like a mother to me. He was very fond of her, and when she died, nearly a year ago, he took me to sea with him. I did not, however, give up my studies, but used to sit in the cabin, and every day read as much as I could. Captain Grimes used to say that he was sure I was a gentleman born, and a gentleman he wished me to be, and so I have always felt myself.”

I had been struck by little Clem’s refined manners, and this was now accounted for. “I am sure you are a gentleman, Clem,” I observed; “and if we ever get home, my father, who is a lawyer, shall try to find out your friends. He may be able to succeed though Captain Grimes could not. I wonder he did not apply to my father, as, from my having been sent on board his ship, the captain must have known him. I suspect that they wanted to sicken me of a sea life, and so sent me on board the Naiad; but they were mistaken; and now when they hear that she has gone down—if we are not picked up—how sorry they will be!”

The conversation I have described was frequently interrupted—sometimes by a heavier sea than usual rolling by, and compelling us to hold tight for our lives; at others we were silent for several minutes together. We were seated on the after-part of the maintop, the rigging which hung down on either side acting as ballast, and contributing to keep the wreck of the mast tolerably steady in one position. We were thus completely out of the water, though the spray from the crest of the seas which was blown over us kept us thoroughly wet and cold. Fortunately, we both had on thick clothing. Clement was always nicely dressed, for the captain, though not particular about himself, liked to see him look neat, while I, on the contrary, had on my oldest working suit, and was as rough-looking a sea-dog as could be imagined. My old tarry coat and trousers, and sou’-wester tied under my chin, contributed, however, to keep out the wind, and enable me the better to endure the cold to which we were exposed. I sheltered Clem as well as I could, and held him tight whenever I saw a sea coming towards him, fearing lest he might be washed away. I had made up my mind to perish with him rather than let him go. Hour after hour passed by, till at length, the clouds breaking, the moon came forth and shone down upon us. I looked at Clem’s face: it was very pale, and I was afraid he would give way altogether. “Hold on, hold on, Clem,” I exclaimed. “The wind is falling, and the sea will soon go down; we shall have daylight before long, and in the meantime we have the moon to cheer us up. Perhaps we shall be on shore this time to-morrow, and comfortably in bed; and then we will go back to my father, and he will find out all about your friends. He is a wonderfully clever man, though a bit strict, to be sure.”

“Thank you, Jack, thank you,” he answered. “Don’t be afraid; I feel pretty strong, only somewhat cold and hungry.”

Just then I recollected that I had put the best part of a biscuit into my pocket at tea-time, having been summoned on deck as I was eating it. It was wet, to be sure; but such biscuits as we had take a good deal of soaking to soften thoroughly. I felt for it. There it was. So I put a small piece into Clem’s mouth. He was able to swallow it. Then I put in another, and another; and so I fed him, till he declared he felt much better. I had reserved a small portion for myself, but as I knew that I could go on without it, I determined to keep it, lest he should require more.

I continued to do my best to cheer him up by talking to him of my home, and how he might find his relations and friends, and then I bethought me that I would sing a song. I don’t suppose that many people have sung under such circumstances, but I managed to strike up a stave, one of those with which I had been accustomed to amuse my messmates in the Naiad’s forecastle. It was not, perhaps, one of the merriest, but it served to divert Clem’s thoughts, as well as mine, from our perilous position.

“I wish that I could sing too,” said Clem; “but I know I could not, if I was to try. I wonder you can, Jack.”

“Why? because I am sure that we shall be picked up before long, and so I see no reason why I should not try to be happy,” I answered thoughtlessly.

“Ah, but I am thinking of those who are gone,” said Clem. “My kind father, as I called him, and old Growl, and the rest of the poor fellows; it is like singing over their graves.”

“You are right, Clem,” I said; “I will sing no more, though I only did it to keep up your spirits. But what is that?” I exclaimed, suddenly, as we rose to the crest of a sea. “A large ship standing directly for us.”

“Yes; she is close-hauled, beating down Channel,” observed Clement. “She will be right upon us, too, if she keeps her present course.”

“We must take care to let her know where we are, by shouting together at the top of our voices when we are near enough to be heard,” I said.

“She appears to me to be a man-of-war, and probably a sharp look-out is kept forward,” Clement remarked. We had not observed the ship before, as our faces had been turned away from her. The sea had, however, been gradually working the mast round, as I knew to be the case by the different position in which the moon appeared to us.

“We must get ready for a shout, Clem, and then cry out together as we have never cried before. I’ll say when we are to begin.”

As the ship drew nearer Clem had no doubt that she was a man-of-war, a large frigate apparently, under her three topsails and courses.

“She is passing to windward of us,” I exclaimed.

“Not so sure of that,” cried Clem. “She will be right over us if we do not cry out in time.”

“Let us begin, then,” I said. “Now, shout away, Hip! Hip!”

“No, no!” cried Clem, “that will not do. Shout ‘Ship ahoy!’”

I had forgotten for the moment what to say, so together we began shouting as shrilly as we could, at the very top of our voices. Again and again we shouted. I began to fear that the ship would be right over us, when presently we saw her luff up. The moon was shining down upon us, and we were seen. So close, even then, did the frigate pass, that the end of the mast we were clinging to almost grazed her side. Ropes were hove to us, but the ship had too much way on her, and it was fortunate we could not seize them. “Thank you,” I cried out. “Will you take us aboard?” There was no answer, and I thought that we were to be left floating on our mast till some other vessel might sight us. We were mistaken, though. We could hear loud orders issued on board, but what was said we could not make out, and presently the ship came up to the wind, the head yards were braced round, and she lay hove-to. Then we saw a boat lowered. How eagerly we watched what was being done. She came towards us. The people in her shouted to us in a strange language. They were afraid, evidently, of having their boat stove in by the wreck of the mast. At last they approached us cautiously.

“Come, Clem, we will swim to her,” I said. “Catch tight hold of my jacket; I have got strength enough left in me for that.”

We had not far to go, but I found it a tougher job than I expected. It would have been wiser to have remained till we could have leaped from the mast to the boat. I was almost exhausted by the time we reached her, and thankful when I felt Clem lifted off my back, I myself, when nearly sinking, being next hauled on board. We were handed into the stern-sheets, where we lay almost helpless. I tried to speak, but could not, nor could I understand a word that was said. The men at once pulled back to the ship, and a big seaman, taking Clem under one of his arms, clambered up with him on deck. Another carried me on board in the same fashion. The boat was then hoisted up, and the head yards being braced round, the ship continued her course. Lanterns being brought, we were surrounded by a group of foreign-looking seamen, who stared curiously at us, asking, I judged from the tones of their voices, all sorts of questions, but as their language was as strange to us as ours was to them, we couldn’t understand a word they said, or make them comprehend what we said.

“If you would give us some hot grog, and let us turn into dry hammocks, we should be much obliged to you,” I cried out at last, despairing of any good coming of all their talking.

Just as I spoke, an officer with a cloak on came from below, having apparently turned out of his berth. “Ah, you are English,” I heard him say. “Speak to me. How came you floating out here?”

I told him that our vessel had gone down, and that we, as far as I knew, were the only survivors of the crew.

“And who is that other boy?”

“The captain’s son,” I answered.

“Ah, I thought so, by his appearance,” said the officer. “He shall be taken into the cabin. You, my boy, will have a hammock on the lower deck, and the hot grog you asked for. I’ll visit you soon. I am the doctor of the ship.”

He then spoke to the men, and while Clement was carried aft, I was lifted up and conveyed below by a couple of somewhat rough but not ill-natured-looking seamen. I was more exhausted than I had supposed, for on the way I fainted, and many hours passed by before I returned to a state of half consciousness.

Chapter Three.

On the Russian frigate.

In three days I was quite well, and the doctor sending me a suit of seaman’s clothes, I dressed and found my way up on deck. I looked about eagerly for Clem, but not seeing him, I became anxious to learn how he was. I could make none of the men understand me. Most of them were Finns—big broad-shouldered, ruddy, light haired, bearded fellows; very good-natured and merry, notwithstanding the harsh treatment they often received. Big as they were, they were knocked about like so many boys by the petty officers, and I began to feel rather uncomfortable lest I should come in for share of the same treatment, of which I had had enough from the hands of old Growl. I determined, however, to grin and bear it, and do, as well as I could, whatever I was told.

I soon found that I was not to be allowed to eat the bread of idleness, for a burly officer, whom I took to be the boatswain, ordered me aloft with several other boys, to hand the fore royal, a stiff breeze just then coming on. Up I went; and though I had never been so high above the deck before, that made but little difference, and I showed that I could beat my companions in activity. When I came down the boatswain nodded his approval. I kept looking out for Clem. At last I saw my friend the doctor, with several other officers, on the quarter-deck. I hurried aft to him, and, touching my cap, asked him how Clem was. The others stared at me as if surprised at my audacity in thus venturing among them. “The boy is doing well,” he answered; “but, lad, I must advise you not to infringe the rules of discipline. You were, I understand, one of the ship’s boys, and must remain for’ard. He is a young gentleman, and such his dress and appearance prove him to be, will be allowed to live with the midshipmen.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” I answered; “but I am a gentleman’s son also, and I should like to live with the midshipmen, that I may be with Clem.”

“Your companion has said something to the same effect,” observed the doctor; “but the captain remarks that there are many wild, idle boys sent to sea who may claim to be the sons of gentlemen; and as your appearance shows, as you acknowledge was the case, that you were before the mast, there you must continue till your conduct proves that you are deserving of a higher rank. And now go for’ard. I’ll recollect what you have said.” I took the hint. The seamen grinned as I returned among them, as if they had understood what I had been saying.

I kept to my resolution of doing smartly whatever I was told, and laughed and joked with the men, trying to understand their lingo, and to make myself understood by them. I managed to pick up some of their words, though they almost cracked my jaws to pronounce them; but I laughed at my I own mistakes, and they seemed to think it very good fun to hear me talk.

Several days passed away, when at length I saw Clement come on deck. I ran aft to him, and he came somewhat timidly to meet me. We shook hands, and I told him how glad I was to see him better, though he still looked very pale. “I am very glad also to see you, Jack,” he said, “and I wish we were to be together. I told the doctor I would rather go and live for’ard than be separated from you; but he replied that that could not be, and I have hopes, Jack, that by-and-by you will be placed on the quarter-deck if you will enter the Russian service.”

“What! and give up being an Englishman?” I exclaimed. “I would do a great deal to be with you, but I won’t abandon my country and be transmogrified into a Russian.”

“You are right, Jack,” said Clem, with a sigh; “however, the officers will not object to my talking with you, and we must hope for the best.” After this I was constantly thinking how I should act should I have the option of being placed on the quarter-deck and becoming an officer in the Russian service, for we were on board a Russian frigate.

Clem got rapidly better, and we every day met and had a talk together. Altogether, as the boatswain’s lash did not often reach me, though he used it pretty freely among my companions, I was as happy as usual. I should have been glad to have had less train-oil and fat in the food served out to us, and should have preferred wheaten flour to the black rye and beans which I had to eat. Still that was a trifle, and I soon got accustomed to the greasy fare. Clem was now doing duty as a midshipman, and I was in the same watch with him.

The weather had hitherto been generally fine; but one night as the sun went down, I thought I saw indications of a gale. Still the wind didn’t come, and the ship went gliding smoothly over the ocean. I was in the middle watch, and had just come on deck. I had made my way aft, where I found Clem, and, leaning against a gun, we were talking together of dear old England, wondering when we should get back there, when a sudden squall struck the ship, and the hands were ordered aloft to reef topsails. I sprang aloft with the rest, and lay out on the lee fore yard-arm. I was so much more active than most of my shipmates, that I had become somewhat careless. As I was leaning over to catch hold of a reef point, I lost my balance, and felt, as I fell head foremost, that I was about to have my brains dashed out on the deck below me. The instant before the wind had suddenly ceased, and the sail giving a flap, hung down almost against the mast. Just at that moment, filled with the breeze, it bulged out again, and striking me, sent me flying overboard. Instinctively I put my hands together, and, plunging down, struck the now foaming water head first. I sank several feet, though I scarcely for a moment lost consciousness, and when I came to the surface I found myself striking out away from the ship, which was gliding rapidly by me. I heard a voice sing out, “A man overboard.” I knew that it must have been Clem’s, and I saw a spar and several other things thrown into the water. I do not know whether the life-buoy was let go. I did not see it. Turning round I struck out in the wake of the ship, but the gale just then coming with tremendous fury, drove her on fast away from me, and she speedily disappeared in the thick gloom. I should have lost all hope had I not at that moment come against a spar, and a large basket with a rope attached to it, which was driven almost into my hands. Climbing on to the spar, to which I managed to lash the basket, I then got into the latter, where I could sit without much risk of being washed out. It served, indeed, as a tolerably efficient life-preserver; for although the water washed in and washed out, and the seas frequently broke over my head, I was able to hold myself in without much trouble. I still had some hopes that the ship would come back and look for me.

At length I thought I saw her approaching through the darkness. It raised my spirits, and I felt a curious satisfaction, in addition to the expectation of being saved, at the thought that I was not to be carelessly abandoned to my fate. I anxiously gazed in the direction where I fancied the ship to be, but she drew no nearer, and the dark void filled the space before me. Still I did not give way to despair, though I found it a hard matter to keep up. I had been rescued before, and I hoped to be saved another time. Then, however, I had been in a comparatively narrow sea, with numerous vessels passing over it. Now I was in the middle of the Atlantic, which, although rightly called a highway, was a very broad one. I could not also help recollecting that I was in the latitude where sharks abound, and I thought it possible that one might make a grab at my basket, and try to swallow it and me together, although I smiled at the thought of the inconvenience the fish would feel when it stuck its teeth into the yard, and got it fixed across its mouth. Happily no shark espied me.

Day at last dawned. As I looked around when I rose to the summit of a sea, my eyes fell alone on the dark, tumbling, foaming waters, and the thick clouds going down to meet them. I began to feel very hungry and thirsty, for though I had water enough around me, I dare not drink it. I now found it harder than ever to keep up my spirits, and gloomy thoughts began to take possession of my mind. No one, I confess, would have called me Happy Jack just then. I was sinking off into a state of stupor, during which I might easily have been washed out of my cradle, when, happening to open my eyes, they fell on the sails of a large brig standing directly for me. I could scarcely fail to be seen by those on board. On she came before the breeze; but as she drew nearer I began to fear that she might still pass at some distance. I tried to stand up and shout out, but I was nearly toppling overboard in making the attempt. I managed, however, to kneel upon the spar and wave my handkerchief, shouting as I did so with all my might. The brig altered her course, and now came directly down for me. I made out two or three people in the forechains standing ready to heave me a rope. I prepared to seize it. The brig was up to me and nearly running me down, but I caught the first rope hove to me, and grasped it tightly. I could scarcely have expected to find myself capable of so much exertion. Friendly hands were stretched out to help me up, but scarcely was I safe than I sank down almost senseless on deck. I soon, however, recovered, and being taken below, and dry clothes and food being given me, I quickly felt as well as usual. “Where am I, and where are you bound to?” were the first questions I asked, hoping to hear that I was on board a homeward-bound vessel. “You are on board the American brig Fox bound out round the Horn to the Sandwich Islands and the west coast of North America,” was the answer. “But I want to go home to England,” I exclaimed. “Well, then, I guess you had better get into your basket, and wait till another vessel picks you up,” replied the captain, to whom I had addressed myself. “Thank you, I would rather stay here with dry clothes on my back and something to eat,” I said. “Perhaps, however, captain, you will speak any homeward-bound vessel we meet, and get her to take me?”

“Not likely to fall in with one,” he observed. “You had better make the best of things where you are.”

“That’s what I always try to do,” I replied. “You are the right sort of youngster for me, then,” he said. “Only don’t go boasting of your proud little venomous island among my people. We are true Americans, fore and aft, except some of the passengers, and they would be better off if they would sink their notions and pay more respect to the stars and stripes. However, you will have nothing to do with them, for you will do your duty for’ard I guess.” I thought it wiser to make no reply to these remarks, and as the crew were just going to dinner, I gladly accompanied them into their berth under the top-gallant forecastle. The crew, I found, though American citizens, were of all nationalities—Danes, and Swedes, and Frenchmen, with too or three mulattoes and a black cook. They described Captain Pyke, for that was the master’s name, as a regular Tartar, and seemed to have no great love for him, though they held him in especial awe. I was thankful at being so soon picked up, but I would rather have found myself on board a different style of craft. The cabin passengers were going out to join one of the establishments of the great Fur Trading Company on the Columbia river. They were pleasant, gentlemanly-looking men, and I longed to introduce myself to them, as I was beginning to get somewhat weary of the rough characters with whom I was doomed to associate. But from what the men told me, I felt sure that if I did so I should make the captain my enemy. He and they were evidently not on good terms. I got on, however, pretty well with the crew, and as I could speak a little French, I used to talk to the Frenchmen in their own language, my mistakes affording them considerable amusement, though, as they corrected me, I gradually improved.

Among the crew were two other persons whom I will particularly mention. One went by the name of “Old Tom.” He was relatively old with regard to the rest of our shipmates, rather than old in years—a wiry, active, somewhat wizen-faced man, with broad shoulders, and possessing great muscular strength. I suspected from the first, from the way he spoke, that he was not a Yankee born. His language, when talking to me, was always correct, without any nasal twang; and that he was a man of some education I was convinced, when I heard him once quote, as if speaking to himself, a line of Horace. He never smiled, and there was a melancholy expression on his countenance, which made me fancy that something weighed on his mind. He did not touch spirits, but his short pipe was seldom out of his mouth. When, however, he sat with the rest in the forecastle berth, his manner completely changed, and he talked, and argued, and wrangled, and guessed, and calculated, with as much vehemence as any one, entering with apparent zest into their ribald conversation, though even then the most humorous remark or jest failed to draw forth a laugh from his lips.

Chapter Four.

On board the American brig.

The other person was a lad a couple of years my senior, called always “Young Sam,” apparently one of those unhappy waifs cast on the bleak world without relations or friends to care for him. He was a fine young fellow, with a blue laughing eye, dauntless and active, and promised to become a good seaman. In spite of the rough treatment he often received from his shipmates, he kept up his spirits, and as our natures in that respect assimilated, I felt drawn towards him. The only person who seemed to take any interest in him, however, was old Tom, who saved him from many a blow; still, no two characters could apparently have more completely differed. Young Sam seemed a thoughtless, care-for-nothing fellow, always laughing and jibing those who attacked him, and ready for any fun or frolic which turned up. He appreciated, however, old Tom’s kindness; and the only times I saw him look serious were when he received a gentle rebuke from his friend for any folly he had committed which had brought him into trouble. I believe, indeed, that young Sam would have gone through fire and water to show his gratitude to old Tom, while I suspect that the latter, in spite of his harsh exterior, had a heart not altogether seared by the world, which required some one on whom to fix its kindlier feelings.

I had been some time on board when we put into a port at the Falkland Islands, then uninhabited, to obtain a supply of water. While the crew of the boats were engaged in filling the casks, Mr Duncan, one of the gentlemen, taking young Sam with him, went into the interior to shoot wild-fowl.

The casks were filled; and the boats, after waiting for some time the return of Mr Duncan and Sam, came back. Mr Symonds, the second mate, proposed to return for our shipmates after the casks had been hoisted on board. The captain seemed very angry at this; and when Mr Symonds was shoving off from the brig’s side, ordered him back. He was hesitating, when another gentleman jumped into the boat, declaring that he would not allow his companion to be left behind, and promised the men a reward if they would shove off. Two of the men agreed to go in the boat, and the mate, with the rest, coming up the side, they pulled away for the shore.

The captain walked the deck, fuming and raging, every now and then turning an angry glance at the land and pulling out his watch. “He means mischief,” muttered old Tom in my hearing; “but if he thinks to leave young Sam ashore to die of starvation, he is mistaken.”

The night drew on, and the boat had not returned. My watch being over, I turned in, supposing that the brig would remain at anchor till the morning. I was, however, awakened in the middle watch by old Tom’s voice. “Come on deck, Jack,” he said; “there’s mischief brewing; the captain had a quarrel with Mr Duncan the other day, and he hates young Sam for his impudence, as he calls it, and so I believe he intends to leave them behind if he can do so; but he is mistaken. We will not lift anchor till they are safe on board, or a party has been sent to look for them. They probably lost their way, and could not get back to the harbour before dark. There are no wild beasts or savages on shore, and so they could not come to harm; you slip into the cabin, and call the other gentlemen, and I’ll manage the crew, who have just loosed topsails, and are already at the windlass with the cable hove short.”

I was on deck in an instant, and, keeping on one side, while the captain was on the other, managed to slip into the cabin. I told the gentlemen of old Tom’s suspicions, and observed that the captain probably thought those in the boat would return without Mr Duncan and Sam, when they saw the vessel making sail.

They instantly began to dress; and one of them, a spirited young Highlander, Mr McIvor, put a brace of pistols into his belt and followed me on deck. I tried to escape being seen by the captain, but he caught sight of me, I was sure, though I stooped down and kept close to the bulwarks as I crept for’ard.

By this time the men were heaving at the windlass, which they continued to do, in spite of what old Tom said to them. The captain had overheard him, and threatened to knock the first man down with a handspike who ceased to work. Old Tom, however, had got one in his hand, and the captain did not dare to touch him. In another instant I heard Mr McIvor’s voice exclaiming, “What is this all about, Captain Pyke? What! are you going to leave our friends on shore?”

“If your friends don’t come off at the proper time they must take the consequences,” answered the captain. “Then, what I have got to say, Captain Pyke, is, that I’ll not allow them to be deserted, and that I intend to carry out my resolution with a pretty strong argument—the instant the anchor leaves the ground I’ll shoot you through the head.”

“Mutiny! mutiny!” shouted the captain, starting back, “seize this man and heave him overboard.” As he spoke the other two gentlemen made their appearance, and old Tom and I, with two or three others, stepped up close to them, showing the captain the side we intended to take. Neither of the mates moved, while the men folded their arms and looked on, showing that they did not intend to interfere.

“Very well, gentlemen,” cried the captain, “I see how matters stand—you have been bribing the crew. I’ll agree to wait for the boat, and if she does not come with the missing people we must give them up for lost.”

“That depends upon circumstances,” said Mr McIvor, returning his pistol to his belt. He and the rest continued to walk the deck, while the captain went, muttering threats of vengeance, into his cabin.

None of us after this turned in. In a short time the splash of oars was heard, and the boat came alongside. “We have come for food,” said Mr Fraser, one of the gentlemen who had gone in her. “I intend going back at daylight, and must get two or three others to accompany me. We will then have a thorough search for Duncan and the boy—there is no doubt that they have lost their way, and if we fire a few muskets, they will, with the help of daylight, easily find the harbour. Mr McIvor promised to accompany his friend, and I volunteered to go also.”

“No, Jack,” said old Tom, “you remain with me. If we all go, the captain may be playing us some trick.” I don’t know what side old Tom would have taken if it had not been for young Sam. Judging by his usual conduct, I suspect that he would have stood with his arms folded, and let the rest, as he would have said, fight it out by themselves.

At daylight the boat pulled away with Mr McIvor and another additional hand, taking a couple of muskets with them. Shortly afterwards the captain appeared on deck—though he cast frequent angry glances towards the shore, he said nothing—probably he could not afford to lose so many hands, as there were now four away, besides the two gentlemen, while the aspect of old Tom, with the rest of the crew, kept him from attempting to carry out his evil intentions. Two or three times, notwithstanding this, I thought he was about to order the anchor to be hove up; but again he seemed to hesitate, and at length, towards noon, the boat was seen coming off, with Mr Duncan and Sam in her. The captain said nothing to the gentlemen, but, as soon as the boat was hoisted up, he began to belabour poor Sam with a rope’s end. He was still striking the lad, when old Tom stepped between them, grasping a handspike. “What has the lad done, sir?” he exclaimed. “Why not attack Mr Duncan? If anyone is to blame for the delay, he is the person, not young Sam.” The gentlemen were advancing while old Tom was speaking, and several of the crew cried out shame. The captain again found himself in the minority, and, without replying to old Tom, walked aft, muttering between his teeth.

These incidents will give some idea of the state of matters on board the ship.

We now made sail, with a gentle breeze right aft, but scarcely had we lost sight of the islands when a heavy gale sprang up. The lighter canvas was instantly handed—young Sam and one of the men who had gone in the boat were ordered out on the jibboom to furl the flying jib. As they were about this work, a tremendous sea struck the bows, the gaskets got loose, the jibboom was carried away, and with it the two poor fellows who were endeavouring to secure the sail. The captain, who had seen the accident, took no notice of it, but the first mate, not wishing to have their death on his conscience, sprang aft and ordered the ship to be brought to, while others hove overboard every loose piece of timber, empty casks, or hencoops, which they could lay hands on, to give our shipmates a chance of escape. Old Tom and I instantly ran to the jolly-boat, and were easing off the falls, when I felt myself felled to the deck by a blow on the head, the captain’s voice exclaiming, “What, you fools, do you wish to go after them and be drowned too?” When I came to myself I saw the boat made fast, and could just distinguish the articles thrown overboard floating astern, while old Tom was standing gazing at them with sorrowful looks, the eyes of all on board, indeed, being turned in the same direction.

“It would have been no use, Jack,” he said, heaving a deep sigh; “the captain was right, the boat couldn’t have lived two minutes in this sea, but I would have risked my life to try and save young Sam, though, for your sake, my boy, it’s better as it is.”

After this the ship was put on her course, and we stood on, plunging away into the heavy seas which rose around us, and threatened every instant to break on board the brig. The passengers looked, and, I daresay, felt very melancholy at the accident, for young Sam especially, was liked by them, and on that account Mr Duncan had taken him on his expedition. Old Tom could scarcely lift up his head, and even the rest of the crew refrained from their usual gibes and jokes. The captain said nothing, but I saw by the way he treated the first mate that he was very savage with him for the part he had taken in attempting to save the poor fellows.

After this old Tom was kinder than ever to me, and evidently felt towards me as he had towards young Sam, whose duties as everybody’s servant I had now to take, being the youngest on board, and least able to hold my own against the captain’s tyranny, and the careless and often rough treatment of the crew.

I had some time before told poor young Sam how I used to be called “Happy Jack,” and he went and let out what I had said among the men. When one of them started me with a rope’s end, he would sing out, “That’s for you, ‘Happy Jack.’” Another would exclaim, “Go and swab the deck down, ‘Happy Jack;’” or, “‘Happy Jack,’ go and help Mango to clean out the caboose, I hope you are happy now—pleasant work for a young gentleman, isn’t it?”

“Look you,” I replied one day, when this remark was made to me, “I am alive and well, and hope some day to see my home and friends, so, compared to the lot of poor young Sam and Dick Noland, who are fathoms deep down in the ocean, I think I have a right to say I am happy—your kicks and cuffs only hurt for a time, and I manage soon to forget them. If it’s any pleasure to you to give them, all I can say is, that it’s a very rum sort of pleasure; and now you have got my opinion about the matter.”

“That’s the spirit I like to see,” exclaimed old Tom, slapping me on the back soon afterwards, “You’ll soon put a stop to that sort of thing.” I found he was right; and, though I had plenty of dirty work to do, still, after that, not one of the men ever lifted his hand against me. The captain, however, was not to be so easily conquered, and so I took good care to stand clear of him whenever I could.

The rough weather continued till we had made Cape Horn, which rose dark and frowning out of the wild heaving ocean. We were some time doubling it, and were several days in sight of Terra del Fuego, but we did not see anything like a burning mountain—indeed, no volcanoes exist at that end of the Andes.

The weather moderated soon after we were round the Horn, but in a short time another gale sprung up, during which our bulwarks were battered in, one of our boats carried away, our bowsprit sprung, and the fore-topsail, the only canvas we had set, blown to ribbons. Besides this, we received other damages, which contributed still further to sour our captain’s temper. We were at one time so near the ironbound coast that there seemed every probability that we should finish off by being dashed to pieces on the rocks. Happily, the wind moderated, and a fine breeze springing up, we ran on merrily into the Pacific.

Shortly after, we made the island of Juan Fernandez, and, as I saw its wood-covered heights rising out of the blue ocean, I could not help longing to go on shore and visit the scenes I had read about in Robinson Crusoe. I told old Tom about my wish. Something more like a smile than I had ever yet seen, rose on his countenance. “I doubt, Jack, that you would find any traces of the hero you are so fond of,” he observed; “I believe once upon a time an Englishman did live there, left by one of the ships of Commodore Anson’s squadron, but that was long ago, and the Spaniards have turned it into a prison, something like our Norfolk Island.”

Chapter Five.

Old Tom’s Story.

We, however, did call off another island in the neighbourhood, called Massafuera, to obtain a supply of wood and water. The ship was hove-to, and the pinnace and jolly-boat were sent on shore with casks. I was anxious to go, but old Tom kept me back. “You stay where you are, Jack,” he said, “or the skipper may play you some trick. It’s a dangerous place to land at, you are sure of a wetting, and may lose your life in going through the surf.”

In the evening, when the party returned, I found this to be the case. Still, I might have been tempted, I think, to run off and let the ship sail away without me, as I heard that there were plenty of goats on the island, abundance of water, and that the vegetation was very rich.

It is also an exceedingly picturesque spot, the mountains rising abruptly from the sea, surrounded by a narrow strip of beach. Those who went on shore had also caught a large quantity of fish, of various sorts, as well as lobsters and crabs, which supplied all hands for several days.

Perhaps old Tom had a suspicion of what I might have been tempted to do, and I fancied that was his chief reason for keeping me on board.

The idea having once taken possession of my mind, I resolved to make my escape at the next tempting-looking island we might touch at, should I find any civilised men living there, or should it be uninhabited. I had no wish to live among savages, as I had read enough of their doings to make me anxious to keep out of their way, and I was not influenced by motives which induce seamen to run from their ships for the sake of living an idle, profligate life, free from the restraints of civilisation.

A few days after leaving Massafuera, we got into the trade winds, which carried us swiftly along to the northward. Again we crossed the equator; and about three weeks afterwards made the island of Owhyee, the largest of the Sandwich Islands. As we coasted along, we enjoyed the most magnificent view I had ever beheld. Along the picturesque shore were numerous beautiful plantations, while beyond it rose the rocky and dreary sides of the gigantic Mouna Roa, its snow-clad summit towering to the clouds. It was on this island that Captain Cook was murdered by the now friendly and almost civilised natives, who have, indeed, since become in many respects completely so, and taken their place among the nations of the world.

We sailed on, passing several islands, when we brought up in the beautiful bay of Whytetee. Near the shore was a village situated in an open grove of cocoa-nut trees, with the hills rising gently in the rear, presenting a charming prospect. The more I gazed at it, the more I longed to leave the brig, and go and dwell there, especially as I heard that there were several respectable Englishmen and Americans already settled on the island, and that they were held in high favour by the king and his chiefs. Still old Tom had been so kind to me, and I entertained so sincere a regard for him, that I could not bear the thoughts of going away without bidding him farewell. I was afraid, however, of letting him know my intentions. Often I thought that I would try and persuade him to go too. I began by speaking of the beautiful country, and the delicious climate, and the kind manners of the people, and how pleasantly our countrymen, residing there, must pass their lives. “I know what you are driving at, Jack,” he said, “You want to run from the ship; isn’t it so?” I confessed that such was the case, and asked him to go with me. “No, Jack,” he replied, “I am not one of those fellows who act thus; I have done many a thing I am sorry for, but I engaged for the voyage, and swore to stick by the brig; and while she holds together, unless the captain sets me free, I intend to do so. And Jack, though you are at liberty to do what you like, you wouldn’t leave me, would you?” He spoke with much feeling in his tone. “Since young Sam went, you are the only person I have cared to speak to on board, and if you were to go, I should feel as if I were left alone in the world. I should have liked to have made friends with those fine young men, Duncan and McIvor. Once, (you may be surprised to hear it) I was their equal in position, but they don’t trouble themselves about such a man as I now am, and they will soon be leaving the brig for the shore. If I thought it was for your advantage, I would say, notwithstanding this, go; but it isn’t. You will get into bad ways if you go and live among those savages—for savages they are, whatever you may say about them. And you will probably be able to return home by sticking to the brig sooner than any other way.”

These arguments weighed greatly with me, and I finally abandoned my intention, greatly to old Tom’s satisfaction. He redoubled his kindness to me after this. Towards every one else he grew more silent and reserved.

I may just say, that the next day we anchored off Honoluloo, the chief town, where the king and his court resided; and that we carried on some trading with the people, his majesty in particular, and taking some half-a-dozen Sandwich islanders on board to replace the men we had lost, and, as old Tom observed, any others we might lose, we sailed for the American coast.

From that day I could not help observing a more than usually sad expression on my friend’s countenance; indeed, every day he seemed to become more and more gloomy, and I determined to ask him what there was on his mind to make him so. I took the opportunity I was looking for one night when he was at the helm, and the second mate, who was officer of the watch, had gone forward to have a chat, as he sometimes did, with the men. The night was fine and clear, and we were not likely to have eaves-droppers. “Tell me, Tom,” I said, “what is the matter with you? I wish that I could be of as much use to you as you have been to me.”

“Thank you, Jack,” he answered; “the fact is, I have got something on my mind, and as you have given me an opportunity, I’ll tell you what it is. I think I shall be the better afterwards, and you may be able to do for me what I shall never have an opportunity of doing myself, for, Jack, I cannot help feeling sure that my days are numbered. If that captain of ours wishes to get rid of me, he will find means without staining his hands in my blood, he will not do that, there are plenty of other ways by which I may be expended, as they say of old stores in the navy. For myself I care but little, but I should wish to remain to look after you, and lend you a helping hand should you need it.”

“Thank you, Tom,” I said, “I value the kind feelings you entertain for me, and I hope that we shall be together till we reach England again. But I was going to ask why you think that the captain wishes to get rid of you? He can have no motive that I can discover to desire your death.”

“He hates me, that’s enough; he’s a man who will go any lengths to gratify his hate,” answered old Tom. “But I promised to tell you about the matter which weighs on my mind. Jack, I did many things when I was a young man, which I am sorry for, but I was then chiefly my own enemy. A time came, however, when I was tempted to commit a crime against others, and it’s only since I began this voyage that I have had a wish to try and undo it as far as I have the power. You must know, Jack, I am the son of a gentleman, and I went to college. I had got into bad ways there, and spent all my property. When my last shilling was gone, I shipped on board a merchant vessel, and for years never again set foot on the shores of old England. I knocked about all that time in different climes and vessels, herding with the roughest and most abandoned class of seamen, till I became almost as abandoned and rough as they were. Still, during all my wanderings, I had a hankering for the associates and the refinements of society I had so long quitted. Thoughts of home would come back to me even in my wildest moments, although I tried hard to keep them out. At length I returned to England with more money in my pocket than I had ever again expected to possess. Throwing aside my seafaring clothes as soon as I got on shore, I dressed myself as a gentleman, and repairing to a fashionable watering-place, where I found several old friends, managed to get into respectable society. I forgot that unless I could obtain some employment my money must soon come to an end. It did so, but the taste for good society had been revived in me. It was now impossible to indulge in it, and I was compelled once more to seek for a berth on board ship. Thoughtlessly, I had never studied navigation while I was at sea, and consequently had again to go before the mast. I got on board an Indiaman, and reached Calcutta. On the return voyage we had a number of passengers. I of course knew but little about them, as I seldom went aft except to take my trick at the helm. I observed, however, among them a gentleman of refined appearance, with his wife and their little boy. They had a native nurse to take care of him. No one could be more affectionate than the gentleman was to his wife and child, but he seemed of a retiring disposition, and I seldom saw him speaking to any one else. We had had particularly fine weather during the greater part of the passage, when the ship was caught in a tremendous gale. During it the masts were carried away, several of the hands—Lascars and Englishmen—were lost overboard, while she sprung a leak, which kept all the crew hard at work at the pumps.

“It became evident, indeed, before long, that unless the weather moderated the ship would go down. We had four boats remaining, but as they would not carry a third of the people on board, the captain ordered all hands to turn to and build rafts. We were thus employed when night came on; such a night I never before had seen. The thunder roared and the lightning flashed around us, as if it would set the ship on fire. Some hours passed away; we could get on but slowly with our work. I was on the after-part of the deck, when I remember seeing the gentleman I have spoken of come up and make an offer to the captain to lend a hand at whatever might be required to be done. I observed at the time that he had a small case hanging to his side. He did not seem to think that there was any danger of the ship going down for many hours to come; nor indeed did any one; for the leaks were gaining but little on the pumps, although they were gaining. He seemed so well to understand what he was about that I suspected he was a naval officer. We worked away hard, and it was nearly morning, when a dreadful peal of thunder, such as I had never heard before, broke over our heads, and it’s my belief that a bolt passed right through the ship. Be that as it may, a fearful cry arose that she was going down. The people rushed to the boats. Discipline was at an end. The gentleman I spoke of shouted to the men, trying to bring them back to their duty. Then I saw him, when all hope of doing so had gone, hurry into the cuddy. Directly afterwards he came out with his wife and child, together with the nurse. Supposing, I fancy, that the boats were already full, or would be swamped alongside, he secured the nurse to the raft we had been building, and had given her the child to hold, calling on me and others to assist in launching it overboard, intending to take his place with his wife upon it. He was in the act of securing her—so it seemed to me—when the ship gave a fearful plunge forward, and a roaring sea swept over her. I at once saw that she would never rise again. On came the foaming waters, carrying all before them. Whether or not the gentleman and his wife succeeded in getting to the raft, I could not tell; there was no room, I knew, for me on it. Just before I had caught sight of one of the boats, which had shoved off with comparatively few people in her, dropping close under the ship’s quarter. I sprang aft, and, leaping overboard, struck out towards her, managing to get hold of her bow as it dipped into the sea. I hauled myself on board. By the time I had got in, and could look about me, I saw the stern of the ship sinking beneath a wave, and for a moment I thought the boat would have been drawn down with her. Such fearful shrieks and cries as I never wish to hear again rose from amid the foaming sea, followed by a perfect and scarcely less terrible silence. We had but three oars in the boat, which we could with difficulty, therefore, manage in that heavy sea. Most of the men in her were Lascars, and they were but little disposed to go to the assistance of our drowning shipmates. There were three Englishmen in the after-part of the boat, and I made my way among the Lascars to join them. Even the Englishmen belonged to the least respectable part of the crew. They, however, sided with me, and, seizing a stretcher, I swore that I would brain the fellows if they would not try to pick up some of the drowning people. Two or three on this drew their knives, flourishing them with threatening gestures. Knowing them pretty well, I felt sure that if we did not gain the day, they would take the first opportunity of heaving us overboard; and with all my might I dealt a blow at the head of the man nearest me, who held his weapon ready to strike. The stretcher caught him as he was in the act of springing up, and he fell overboard, sinking immediately. ‘Any more of you like to be treated in the same way?’ I exclaimed. The wretches sank down in their seats, thoroughly cowed; but in the scuffle one of the oars was lost overboard, and was swept away before we could recover it. Some time was thus lost, and the boat had drifted a considerable distance from the spot where the Indiaman had gone down. We could hear, however, cries for help rising above the hissing and dashing sounds of the tumbling waters. Every instant I expected that the boat would be swamped; when at length the Lascars, who had the oars, were induced by my threats to pull away and keep her head to sea. I had taken the helm, and though we made no progress, the rafts and various articles which had floated up from the wreck came drifting down towards us, scattering far and wide over the tossing ocean. I caught sight of a boat and two or three other rafts, but they were too far off to enable me, through the gloom, to distinguish the people on them. The shrieks had gradually ceased; now and then the cry of some strong swimmer, who had hitherto bravely buffeted the sea, was heard ere he sank for the last time. Daylight was just breaking when, as I was standing up in the stern-sheets, I saw a person clinging to a piece of timber, and I determined, if possible, to save him. I pointed him out to the English seamen; and two of them, springing up, seized the oars from the hands of the Lascars, and by pulling away lustily we got up close to the spot. The man saw us coming. It was not without difficulty that we managed to haul him on board so as to avoid striking him or staving in the boat against the piece of wreck which had kept him up. To my surprise I found that he was the very gentleman who had assisted in forming the raft before the ship went down. I knew him by the case, which he still had secured to his side. He was so exhausted that for some minutes he could not speak, though he was evidently making an effort to do so. At length, beckoning me to put my ear down to his mouth, he asked in a low voice whether we had seen his wife and child, with the nurse. The only comfort I could afford him was by telling him that I had caught sight of several small rafts, and possibly they might be upon one of them. He had been washed away before he could secure himself when the ship foundered; and though he was carried down with her, on rising to the surface he had caught hold of the piece of wreck to which we had found him clinging.

“There we were, fourteen human beings in a small boat out in the middle of the Atlantic, the dark foaming seas surrounding us, without a particle of food or a drop of fresh water, while our two oars scarcely enabled us to keep her head to the sea, and save her from being capsized or swamped.

“I do not like to talk or even to think of the horrors which followed. Daylight had now come on, but all around was gloom, the dark clouds appearing like a pall just above our heads, and hanging round on either side, so as to circumscribe the horizon to the narrowest limits. Here and there I occasionally thought that I saw a few dark spots, which might have been the boats and rafts, or pieces of the wreck.

“The day passed by and there was no abatement of the gale. The Lascars had again taken the oars, but as night again approached, worn out with hunger and fatigue, they refused to pull any longer, and the gentleman offering to steer, the three other men and I took it by turns to labour at the oars.

“Thus the second night passed by. I had begun to feel faint and hungry, and to experience the pangs of thirst; and, judging by my own sensations, I felt sure that, should we not fall in with a ship during the coming day, some of my companions would give way. Another morning dawned, but no sail was in sight. One of the Lascars lay dead in the bows, the rest were stretched out under the thwarts, unable even to continue baling, and apparently no longer caring what might become of them. The gentleman, though the most delicate-looking of us all, held out the best. His eye was constantly ranging over the ocean in search of the raft or boat which might contain those he loved best on earth. I had great difficulty in persuading him to let me take the helm again while he got a little sleep.

“As the day drew on the gale moderated, and the sea went down. So weak were the three other Englishmen by this time, that I believe we should not otherwise have been able to prevent the boat being swamped. The Lascars were in a worse state. Two more died, and as their countrymen would not heave them overboard, we were obliged to do so. Eagerly we looked out for a sail, but none appeared. Before the next morning broke all the Lascars were dead, and I saw that one of my messmates was likely soon to follow them. Another, however, died before him, but ere the sun rose high in the heavens, he was gone.

“Besides the gentleman, only I and one man remained, the latter indeed was near his last gasp. I will not tell you what dreadful thoughts passed through my mind. Just then, as I was stooping down, I put my hand under the after seat. There, stowed away, was a large lump of grease. I felt round farther, and drew forth two bones with a considerable amount of meat on them. One of the dogs, I have no doubt, had made it his hiding place. The selfish thought came across me, that had the Lascars and the other two men been alive, this food would have gone very little way, but now it might support the existence of my two companions and me for another day or two. Eagerly I seized the putrid meat in my mouth, offering a piece to my companions. My messmate attempted to eat it, his jaws moved for a few seconds, then his head fell back. He had died in the effort. The gentleman could with difficulty swallow a few morsels. ‘Water! water!’ he muttered, ‘without water it is too late.’ I tried some of the grease, and felt revived.

“Not without difficulty we hove the last who had succumbed into the sea, and then the gentleman and I were alone. His spirits, which had hitherto kept up, were now, I saw, sinking. He beckoned me to sit close to him, and I saw that he was engaged in trying to loosen the strap which held the case to his side. ‘You are strong, my friend,’ he whispered, ‘and may possibly survive till you are picked up, I feel that I can trust you. Take charge of this case—it contains an important document, and jewels and money of considerable value. Here, too, is a purse of gold, to that you are welcome,’ and he handed me a purse from his pocket. ‘The case I as a dying man commit to your charge, and solemnly entreat you to take care of it for the benefit of my widow and orphan child, for the belief is still strong within me that they survive. You will find within this metal case full directions as to the person to whom it is to be delivered.’ He said this with the greatest difficulty, and it seemed as if he had exhausted all his strength in the effort. I promised to fulfil his wishes, and fully intended doing so. He took my hand, and fixed his eyes on me, as if he was endeavouring to read my thoughts. I tried to make him take some more food, but he had no strength to swallow it. Before the evening closed in he too was gone.

“I had not the heart at once to throw him overboard. As I stood looking at him, prompted I believe by the spirit of evil, an idea came into my head. Should I reach shore the purse of gold would enable me to enjoy myself for some time, and perhaps I might obtain permanent employment in a respectable position, instead of knocking about at sea. I took off the dead man’s clothes, and dressed myself in them, though I was so weak that the task was a difficult one. I then lifted the body overboard. Having secured the box round my waist, I placed the metal case and purse in my pocket.

“I was alone, and though suffering greatly from thirst, I still felt that there was some life in me. I gazed around, but no sail was in sight. A light breeze only was blowing, and the sea had become tolerably calm, so eating a little more of the grease and meat, I lay down in the stern-sheets to sleep. I was awoke by feeling the water splashing over me. It was raining hard. There were two hats and a bucket in the boat. I quickly collected enough water to quench my thirst, and at once felt greatly revived. The rain continued long enough to enable me to fill the bucket. Had it not been for that shower I must have died.

“Two days longer I continued in the boat, when, just as the sun rose, my eyes fell on a sail in the horizon. How eagerly I watched her; she was standing towards me. Securing a shirt to the end of an oar, I waved it as high as I could reach. I was seen—the ship drew nearer. Being too weak to pull alongside I made no attempt to do so, and this being observed, the ship hove-to and lowered a boat, which soon had mine in tow. I was carefully lifted up the side, and on my dress being observed, I was at once treated as a gentleman. A cabin was given up to me, and every attention paid to my wants. I found that the ship was an emigrant vessel, outward bound, for Australia.

“I was some time in recovering my strength, and when I appeared among the passengers I took care to evade any questions put to me. I found the life on board very pleasant, and having purchased some clothes and other articles I was able to appear on an equality with the rest.

“We fell in with no other ship till Sydney was reached. I went on shore, purposing to amuse myself for a short time, and then return home and fulfil the dying request of my unfortunate companion in the boat. Would that I had gone on board a vessel sailing the very day of our arrival. Jack, never put off doing your duty, under the idea that it may be done a little time hence, lest that roaring lion we read of may catch hold of you and tempt you to put it off altogether. I remained on day after day, mixing in society, and rapidly spending my money. It was all gone, and then, Jack,” and old Tom lowered his voice, “I did that vile deed—I broke open the box and took possession of the money I found within—the widow’s and orphan’s gold. I tried to persuade myself that they had certainly been lost. At first I only took the gold, intending to go home with the other articles; then I got to the notes. I had some difficulty in getting them changed, and was afraid of being discovered. At last I began to dispose of the jewels.

“At length I got a hint that I was suspected, and securing the case I once more dressed myself as a seaman, bought a chest, and got a berth on board a homeward-bound ship. I was miserable—conscience stung me—I could get no rest.

“The ship was cast away on the west coast of Ireland, and nearly all on board perished. I had secured about me the case, which still contained the parchment, the title-deeds of a large property, and a few jewels.

“I, with a few survivors, reached the shore. I was afraid to go back to England to deliver the case to the person to whom it was addressed, and so, making my way to Cork, where I found a ship bound for America, I went on board her.

“Jack, I have been knocking about ever since, my conscience never at rest, and yet not having the courage to face any danger I might incur, and make the only reparation in my power to those who, if still alive, I have deprived of their property. Now, notwithstanding what you say, there’s something tells me that I have not long to live. I never had such a notion in my head before, but there it is now, and I cannot get rid of it. You are young and strong, and I want you to promise me, if you get home, to do what I ought to have done long ago. I will give you the case when we go below. Take it to the lawyer to whom it is addressed, and tell him all I have told you, and how it came into your possession, he’ll believe you, I am sure, and though the money and most of the jewels are gone, the remainder will, I hope, be of value to the rightful owners.”

I of course promised old Tom that I would do as he wished, at the same time I tried to persuade him to banish the forebodings which haunted him, from his mind. “That’s more than I can do, Jack,” he said, “I shouldn’t mind the thoughts of death so much, if I could find the means of undoing all the ill I have done in the world—that’s what tries me now.” Unhappily neither I nor any one on board could tell the poor fellow that there is but one way by which sins can be washed away. I did indeed suggest that he should try and borrow a Bible from one of the gentlemen in the cabin, if they had one among them, for there was not one for’ard nor in the captain’s or officers’ berths.

When our watch was over, old Tom sat down on his chest, waiting till the rest of the watch had turned in and gone to sleep. He then cautiously opened his chest, and exhibited within, under his clothes, a small box, strongly bound with silver, and the metal case he had spoken of. “Here, Jack,” he said, “I make you my heir, and give you the key of my chest: I’ll tell the men to-morrow that I have done so, and let the captain and mates know it also, that there may be no dispute about the matter.” I thanked old Tom, assuring him, at the same time, that I hoped not to benefit by his kindness.

In about three weeks we reached the mouth of the Columbia river. A strong gale from the westward had been blowing for several days, and as we came off the river a tremendous surf was seen breaking across the bar at its mouth. “I hope the captain won’t attempt to take the vessel in,” observed old Tom to me. “I have been in once while the sea was not so heavy by half as it is now, and our ship was nearly castaway.” Still we stood on. Presently, however, the captain seemed to think better of it, and indifferent as he was to the lives of others, he apparently did not wish to lose his own, and the brig into the bargain. She was accordingly hauled to the wind, and we again stood off. It was only, however, to heave-to, when he ordered a boat to be lowered. He then directed the first mate to take four hands to go in her and sound the bar. The mate expostulated, and declared that the lives of all would be sacrificed in the attempt. “You are a coward, and are afraid,” exclaimed the captain, stamping with rage. “Take old Tom and ‘Happy Jack,’ and two others,” he called out their names. “No man shall justly say I am a coward,” answered the mate; “I’ll go, but I’ll take none but volunteers. My death and theirs will rest on your head, Captain Pyke.”

“I’ll not go if the boy is sent,” exclaimed old Tom; “but I am ready to go if another man takes his place.”

“Let me go, Tom,” I said; “if you and the mate go I am ready to accompany you.”

“No, Jack, I’ll do no such thing,” answered my friend. “You stay on board. Unless others step forward the boat won’t go at all. The bar is not in a fit state for the vessel to cross, much less an open boat.” The captain, however, seemed determined to go into the river, and now ordered another man to go instead of me. “I’ll make you pay for this another day,” he cried out, looking at me. I saw the mate shaking hands with several on board before he stepped into the boat. “Remember the case, Jack,” said old Tom as he passed me, giving me a gripe by the hand. “You have got the key, lad.”

The boat shoved off and pulled towards the bar. I watched her very anxiously; now she rose to the top of a roller, now she was hidden by the following one. Every instant I expected her to disappear altogether. I couldn’t help thinking of what old Tom had said to me. Some time passed, when the captain ordered the helm to be put up, and the brig was headed towards the bar. He had been looking with his glass, and declared he had seen the mate’s signal to stand in. The wind by this time had moderated. The brig was only under her topsails and mainsail, and I began to wonder at the mate’s apprehensions. We had not stood on long when I saw the boat to the northward of us, much nearer the breakers than we were. She seemed to be carried by beyond the control of those in her. A strong current had caught hold of her. Presently she passed, not a pistol shot from us. The three men were shouting and shrieking for aid; old Tom was in the bows, sitting perfectly still; I could even distinguish the countenance of the mate, as he turned it with a reproachful glance, so it seemed to me, towards the captain. Beyond her appeared a high wall of hissing, foaming breakers, towards which she was driving. The captain seemed scarcely to notice the unfortunate men; indeed his attention was occupied with attending to the brig, our position being extremely critical. I couldn’t take my eyes off the boat. Would she be able even yet to stem the current and get back into smooth water? Suddenly, however, it seemed as if the wall of foaming breakers came right down upon her, and she disappeared amidst them. A cry of horror escaped me. “We may be no better off ere long,” I heard one of the men exclaim. He had scarcely spoken when the brig struck, and the foaming waters leaped up on either side, as if about to break on board. Another sea came roaring on, and she again moved forward. Again and again the brig struck, and at last seemed fixed.

Darkness was coming on, the foaming waters roared around us, frequently breaking on board, and we had to hold on to escape being washed away. The hatches had been battened down, or the vessel would have filled. She must have been a strong craft, or she could not have held together. The passengers behaved like brave men, though they evidently thought that it was the captain’s obstinacy which had brought them into their present perilous position.

Hour after hour passed by, with no object discernible beyond the foaming waters surging round us. The men declared that they could hear the shrieks and cries of our shipmates. The captain swore at them as fools for saying so, declaring that their voices must long since have been silenced by the breakers. Every instant it seemed that the brig must go to pieces, and that we should be carried away to share their fate. Suddenly, however, I felt the brig move. The topsails were let fall and sheeted home, and we once more glided forward. In another hour we were safely at anchor in a sheltered bay within the mouth of the river.

The next morning several natives came off to us in their canoes. They were red-skinned painted savages, but appeared inclined to be friendly. By means of Mr Duncan, who understood something of their language, they were told of the accident which had happened to the boat, and they undertook to search along the shore, in the possibility of any of the crew having escaped, and been washed on to the beach. On hearing of this my hopes of seeing old Tom again somewhat revived, though I scarcely believed it possible that any boat getting into those fearful breakers could have survived. Mr Duncan and two of the other gentlemen agreed to accompany the savages.

In the evening the boat which had taken them on shore was seen coming off. I anxiously watched her. Besides those who had gone away, I distinguished one other person, he turned his face towards the vessel as the boat approached, and, to my delight, I saw that he was old Tom. “And so you have escaped, have you?” said the captain, as he stepped on board. “Yes, sir, but the others have gone where some others among us will be before long,” answered Tom, gloomily, “and those who sent them there will have to render an account of their deeds.”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed the captain. “I leave that to others to answer,” said Tom, walking forward.

He told me that the boat, on entering the surf, was immediately capsized, and that all hands were washed out of her. That he had managed to cling on with one man, and that when they got through the surf they had righted the boat, and picking up two of the oars, after bailing her out, had succeeded in paddling, aided by the current, some distance to the northward. On attempting to land the boat was again capsized. He had swam on shore, but the other poor fellow was drowned, and he himself was almost exhausted when met by the party who brought him back. “You see, Tom,” I observed, “your prognostications have not come true, and you may still live to get back to old England again.”

“Oh no, Jack, though I have escaped this once, I am very sure my days are numbered,” he answered; do all I could, I was unable to drive this idea out of his head.

The crew were so indignant at the boat having been sent away, declaring that the captain wished to get rid of the mate and old Tom, that I felt sure another slight act of tyranny would produce a mutiny. While the gentlemen remained on board this was less likely to happen, but they were about to leave us, and take up their residence on shore.

Some time was occupied in landing their goods and stores, and then we found that we were to proceed to the northward, on a trading voyage with the Indians, and that Mr Duncan was to accompany us. We had also received on board an Indian, who had long resided with the whites, and who was to act as our interpreter.

A fair wind carried us over the bar, and, steering to the northward, we continued on for several days, till we brought up in a deep bay, on the shore of which was situated a large native village. Large numbers of the Indians came off in their canoes, with furs to exchange for cutlery, cotton goods, looking-glasses, beads, and other ornaments. Many of them were fine looking, independent fellows, but veritable savages, dressed in skins, their heads adorned, after their fashion, with feathers, shells, and the teeth of different animals. The captain treated them with great contempt, shouting at them, and ordering them here and there, as if they were beings infinitely inferior to himself. I saw them frequently turn angry glances at him, but they did not otherwise exhibit any annoyance. One day, however, he had a dispute with one of their chiefs about a matter of barter, when, losing his temper, he struck the savage and knocked him over on the deck. The Indian, recovering himself, cast a fierce glance at him, then, folding his arms, walked away, uttering some words to his companions, which we did not understand.

The next day, Mr Duncan, who had gone on shore, returned on board hurriedly, with the interpreter, and warned the captain that the Indians intended to take vengeance for the insult their chief had received. The captain laughed, declaring that he did not fear what ten times the number of savages who as yet had come on board, would venture to do. “They are daring fellows, though, Captain Pyke, and treacherous, and cunning in the extreme,” observed Mr Duncan. “Take my advice and keep them out of the ship. We have already done a fair trade here, and the natives have not many more skins to dispose of.”

“I am not to be frightened as other people are,” answered the captain, scornfully. “If they have no skins they will not bring them, and if they have, I am not the man to be forgetful of the interests of the Company, by refusing to trade.”

This was said on deck in the hearing of the crew. “I’ll tell you what, Jack,” observed old. Tom to me, “the captain will repent not following Mr Duncan’s advice. If the Indians come on board, keep by me—we shall have to tight for our lives. I know these I people. When they appear most friendly, they are often meditating mischief.”

That very evening several canoes came off, and in them was the chief whom the captain had knocked down. He seemed perfectly friendly, smiling and shaking hands with the captain as if he had entirely forgotten the insult he had received.

When the savages took their departure, they were apparently on the best of terms with us all.

Chapter Six.

The brig blown up.

The next morning we were preparing to put to sea, when two large canoes came off, each carrying about twenty men. As they exhibited a considerable number of furs, the captain allowed them to come on board, and trade commenced as usual. In the meantime, three other canoes came off with a similar number of men, and a larger quantity of furs of the most valuable descriptions. They also were allowed to come up the side like the rest.

“Jack, I don’t like the look of things,” said old Tom.

“Do you observe that the savages are wearing cloaks such as they have not appeared in before. Just come down for’ard with me.”

I followed Tom below. “Here,” he said, “fasten this case under your jacket. If the savages attack us, we will jump into the boat astern; they will be too much intent on plunder to follow us, and we will make our escape out to sea. I propose to do this for your sake. As for me, I would as lief remain and fight it out. I have mentioned my suspicions to several of the men, and advised them to have an eye on the handspikes; with them we may keep the savages at bay till we can make good our retreat.”

I asked him why he did not warn the captain. “Because he is mad, and would only laugh at me,” he answered, “Mr Duncan and the interpreter have already done so, and they are as well aware as I am that mischief is brewing.”

On going on deck, we saw the captain speaking to the Indians, and ordering them to return to their canoes. They appeared as if they were going to obey him, when suddenly, each man drawing a weapon from beneath his cloak uttered a fearful yell, and leaped at the officers and us. The captain, with only a jack-knife in his hand, defended himself bravely, killing four of his savage assailants.

Led by old Tom, I, with three or four other men, fought our way aft to join the officers, intending, should we be overpowered, to leap, as we had proposed, into the boat. I saw poor Mr Duncan struck down and hove into a canoe alongside. The captain was apparently trying to reach the cabin, probably to get his fire-arms, when he fell, struck by a hatchet on the head.

“Follow me,” cried Tom. “We may reach the boat through the cabin windows.” As he said this, he sprang down the companion-hatch, I and two others following him. The remainder of our number were overtaken by the savages before they could reach it. The last, Andrew Pearson, our boatswain, contrived to secure the hatch. This gave us time to get hold of the fire-arms fastened against the bulkheads, and to load and place them ready for use on the table. There were at least a dozen muskets, and as many brace of pistols. Had these been in our hands on deck, we should probably have driven the savages overboard, or they would have been deterred from making the attack. With them, we might now defend our lives against vastly superior numbers.

The scuffle on deck was still going on, the yells of the savages rising above the stifled groans and cries of our unfortunate shipmates. They soon ceased, and then arose a shout of triumph from our enemies, and we knew that we were the only survivors. But we too were in a desperate plight. Tom was severely wounded, and the boatswain and the other man had received several gashes. I, indeed, thanks to the way in which Tom had defended me, was the only person unhurt.

“Green, do you look after the hatchway,” said Pearson to the other man who had escaped. “Tom, do you and Jack show your muskets through the stern windows, I have some work to do. The savages think they have us in a trap, but they are mistaken.” He opened, as he spoke, a hatch which led to the magazine, and I saw him uncoiling a long line of match, one end of which he placed in the magazine, while he led the other along the cabin to the stern-port. Meantime, the savages had all clambered on board, and were shrieking and shouting in the most fearful manner, crowding down into the hold, as we could judge by the sounds which reached us, and handing up the rich treasures they found there.

“No time to be lost,” said Pearson, hauling up the boat. He went to the locker, and collected all the provisions he could find. “Jump in, Tom and Jack,” he said. “Now for the fire-arms.” He handed them in, and told us to place them along the thwarts, ready for use. “Now, Green,” he said in a low voice, “jump in.” We three were now in the boat, which was hidden under the counter from those on deck. He struck a light, and placed it to the slow match, and, having ascertained that it was burning, slipped after us into the boat, in which the mast was fortunately stepped.

“Jack, do you take the helm, and steer directly for the mouth of the harbour,” he said, cutting the painter and seizing an oar. Tom and Green did the same, and pulled away lustily. We had already got several fathoms from the vessel before we were perceived. The sail had been placed ready for hoisting. It was run up and sheeted home. The savages were about to jump into one of the canoes, and chase us, but three muskets pointed towards them made them hesitate. We were rapidly slipping away from the doomed brig. We could see the savages dancing and leaping on deck, their shouts and yells coming over the water towards us.

“They will dance to another tune soon,” muttered Pearson between his teeth.

He and the other two had again taken to the oars. Even now a flight of arrows might have reached us, but fortunately the savages had not brought their bows with them, and probably that was the chief reason why they had not ventured to pursue us. They well knew that several of their number would have been shot down with our bullets had they made the attempt. Still we could see some of the chiefs apparently trying to persuade their warriors to follow us, and we knew that though we might fight till all our ammunition was expended, we should at last be overwhelmed by numbers.

Our chance of ultimate escape seemed small indeed. “They will not come,” said Pearson. “See!” We had got half-a-mile or more from the brig, when a deep thundering sound reached our ears. It seemed as if the whole vessel was lifted out of the water, while up into the air shot her mainmast and spars, and fragments of her deck and bulwarks, and other pieces of timber, mingled with countless human bodies, with limbs torn off and mangled in a fearful manner. At the same time the canoes with those who had escaped were paddling with frantic energy towards the shore, probably believing that the Great Spirit had sent forth one of his emissaries to punish them for their treachery to the white people. We concluded that some such idea as this was entertained by them, as we saw no canoes coming off in pursuit of us.

Rowing and sailing, we continued to make our way out to the open ocean. It was blowing fresh but, the wind coming off-shore, the sea was tolerably calm, and we agreed that at all events it was better to undergo the dangers of a long voyage in an open boat than trust ourselves in the power of the revengeful savages. We had reached the mouth of the harbour, and could still see the village far off on its shore, when, to our dismay, we found the sea breeze setting in. We had accordingly to haul our wind, though we still hoped to weather the headland which formed its southern point, and get an offing.

Tom all this time had uttered no complaint, though I saw the blood flowing down his side. The boatswain and Green had, with my help, bound up their wounds. I wanted Tom to let me assist him. “No,” he said; “it’s of no use. If you were to swathe me up, I could not pull. It will be time enough for that when we get round the headland.” He was evidently getting weaker, and at last the boatswain persuaded him to lay in his oar, and try to stop the blood. The wounds were in his back and neck, inflicted by the savages as he fought his way onward to the cabin. I bound our handkerchiefs round him as well as I could; but it was evident that he was not fit for rowing, and that the only chance of the blood stopping was for him to remain perfectly quiet.

During the last tack we made I fancied, as I looked up the harbour, that I saw the canoes coming out. I told the boatswain. “We will give them a warm reception, if they come near us,” he answered.

I felt greatly relieved when we at last weathered the point, and were now able to stand along shore, though we couldn’t get the offing which was desirable.

Night was coming on. The weather looked threatening, and our prospects of ultimately escaping were small.

At last we got so near the surf that the boatswain determined to put the boat about and stand out to sea. Although the other tack might bring us almost in front of the harbour’s mouth, it was the safest course to avoid being cast on shore.

The night came on very dark, but the wind was moderate, and there was not much sea. Still the weather was excessively cold, and my companions suffered greatly from their wounds. Tom had been placed in the stern-sheets near me. Though he said less, he suffered more than the rest, and I could every now and then hear low groans escaping from his bosom. At last I heard him calling me. “Jack,” he whispered, “what I told you is coming true. I am going; I feel death creeping over me. Remember the case. Do all you know I ought to have done. I have been a great sinner; but you once said there is a way by which all sins can be blotted out. I believe in that way. Jack, give me your hand. It’s darker than ever; and I am cold, very cold.” He pressed my hand, and I heard him murmuring to himself. It might have been a prayer, but his words were indistinct; I could not understand what he said. I kept steering with one hand, looking up at the sails, and casting a glance now and then at him, while the other two men pulled away to keep the boat to windward. Presently I felt his fingers relax; an icy chill came from his hand. I knew too well that my friend was dead. It was some time before I could bring myself to tell the boatswain what had happened. “Poor fellow! But it may be the lot of all of us before another day is over,” he said; “yet, as men, we will struggle to the last.”

The night passed on, and we still persevered in endeavouring to obtain an offing, though so indistinct was the land that we could not tell whereabouts we were. What was our dismay, when morning broke, to find that we were directly off the mouth of the harbour, and at such a distance that the keen eyes of the savages on the hills around might easily perceive our sail. We at once put the boat about, hoping to get again to the south’ard before we were discovered. “It’s too late,” cried Green; “I see the canoes coming.”

“We must fight them, then,” said the daring boatswain, calmly. “We don’t just expect mercy at their hands after the treat we gave them,” and he laughed at the fearful act he had committed. Still I thought what could we three, in a small boat, with our dozen muskets, do against a whole fleet of fierce savages.

We could now see the canoes coming out of the harbour. The sea was smooth, and they would without fail venture after us. Our only chance of escape seemed in a sudden gale springing up, but of that there was little probability. I was turning my eyes anxiously towards the offing in hopes of seeing signs of a stronger breeze coming, when I caught sight of a sail. I pointed her out to the boatswain. “She is a large vessel,” he exclaimed, “and standing this way.”

“Perhaps the savages will be more than ever anxious to catch us, for fear we should persuade the people on board yonder ship to punish them for what they have done,” I observed. “They will catch us if they can,” answered Pearson; “but they will have to pay a good price yet if they make the attempt,” and he cast his eyes at the muskets which lay ready loaded. The canoes were drawing nearer and nearer, and we could now distinguish the figures of the plumed warriors as they stood up in the bows. The boat at the same time was slipping pretty quickly through the water. “The breeze is freshening,” I observed; “we may escape them yet.”

“I don’t much care if we do or do not,” said Pearson; “I should like to knock over a few of these boasting fellows; we may hit them long before they can get near enough to hurt us.” I for my part did not wish to see more of the savages killed, for they had only followed the instinct of their untutored natures, and we had already inflicted a terrible punishment on them in return. In a few minutes the breeze came down even stronger than before, and greatly to my satisfaction, the canoes appeared to be scarcely gaining on us, even if they did so at all. I continued to give a glance every now and then at the ship, for I was afraid after all she might alter her course, and stand away from us.

At length, to my joy, I saw the savages in the canoes cease paddling. They apparently were afraid of venturing farther out into the ocean, or saw that it would be hopeless to attempt overtaking us. For some minutes they waited, as if holding a consultation, and then round they paddled and made their way back into the harbour.

“Just like them,” exclaimed Pearson. “Those cowardly red-skins will never fight unless they can take their enemies at an advantage.”

We had to make several tacks towards the ship, and then when we got near enough for the sound of our muskets to reach her, we fired several as a signal. They were at length, we concluded, heard on board. She kept away towards us. She drew nearer. We saw that she was a whaler, with the English colours flying at the peak. She rounded to, and we went alongside. “What has happened?” exclaimed several voices, as old Tom’s body was seen lying in the stern-sheets. A few words told our tale. I was able to climb up the side, but Pearson and Green were so stiff from their wounds that they had to be helped up. They were far more hurt indeed than they had supposed, especially Pearson; but his dauntless spirit had hitherto kept him up. Our boat was hoisted on board, and old Tom’s body was taken out and laid on deck. We were treated with great kindness, and the captain, greatly to my satisfaction, volunteered to give old Tom Christian burial. He had, as we supposed, intended to go into the harbour to obtain wood and water, and to trade with the natives; but when he heard of what had occurred he resolved to steer for a port farther south, and he told me that he was very grateful to us for giving him warning of the danger which he otherwise would have run.

In the evening I saw my poor friend lashed up in a hammock, and committed to his ocean grave.

All night long I was dreaming of him and of the dreadful scenes I had witnessed.

The ship was the Juno. Her commander, Captain Knox, was a very different sort of person to my late captain; and from his kind manner, and the way he spoke to the officers and men, he seemed truly to act the part of a father to his crew. The ship had been out a year and a half, and it was expected she would remain another year in the Pacific.

Though I was anxious to get home, yet when the captain asked me to enter on board, I was very glad to do so. Pearson continued to suffer fearfully from his wounds. Whether the deed he had done preyed on his mind, I cannot say; but a high fever coming on, he used to rave about the savages, and the way he had blown them up. At the moment he committed the deed I daresay he had persuaded himself that he was only performing a justifiable act of vengeance. The day before we entered the harbour to which we were bound he died, and poor Green did not long survive him, so that I alone was left of all the crew of the ill-fated Fox.

Chapter Seven.

A strange discovery.

The captain of the Juno took every precaution to prevent her being surprised by the Indians. Boarding nettings were triced up round the ship every night, and the watch on deck had arms ready at hand. None of the natives were allowed to come on board, and only two or three canoes were permitted alongside at a time. We judged by their manner, though they were willing enough to trade, that they had already heard of what had occurred to the northward.

Having got our wood and water on board, we again put to sea, cruising in various parts of the ocean known to be frequented by whales. A bright look-out was kept for their spouts as the monsters rose to the surface to breathe. The instant a spout was seen all was life and animation on board; the boats were lowered, generally two or three at a time, and away they pulled to be ready to attack the whale as it again rose to the surface. I remember, the first time I saw one of the monsters struck, I shouted and jumped about the deck as eagerly as if I myself were engaged in the work. Now I saw the lines flying out of the boat at a rapid rate, as the animal sounded; now the men in the boats hauled it in again, as the whale rose once more to the surface; now they pulled on, and two more deadly harpoons were plunged into its sides, with several spears; now they backed to avoid the lashing strokes of its powerful tail; now the creature was seen to be in its death-flurry, tumbling about and turning over and over in its agony. At length it lay an inert mass on the surface, and the boats came back, towing it in triumph. Next there was the work of “cutting in,” or taking off the blubber which surrounded it; the huge body being turned round and round during the operation, as the men stood on it cutting off with their sharp spades huge strips, which were hoisted with tackles on deck. Last of all came the “trying out,” when the blubber, cut into pieces, was thrown into huge caldrons on deck, with a fire beneath them; the crisp pieces, from which the oil had been extracted, serving as fuel. It was a curious scene when night came on, and fires blazed up along the deck, surrounded by the crew, begrimed with oil and smoke, looking like beings of another world engaged in some fearful incantation.

This scene was repeated over and over again. We visited several islands in the Pacific. At some, where Christian missionaries had been at work, the inhabitants showed by their conduct that they were worthy of confidence; but at others the captain deemed it necessary to be constantly on his guard, lest they might attempt to cut off the crew and take possession of the ship, as we heard had frequently occurred.

At length, to my delight and that of all the crew, the last cask we had on board was filled with oil, and with a deeply-laden ship we commenced our homeward voyage. We encountered a heavy gale going round the Horn, but the old Juno weathered it bravely, though, as she strained a good deal, we had afterwards to keep the pumps going for an hour or so during each watch. We, however, made our way at a fair rate northward, and once more crossed the line.

It may seem surprising that I had not hitherto examined the metal case which old Tom had committed to my charge. The box itself I had resolved not to open. I did not suppose that I should be induced to act as he had done, but yet I thought it wiser not to run the risk of temptation. We for several days lay becalmed, and one evening, while the crew were lying about the decks overcome with the heat, I stowed myself away for’ard, at a distance from the rest, and drew the paper out of the case. Great was my surprise to find that it was addressed to my own father. It contained a reference to the parchment in the box, and gave a list both of the jewels, the notes, and gold. The writer spoke of his wife and infant son, and charged my father, should any accident happen to him, to act as their guardian and friend as well as their legal adviser. The letter was signed “Clement Leslie.”

“This is strange,” I thought. “Then there can be no doubt that little Clem is the very child old Tom saw placed in his nurse’s arms on the raft, and his poor mother must have been washed away when the ship went down. Those Indian nurses, I have often heard, will sacrifice their own lives for the sake of preserving the children committed to their charge, and Clem’s nurse must have held him fast in her arms, in spite of the buffeting of the waves and the tossing of the raft during that dreadful night when the Indiaman went down; and if she had any food, I dare say she gave it to him rather than eat it herself. But, poor fellow, what may have happened to him since we parted.”

I now felt more anxious than ever to reach home, and longed for the breeze to spring up which might carry us forward through the calm latitudes. It came at last, and the Juno again made rapid progress homeward. We were bound up the Irish Channel to Liverpool; when, however, we got within about a week’s sail of the chops of the Channel, it came on to blow very hard. The leaks increased, and we were now compelled to keep the pumps going during nearly the whole of each watch. The weather was very thick, too, and no observations could be taken. The crew were almost worn out; yet there was no time for rest. The gale was blowing from the south-west, and the sea running very high, when in the middle watch the look-out shouted the startling cry of “Land! on the starboard bow.” The yards were at once braced sharply up, and soon afterwards the captain ordered the ship to be put about. We were carrying almost more canvas than she could bear, but yet it would not then do to shorten sail. Just as the ship was in stays, a tremendous squall struck her, and in an instant the three masts went by the board.

There we lay on a lee shore, without a possibility of getting off it. The order was at once given to range the cables, that immediately the water was sufficiently shallow to allow of it we might anchor.

I will not describe that dreadful night. Onward the ship drove towards the unknown shore. We had too much reason to dread that it was the western coast of Ireland, fringed by reefs and rugged rocks. As we drove on it grew more and more fearfully distinct. We fired guns of distress, in the faint hope that assistance might be sent to us; but no answering signal came. Too soon the roar of the surf reached our ears, and it became fearfully probable that the ship and her rich cargo, with all on board, would become the prey of the waves. I secured the precious box and case as usual, determined, if I could save my own life, to preserve them. The lead was continually hove, and at last the captain ordered the anchors to be let go. They held the ship but for a few minutes; then a tremendous sea struck her, and sweeping over her deck, they parted, and again onward she drove. A few minutes more only elapsed before she struck the rocks, and the crashing and rending sounds of her timbers warned us that before long she would be dashed into a thousand fragments. The sea was breaking furiously over the wreck, and now one, now another of the crew was washed away. I was clinging with others to a part of the bulwarks, when I felt them loosening beneath us. Another sea came, and we were borne forward towards the shore. For an instant I was beneath the boiling surf; when I rose again my companions were gone, and in a few seconds I found myself dashed against a rock. I clung to it for my life, then scrambled on, my only thought being to get away from the raging waters. I succeeded at length in scrambling out of their reach, and lay down on a dry ledge to rest. I must have dropped to sleep or fainted from fatigue. When I came to myself, the sun was up, and I heard voices below me. The tide had fallen, and numbers of country people were scrambling along the rocks, and picking up whatever was thrown on shore. I managed to get on my feet and wave to them. Several came up to me, and the tones of their voices showed me at once that they were Irish.

Out of the whole crew, I was the only person who had been saved, and I was very doubtful how I might be treated. However, I wronged them. It was a matter of dispute among several who should take charge of me; and at length a young woman, whose cottage was not far off, carried me up to it. She and her husband gave me the best of everything they had; that is to say, as many potatoes and as much buttermilk and bacon as I could swallow. I was so eager to get home that, after a night’s rest, I told them I wished to start on my journey. I was, I knew, on the west of Ireland, and I hoped that, if I could manage to get to Cork, I might from thence find means of crossing to England. Though my host had no money to give me, he agreed to drive me twenty miles on the way, promising to find a friend who would pass me on; and his wife pressed on me a change of linen, and a few other articles in a bundle. With these I started on my long journey.

I was not disappointed, for when I told my story I was fully believed, and I often got help where I least expected it.

At length I reached Cork, where I found a vessel just sailing for Liverpool. The captain agreed to give me a free passage, and at last I safely landed on the shores of old England. I must confess that I had more difficulty after this in making my way homeward, and by the time I reached the neighbourhood of my father’s house my outer clothing, at all events, was pretty well worn to rags and tatters.

Chapter Eight.

I reach home and think I have had enough of the sea.

It was the early summer when one evening I came in sight of my home. The windows and doors were open. Without hesitation I walked up the steps, forgetting the effect which my sudden appearance might produce on my family. One of my youngest sisters was in the passage. I beckoned to her. “What do you want?” she asked; “you must not stop here; go away.”

“What! don’t you know me?” I asked. “No,” she answered; “who are you?”

“Jack—your brother Jack,” I answered. On this she ran off into the drawing-room, and I heard her exclaim, “There’s a great big beggar boy, and he says he is Jack—our brother Jack.”

“Oh no, that cannot be!” I heard one of my other sisters reply. “Poor Jack was drowned long ago in the Naiad.”

“No, he was not,” I couldn’t help exclaiming; and without more ado I ran forward.

My appearance created no small commotion among three or four young ladies who were seated in the room. “Go away; how dare you venture in here?” exclaimed one or two of them.

“Will you not believe me?” I cried. “I am Jack, I assure you, and I hope soon to convince you of the fact.”

“It is Jack, I know it is!” exclaimed one of them, jumping up and coming forward. I knew her in an instant to be Grace Goldie, though grown almost into a young woman. “It is Jack, I am sure it is,” she added, taking my hand and leading me forward. “Oh, how strange that you do not know him!”

My sisters now came about me, examining me with surprised looks. “How strange, Grace,” said one; “surely you must be mistaken?”

“No, I am sure I am not,” answered Grace, looking into my face, and putting back the hair from my forehead; “Are you not Jack?”

“Yes, I believe I am,” I answered, “though if you did not say so I should begin to doubt the fact, since Ann, and Mary, and Jane, do not seem to know me.”

“Well, I do believe it is Jack,” cried Jane, coming up and taking my other hand, though I was so dirty that she did not, I fancy, like to kiss me. “So he is—he must be!” cried the others; and now, in spite of my tattered dress, their sisterly affection got the better of all other considerations, and they threw their arms about me like kind girls as they really were, and I returned their salutes, in which Grace Goldie came in for a share, with long unaccustomed tears in my eyes. Just then a shriek of astonishment was heard, and there stood Aunt Martha at the door. “Who have you got there?” she exclaimed. “It’s Jack come back,” answered my sisters and Grace in chorus. “Jack come back! impossible!” cried out Aunt Martha, in what I thought sounded a tone of dismay. “Yes, I am Jack, I assure you,” I said, going up to her; “and I hope to be your very dutiful and affectionate nephew, whatever you may once have thought me;” and I took her hand and raised it to my lips. “If you are Jack I am glad to see you,” she said, her feelings softening; “and it will at all events be a comfort to your poor mother to know that you are not drowned.”

“My mother! where is she?” I asked. “I trust she is not ill.”

“Yes, she is, I am sorry to say, and up-stairs in bed,” replied my aunt; “but I’ll go and break the news to her, lest the sound of all this hubbub should reach her ears, and make her inquire what is the matter.”

I had now time to ask about the rest of my family. My father was out, but was soon expected home, and in the meantime, while Aunt Martha had gone to tell my mother, by my sisters’ advice I went into the bedroom of one of my brothers, and washed, and dressed myself in his clothes. By the time Aunt Martha came to look for me I was in a more presentable condition than when I entered the house.

I need not dwell on my interview with my mother. She had no doubts about my identity, but drawing me to her, kissed me again and again, as most mothers would do, I suspect, under similar circumstances. She was unwilling to let me go, but at length Aunt Martha, suggesting that I might be hungry, a fact that I could not deny, as I was almost ravenous, I quickly joined the merry party round the tea-table, when I astonished them not a little by the number of slices of ham and bread which I shortly devoured. My father soon arrived. He was not much given to sentiment, but he wrung my hand warmly, and his mind was evidently greatly relieved on finding that his plan for breaking me of my desire for a sea life had not ended by consigning me to a watery grave. He was considerably astonished, and evidently highly pleased, when I put into his hands the box and case which old Tom had given into my care; and I told him how I had fallen in, on board the Naiad, with the boy I fully believed to be Mr Clement Leslie’s heir.

“This is indeed strange,” he muttered, “very strange, and we must do our best to find him out Jack. It’s a handsome estate, and it will be a pity if the young fellow is not alive to enjoy it. I must set Simon Munch to work at once.”

“Perhaps if the Russian frigate has returned home, we may learn from her officers what has become of him,” I suggested. “We will think the matter over. Would you like a trip to Russia, Jack?”

“Above all things, sir,” I answered. “I could start to-morrow if it were necessary;” though I confess I felt very unwilling to run away again so soon from home, especially as my mother was so ill. Perhaps, also, Grace Goldie entered somewhat into my considerations.

Next morning while we were at breakfast, and my father was looking over the newspaper, he exclaimed, “We are in luck, Jack! Did you not say that the name of the Russian frigate which picked you up was the Alexander? I see that she has just arrived at Spithead, from China and the Western Pacific. If so, there is not a moment to be lost, for she will probably be off again in a few days. You must start at once. Get your sisters to pack up such of your brother’s things as will fit you, and I’ll order a post-chaise to the door immediately.”

“I shall be ready, sir, directly I have swallowed another egg or two, and a few more slices of toast,” I answered. “Munch must go with you, that there may be no mistake about the matter,” said my father. “He will be of great assistance.”

All seemed like a dream. In a quarter of an hour I was rattling away as fast as a couple of posters could go, along the road to London. I sat in a dignified and luxurious manner, feeling myself a person of no little consequence—remembering that, at the same hour on the previous day, I had been trudging along the road ragged and hungry, with some doubt as to the reception I was to meet with at home. My tongue was kept going all the time, for Munch wished to hear all about my adventures. “Well, Master Jack, I am glad to have you back,” he said. “To tell the truth, my conscience was a little uncomfortable at the part I had taken in shipping you off on board the collier, though I might have known,”—he cast a quizzical look at me—“that those are never drowned who are—”

“Born to end their lives comfortably in bed,” I added, interrupting him. “You needn’t finish the sentence in the way you were about to do; I was never much of a favourite of yours, Mr Munch, I know.”

“I hope we shall be better friends in future, Master Jack,” he remarked. “You used, you know, to try my temper not a little sometimes.”

As the old clerk was accustomed to long and sudden journeys, we stopped nowhere, except for a few minutes to get refreshments, till we rattled up to the George Inn at Portsmouth.

Much to our satisfaction, we heard from the waiter that the Russian frigate was still at Spithead, and as the weather was fine, we hurried down the High Street, intending at once to engage a wherry and go off to her. As we reached the point a man-of-war’s boat pulled up, and several officers stepped on shore. “That is not the English uniform,” observed Munch; “perhaps they have come from the Russian frigate.” He was right, I was sure, for I thought that I recognised the countenances of several I had known on board the Alexander. Among them was a tall, slight young man, dressed as a sub-lieutenant. I looked at him earnestly, scanning his features. It might be Clement, yet I should not under other circumstances have thought it possible. The young man stopped, observing the way I was regarding him, and I began to doubt that he could be Clement, as he did not appear to know me. I could bear the uncertainty no longer, so, walking up to him, I said, “I am Happy Jack! Don’t you know me?” His whole countenance lighted up. With a cry of pleasure he seized both my hands, gazing earnestly in my face. “Jack, my dear fellow, Jack!” he exclaimed. “You alive, and here! Happy you may be, but not so happy as I am to see you. I mourned you as lost, for I could not hope that you had escaped a second time.” His surprise was great indeed when I told him I came especially to search for him, and we at once agreed to repair to the “George,” that I might give him the important information I had to afford, and settle, with the aid of Mr Munch, what course it would be advisable for him to pursue.

He was overwhelmed, as may be supposed, with astonishment and thankfulness when I told him of the wonderful way in which I had become possessed of the title-deeds and jewels, which would, I hoped, establish his claims to a fair estate.

This matter occupied some time. “With regard to quitting the ship,” he observed, “there will, I trust, be no difficulty. I am but a supernumerary on board, and as I could not regularly enter the service till the frigate returned to Russia, the captain will be able to give me my discharge when I explain the circumstances in which I am placed.”

Having settled our plans, Mr Munch and I went on board with Clement. The captain at once agreed to what Clement wished, though he expressed his regret at losing him. My friend the doctor recognised me, and treated me, as did several of the other officers, with much kindness and politeness. I was, however, too anxious to get Clement home to accept their courtesy, and the next morning we were again on the road northward.

Clement had studied hard while on board the Russian frigate, and had become a polished and gentlemanly young man, in every way qualified for the position he was destined to hold. He was made not a little of by my family, and though at one time I felt a touch of jealousy at the preference I fancied he showed to Grace Goldie, he soon relieved my fears by telling me that he hoped to become the husband of one of my sisters.

My father, after a considerable amount of labour, proved his identity with the son of Mr Clement Leslie, who perished with his wife at sea, and established his claims to the property.

I had had quite enough of a “life on the ocean wave,” and though I had no great fancy for working all day at a desk, I agreed to enter my father’s office and tackle to in earnest, my incentive to labour, I confess, being the hope of one day becoming the husband of Grace Goldie. We married, and I have every reason still to call myself “Happy Jack.”

Chapter Nine.

The “San Fiorenzo” and her Captain.

Narrated by Admiral M—.

There was not a happier ship in the service, when I joined her towards the end of the year 1794, than the gallant San Fiorenzo, Captain Sir Harry Burrard Neale, and those were not days when ships were reckoned little paradises afloat, even by enthusiastic misses or sanguine young midshipmen. They were generally quite the other thing.

The crews of many ships found it that other thing, and the officers, of course, found it so likewise. If the men are not contented, the officers must be uncomfortable; and, at the same time, I will say, from my experience, that when a ship gained the title of a hell-afloat, it was always in consequence of the officers not knowing their duty, or not doing it. Pride, arrogance, and an utter disregard for the feelings of those beneath them in rank, was too prevalent among the officers of the service, and was the secret of the calamitous events which occasionally happened about that time.

My noble commander was not such an one as those of whom I have spoken. There were some like him, but not many his equals. I may truly say of him “that he belonged to the race of admirals of which the navy of Old England has a right to be proud; that he was a perfect seaman, and a perfect gentleman.”

“He was one of the most humane, brave, and zealous commanders that ever trod a deck, to whom every man under him looked up as a father.” I was with him for many, very many years—from my boyish days to manhood,—and I may safely say that I never saw him in a passion, or even out of temper, though I have seen him indignant; and never more so than when merit—the merit of the junior officers of the service—has been overlooked or disregarded. I never heard him utter an oath, and I believe firmly that he never allowed one to escape his lips. I will say of him what I dare say of few men, that, in the whole course of his life, he was never guilty of an act unworthy of the character of a Christian and a gentleman. I was with him when his career was run—when, living in private on his own estate, the brave old sailor, who had ever kept himself unspotted from the world, spent his days in “visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction”—walking from cottage to cottage, with his basket of provisions or medicines, or books, where the first were not required.

Genuine were the tears shed on his grave, and hearty was the response as the following band gave forth the air of “The Fine Old English Gentleman, all of the Olden Time!”

And now, on the borders of his estate, visible afar over the Solent Sea, there stands a monument, raised by his sovereign and by those who knew and loved him well, all eager to add their testimony to his worth. But yet he lives in the heart of many a seaman, and will live while one remains who served under his command. But, avast! whither am I driving? My feelings have carried me away.

Note: The “Solent Sea” is the name of the channel between the Isle of Wight and the mainland.

After what I have said, it is not surprising that the San Fiorenzo should have been a happy ship. Her captain made her so. From the highest to the lowest, all trusted him; all knew that he had their interest at heart—all loved him. The San Fiorenzo might have been a happy ship under an inferior commander—that is possible; but I doubt very much whether her crew would have done what they did do under any officer not possessed of those high qualities for which Sir Harry was so eminently distinguished. The San Fiorenzo was highly honoured, for she was the favourite ship, or rather, Sir Harry was the favourite captain of His Majesty George the Third, who, let people say what they will of him, was truly the sailors’ friend, and wished to be his subjects’ friend, as far as he had the power. Sir Harry was a favourite, not because he was a flatterer, but because the King knew him to be an honest man.

George the Third, as is well known, was very fond of spending the summer months at Weymouth, whence he could easily put to sea in his yacht, or on board a man-of-war, placed at his disposal. He seemed never to tire of sailing, especially with Sir Harry.

Whist was the constant game in the royal cabins. Sir Harry, who did everything as well as he could, though far from a good player, often beat the King, who was an indifferent one. Lord A—, a practised courtier, was, on the contrary, a remarkably good one, and generally beat Sir Harry. When, however, Lord A— played with the King, His Majesty always came off victorious. The King used to pretend to be exceedingly puzzled.

“It’s very odd—very odd. I beat Lord A—, Lord A— beats Sir Harry, and Sir Harry beats me. How can it be—how can it be?”

The King was always anxious to stand out to sea, so as to lose sight of land. This, however, was too dangerous an amusement to allow him. Sir Harry’s plan was to put the ship’s head off-shore, and to make all sail. This satisfied the King, who was then easily persuaded to go below to luncheon, dinner, or tea, or to indulge in his favourite game. Sail was soon again quietly shortened, and the ship headed in for the shore. Sometimes the King seemed rather surprised that we should have made the land again so soon; but whether or not he suspected a trick, I cannot say. His only remark was, “All right, Sir Harry; you are always right.”

It was impossible for a monarch to be more condescending and affable than was the good old King to all on board. He used to go among the men, and talk to them in the most familiar way, inquiring about their adventures and family histories, and evidently showing a sympathy with their feelings and ideas. Did they love the old King? Ay, there was not a man of them who would not gladly have died for him. It was the same with the midshipmen and officers. He used to delight in calling up us youngsters, and would chat with us as familiarly as would any private gentleman. He showed his real disposition, when able thus to cast aside the cares of state, and to give way to the kindly feelings of his heart. I say again, in that respect the King and his captain were worthy of each other. The following anecdote will prove it:—

We had gone to Portsmouth, leaving the King at Weymouth, and were returning through the Needles, when, as we got off Poole harbour, a small boat, with three people in her, was seen a little on the starboard bow. One man was rowing, the other two persons were beckoning, evidently towards the ship. As we drew near, we saw, through our glasses, that the two people were an old man and woman, and, as we appeared to be passing them, their gestures became more and more vehement. Many captains would have laughed, or taken no notice of the old people. Not so Sir Harry—he had a feeling for everyone. Ordering the ship to be hove-to, he allowed the boat to come alongside.

“Oh, captain, is our ain bairn Davie on board?” shouted the old people, in chorus.

Sir Harry, with the benignant smile his countenance so often wore, directed that they might be assisted up the side.

“Who is it you want, good people?” he asked, as soon as their feet were safely planted on the deck, where they stood, gazing round with astonished countenances.

“Our ain son, Davie—David Campbell, sir,” was again the reply.

“Is there any man of that name on board?” inquired Sir Harry. “Let him be called aft.”

A stout lad soon made his appearance, and was immediately pressed in the old people’s arms. This son was a truant, long absent from his home. At length, grown weary at delay, quitting their abode near Edinburgh, they had travelled south, inquiring at every port for their lost son, and only that morning had they arrived by waggon at Poole, believing that it was a port where men-of-war were to be found. A boatman, for the sake of a freight, had persuaded them to come off with him, pointing out the ship which was then coming out through the Needles.

Sir Harry was so pleased with the perseverance and affection which the old couple had exhibited, that he took them on to Weymouth, when the story was told to the King. His Majesty had them presented to him, and he and Queen Charlotte paid them all sorts of attention, and at length, after they had spent some weeks with their son, dismissed them, highly gratified, to their home in the North.

Queen Charlotte was as good a woman as ever lived, and, in her way, was as kind and affable as was the King. She had a quaint humour about her, too, which frequently exhibited itself, in spite of the somewhat painful formality of the usual court circle. As an example—Sir Harry had had a present of bottled green peas made to him the previous year, and, looking on them as a great rarity, he had kept them to be placed on the table before his royal guests. As he knew more about ploughing the ocean than ploughing the land, and affairs nautical than horticultural, it did not occur to him that fresh green peas were to be obtained on shore. The bottled green peas were therefore proudly produced on the first opportunity.

“Your Majesty,” said Sir Harry, as the Queen was served, “those green peas have been kept a whole year.”

The Queen made no reply till she had eaten a few, and sent several flying off from the prongs of her fork. Then, nodding with a smile, she quietly said, “So I did tink.”

To the end of his days, Sir Harry used to laugh over the story, adding, “Sure enough, they were very green; but as hard as swan-shot.”

But I undertook to narrate a circumstance which exhibited Sir Harry Burrard Neale’s character in its true colours. I need not enter into an account of that painful event, the Mutiny of the British Fleet. It broke out first at Spithead, on the 15th April, 1797, on board Lord Bridport’s flag-ship, the Royal George; the crews of the other ships of the fleet following the example thus set them. The men, there can be no doubt, had very considerable grievances of which to complain; nor can it be well explained how, in those days, they could by legal means have had them redressed. One thing only is certain, mutiny was not the proper way of proceeding. We were at Spithead, and not an officer in the fleet knew what was about to occur, when, on the 14th, two of our men desired to speak with the captain, and then gave him the astounding intelligence that the ships’ companies of the whole fleet had bound themselves to make certain important demands, and which, if not granted, that they would refuse to put to sea. The two men—they were quartermasters—moreover, stated that they had themselves been chosen delegates to represent the ship’s company of the San Fiorenzo, by the rest of the fleet, but that they could assure him that all the men would prove true and loyal, and would obey their officers as far as was consistent with prudence.

Sir Harry thanked them, assuring them, in return, that he would trust them thoroughly. He, however, scarcely believed at that time the extent to which the mischief had gone. The next day evidence was given of the wide spread of the disaffection. Affairs day after day grew worse and worse; and although some of the superior officers acted with great judgment and moderation, others very nearly drove matters to the greatest extremity.

Meantime, the delegates of the San Fiorenzo attended the meetings of the mutineers, and, though at the imminent risk of their lives, regularly brought Sir Harry information of all that occurred. He transmitted it to the Admiralty, and it was chiefly through his representations and advice that conciliatory measures were adopted by the Government. Nearly all the just demands of the seamen having been granted, they returned to their duty, and it was supposed that the mutiny was at an end. Just before this, the Princess Royal had married the Duke of Wirtemberg, and the San Fiorenzo had been appointed to carry Her Royal Highness over to Cuxhaven. We could not, however, move without permission from the delegates. This was granted. Our upper-deck guns were stowed below, and the larger portion of the upper-deck fitted with cabins. In this condition, when arriving at Sheerness, we found to our surprise that the red flag was still flying on board the guardship, the Sandwich. Supposing that her crew had not been informed of what had taken place at Spithead, Sir Harry sent our delegates on board her, that they might explain the real state of affairs. The disgust of our men was very great when they were informed that fresh demands had been made by the crews of the North Sea fleet, of so frivolous a nature that it was not probable they would be granted. Our men, in spite of the character of delegates, which had been forced on them, could not help showing their indignation, and expressing themselves in no very courteous terms. This showed the mutineers that they were not over-zealous in their cause, and our people were warned that, should they prove treacherous, they and their ship would be sent to the bottom.

On returning on board, they informed Sir Harry of all that had occurred. Our delegates, at his suggestion, immediately communicated with those of the Clyde, an old fellow-cruiser, commanded by Captain Cunningham. That officer, on account of his justice, humanity, and bravery, enjoyed, as did Sir Harry, the confidence of his ship’s company. An arrangement was therefore made between the captains and their crews that, should the mutineers persevere in their misconduct, they would take the ships out from amidst the fleet, fighting our way, if necessary, and run for protection under cover of the forts at Sheerness. Every preparation was made. We waited till the last moment. The mutineers showed no disposition to return to their duty. The Clyde was the in-shore ship; she was therefore to move first. We watched her with intense interest, while we remained still as death. Not one of our officers appeared on deck, and but few of the men, though numerous eager eyes were gazing through the ports. The Clyde had springs on her cables, we knew, but as yet not a movement was perceptible. Suddenly her seamen swarmed on the yards, the topsails were let fall and sheeted home. She canted the right way. Hurrah! all sail was made. Away she went; and, before one of the mutinous fleet could go in chase, she was under the protection of the guns on shore. It was now our turn; but we had not a moment to lose, as the tide was on the turn to ebb, when we should have had it against us. What was our vexation, therefore, when the order was given to get under weigh, to find that the pilot, either from fear, incompetency, or treachery, had declared that he could not take charge of the ship! Sir Harry would have taken her out himself; but the delay was fatal to his purpose, and before we could have moved, boats from the other ships were seen approaching the San Fiorenzo. They contained the delegates from the fleet, who, as they came up the side, began, with furious looks, to abuse our men for not having fired into the Clyde, and prevented her escaping. High words ensued, and so enraged did our men become at being abused because they did not fire on friends and countrymen, that one of the quartermasters, John Aynsley by name, came aft to the first lieutenant, and entreated that they might be allowed “to heave the blackguards overboard.”

Note. The plan was proposed and executed by the late Mr W. Bardo, pilot, then a mate in the navy. He returned to the San Fiorenzo, and piloted her as he had the Clyde, when her own pilot refused to take charge.

A nod from him would have sealed the fate of the delegates. I thought then, (and I am not certain that I was wrong) that we might at that moment have seized the whole of the scoundrels, and carried them off prisoners to Sheerness. It would have been too great a risk to have run them up to the yard-arm, or hove them overboard, as our men wished, lest their followers might have retaliated on the officers in their power.

No man was more careful of human life than Sir Harry, and it was a plan to which he would never have consented. The delegates, therefore, carried things with a high hand, and, convinced that our crew were loyal to their king and country, they ordered us to take up a berth between the Inflexible and Director, to unbend our sails, and to send our powder on board the Sandwich, at the masthead of which ship the flag of the so-called Admiral Parker was then flying. That man, Richard Parker, had been shipmate with a considerable number of the crew of the San Fiorenzo, as acting lieutenant, but had been dismissed his ship for drunkenness, and having lost all hope of promotion, had entered before the mast.

Our people had, therefore, a great contempt for him, and said that he was no sailor, and that his conduct had ever been unlike that of an officer and a gentleman. Such a man, knowing that he acted with a rope round his neck, was of course the advocate of the most desperate measures. Everything that took place was communicated immediately to Sir Harry, who advised the men to pretend compliance, and, much to our relief, the other delegates took their departure. As soon as they were gone, Sir Harry told the ship’s company that, provided they would agree to stand by him, he would take the ship into Sheerness, as before intended. The men expressed their readiness to incur every possible risk to effect that purpose. The almost unarmed condition of the ship at the time must be remembered. The men set zealously to work to prepare for the enterprise. Springs were got on our cables. All was ready. The flood had made. The object was to cast in-shore. The men were at their stations. We were heaving on the spring—it broke at the most critical moment, and we cast outward. There was no help for it. Nothing could prevent us from running right in among the two ships of the mutinous fleet which I have mentioned, and which lay with their guns double shotted, and the men at quarters, with the lanyards in their hands, ready to fire at us. Our destruction seemed certain; but not for a moment did our captain lose his presence of mind. Calm as ever, he ordered the quartermaster Aynsley to appear on deck as if in command, while the officers concealed themselves in different parts of the ship, he standing where he could issue his orders and watch what was taking place. All was sheeted home in a moment, and we stood in between the two line-of-battle ships, the Director and Inflexible. The ship, by this time, had got good way on her. It appeared that we were about to take up the berth into which we had been ordered, when Sir Harry directed that all the sheets should suddenly be let fly. This took the mutineers so completely by surprise, that not a gun was then fired at us. Sir Harry next ordered the helm to be put “hard-a-port,” which caused the ship to shoot ahead of the Inflexible—we were once more outside our enemies. Springing immediately on deck, he took the command, crying out, in his encouraging tone, “Well done, my lads—well done!”

A loud murmur of applause and satisfaction was heard fore and aft; but we had no time for a cheer.

“Now clear away the bulkheads, and mount the guns,” he added.

Every man flew with a hearty will to obey his orders. And need there was; for scarcely were the words out of his mouth than the whole fleet of thirty-two sail opened their fire on us. The shot flew like hail around us, and thick as hail, ploughing up the water as they leaped along it, chasing each other across the surface on every side of the ship. We could have expected nothing else than to be sunk instantly, had we had time for consideration; but, as it was, wonderfully few struck our hull, while not a shroud was cut away, nor was a man hurt. The huge Director, close to us, might have sent us to the bottom with a broadside, but not a shot from her, that we could see, came aboard us.

“They have not the heart to fire at us, the blackguards!” observed one of the men near me.

“It may be that, Bill; but, to my mind, they’re struck all of a heap at seeing the brave way our captain did that,” answered another. “If we’d had the guns mounted he’d have fired smack into them. We send our powder aboard that pirate Parker’s ship! we unbend our sails to please such a sneaking scoundrel as he!”

“It’s just this, that the misguided chaps are slaves against their will, and they haven’t become bad enough yet to fire on their countrymen, and maybe old friends and shipmates,” said a third.

Such were the opinions generally expressed on board. It was reported afterwards that the Director fired blank cartridges, and this may have been the case, but I think more probably that her people were first struck with astonishment at our manoeuvre, and then, with admiration at the bravery displayed, purposely fired wide of us. As, however, we were frequently struck, some shots by traitorous hands must have been aimed at us from her, or from some of the other ships. In little more than two hours the bulkheads were cleared away from the cabin door, to the break of the quarter-deck, (the whole space having, as I before said, been fitted up with cabins for the suite of Her Royal Highness). The guns on both sides were got up from the hold and mounted, and we were ready for action. As soon as the task was accomplished, the men came aft in a body, and entreated, should any ships be sent after us by the mutineers, that they might be allowed to fight to the last, and go down with our colours flying, rather than yield, and return to the fleet at the Nore.

Sir Harry readily promised not to disappoint their wishes.

We stood on, but as yet no sign was perceptible of chase being made after us. It was possible, we thought, that no ship’s company could be induced to weigh in pursuit. They well knew that we should prove a tough bargain, had any single ship come up with us. Should we prove victorious, every man might have been hung as a pirate. As to Parker, he dared not leave his fleet, as he ventured to call it.

Our master, although a good navigator, did not feel himself justified in taking charge of the ship, within the boundaries of a Branch pilot, and we were therefore on the look-out for a pilot vessel, when a lugger was discovered on the lee-bow, and we were on the point of bearing down to her, when we made out first a ship or two, then several sail, and lastly, a whole fleet, which we guessed must be the North Sea Fleet standing for the Nore. We were steering for them, to give the admiral notice of what had occurred, when the red flag was discovered flying on board them also. They had, as it appeared, left their station in a state of mutiny, having placed the admiral and all the officers under arrest. To avoid them altogether was impossible, and before long a frigate bore down to us. Should our real character be discovered, we must be captured by an overwhelming force. Still Sir Harry remained calm and self-possessed as ever. As the frigate approached, he ordered all the officers below, and giving the speaking-trumpet to Stanley, the quartermaster, told him to reply as he might direct. The frigate hailed and inquired what we were about. “Looking out to stop ships with provisions, that we may supply the fleet,” was the answer. The people of the frigate, satisfied with this reply, proceeded to rejoin the fleet, while we, glad to escape further questioning, made sail in chase of the lugger. She was a fast craft, and led us a chase of four hours before we captured her. She proved to be the Castor and Pollux privateer of sixteen guns. Having taken out the prisoners, and put a prize crew on board, we were proceeding to Portsmouth, when the lugger, being to windward, spoke a brig, which had left that place the day before, and from her gained the information that the mutiny had again broken out at Spithead. Under these circumstances, Sir Harry thought it prudent to anchor under Dungeness until he could communicate with the Admiralty. This we did; but it was a time of great anxiety, for the mutineers might consider it important to capture us, to hold Sir Harry and his officers as hostages, and to wreak their vengeance on our men. We got springs on the cable, and the ship ready for action. During the middle watch a ship was made out bearing down towards us; she was high out of the water, and was pronounced by many to be a line-of-battle ship. Sir Harry was on deck in an instant—the private signal was made—would it be answered? Yes; but there was no security in this, as, should the ship’s company have mutinied, they would naturally have possessed themselves of it. The drum beat to quarters, the fighting lanterns were up, their light streaming through our ports. Our men earnestly repeated their request to be allowed to sink rather than surrender to the mutineers. No sight of the sort could be finer, as the brave fellows stood stripped to the waist, dauntless and resolute, not about to fight with a common foe, but one that would prove cruel and revengeful in the extreme. The wind was extremely light, and the stranger closed very slowly. The suspense was awful. In a short time we might be engaged in a deadly struggle with a vastly superior foe, and deadly all determined that it should be. Nearer and nearer the stranger drew; at length our captain hailed. The answer came: “The Huzzar! Lord Garlais! from the West Indies.” She anchored close to us, and we exchanged visits. Her people, ignorant of the mutiny, could not understand the necessity of the precaution we had taken. They were so struck, when made acquainted with what had occurred, at the bravery and determination of our ship’s company, that they immediately swore they would stick by us, and that, should any ship be sent to take us back to the Nore, they would share our fate, whatever that might be. I am sure that they would have proved as good as their word, but daylight came, and no enemy appeared. We lay here for some time, that Sir Harry might ascertain what was occurring on shore. He found that most active and energetic measures were being taken to repress the mutiny, and in a few days we heard that the ship’s company of the Sandwich had taken her into Sheerness, and allowed their late leader, Parker, to be arrested by a guard of soldiers, sent on board for that purpose by Admiral Buckner. We sailed for Plymouth, and another ship was appointed to have the honour of taking over the Princess Royal.

I must say a word or two about that mutiny. I am convinced that the proportion of disaffected men was comparatively small. The seamen had grievances, but those would have been redressed without their proceeding to the extremities into which they plunged, led by a few disappointed and desperate men like Parker. Had greater energy been shown from the first, during some of the opportunities which occurred, the whole affair might have been concluded in a more dignified manner, at a much earlier date. I will instance one occasion. Having one day got leave from the delegates of our ship, while we lay off Sheerness, to go on shore, I landed at the dockyard. I found, as I passed through it, that I was followed by the whole body of delegates, walking two-and-two in procession, Parker and Davis leading, arm-in-arm. Just as we got outside the gates, the Lancashire Fencibles appeared, coming to strengthen the garrison. As soon as the seamen got near the soldiers, they began to abuse them in so scurrilous a manner, that the officer in command halted his men, and seeing the admiral and superintendent, close to whom I at the time was standing opposite the gates, he came, and, complaining of the insults offered to himself and men, asked permission to surround and capture them. So eager did I feel, that I involuntarily exclaimed, “Yes! yes! now’s the time!” The admiral, on hearing me, turned sharply round, and demanded how I dared to speak in that way? “Because there they all are, sir, and we may have them in a bunch!” I replied, pointing to Parker, Davis, and the rest. The admiral told me that I did not know what I was saying; but I did, and I have no cause to suppose that I was wrong. When the truly loyal and heroic conduct of our ship’s company became known, it was intended to raise a sum in every seaport town in England to present to them. From some reason, however, the Government put a stop to it, and the only subscription received was from Ludlow in Shropshire, from whence the authorities sent 500 pounds to Sir Harry Neale, which he distributed to the ship’s company on the quarter-deck.

Chapter Ten.

Orlo and Era.

A Tale of the African Slave Trade.

There exists an extensive district on the west coast of Africa, about forty miles to the north of the far-famed river Niger, known as the Yoruba country. Sixty years ago it was one of the most thickly populated and flourishing parts of equatorial Africa, the inhabitants having also attained to a considerable amount of civilisation, and made fair progress in many industrial arts.

Then came those dreadful wars, carried on by the more powerful and cruel chiefs, for the purpose of making slaves to sell to the white traders, who carried them away to toil in the plantations of North and South America and Cuba, and the prosperity of the once happy people of Yoruba was brought to an end. The savage rulers of Dahomey and Lagos now became notorious for the barbarities they inflicted on the unoffending tribes in their neighbourhood. The Yoruba country was the chief scene of their hunting expeditions. Towns and villages were attacked and burned; the able-bodied men and young women and children were carried off into slavery; the aged were ruthlessly murdered, fields and plantations were laid waste, and a howling wilderness was left behind. At length the scattered remnants of the population who had escaped from slavery and death assembled together in a spot among rocks, especially strong by nature, where they hoped to be able to make a stand against their persecutors. Here they built a town, to which they gave the name of Abbeokuta, or the place among the rocks. It increased rapidly in population and extent, for numerous were the unfortunates in search of a home, and rest, and peace.

Lagos, one of the chief strongholds of the slave-dealers, which the Yorubans most had to fear, has since been taken possession of by the British, and has been declared an English colony or settlement; but Dahomey, governed by its bloodthirsty monarch, with his army of six thousand Amazons and five thousand male warriors, still exists as a terrible scourge to the surrounding territories.

On the confines of the Yoruba country existed a beautiful village which had hitherto escaped the ravages of the relentless slave-hunting foe. It was situated on the banks of a rapid stream, which gave freshness to the air, and fertility to the neighbouring plantations. Palms, dates, and other trees of tropical growth, overshadowed the leaf-thatched cottages, in which truly peace and plenty might be said to reign. Although true happiness cannot exist where Christianity is not, and where the fear of the fetish and the malign influence of the spirit of evil rules supreme over the mind, the people were contented, and probably as happy as are any of the countless numbers of the still benighted children of Africa. Rumours of wars and slave-hunts reached them, but they had so long escaped the inflictions others had suffered, that they flattered themselves they should escape altogether. So little accustomed are the negro race to look to the future, contented with the pleasures of the passing moment, that as they did not actually see the danger, they allowed no anticipation of evil to mar their happiness. The hearts of the dark-skinned children of that burning clime are as susceptible of the tender sentiments of love and friendship as many of those boasting a higher degree of civilisation, and a complexion of a fairer hue. No couple, indeed, could have been more warmly attached than were young Orlo and Era, who had lately become man and wife, and taken up their abode in the village. They were industrious and happy, and from morning till night their voices might be heard singing as they went about their daily work. Orlo employed himself principally in collecting the various products of the country to sell to the traders who occasionally visited the district,—palm oil, and gold dust from the neighbouring rivulet, and elephants’ tusks, and skins which he took in the chase.

At length Era gave birth to a child, a little boy, which proved a great addition to their happiness, and drew still closer the bonds of their affection. Indeed no people can be fonder of their children than are the negroes of Africa.

Soon after little Sobo was born Orlo set off on a hunting expedition with several other villagers, telling Era that he must get her some fresh soft skins for their child’s bed, and that he must be more industrious than ever, as he had a family to provide for.

Era entreated him not to be long away.

“Two or three days will see me back, laden with the spoils of the chase,” was his answer, in a cheerful tone.

Era’s heart sank within her—why, she could not tell. With anxious eyes she watched him and his companions as, with bows, and arrows, and lances in hand, they disappeared among the trees.

Seldom had Orlo and his party been more successful. More than one lion, several antelopes, and numerous monkeys were killed. Even a huge elephant was conquered by their skill and cunning. The skins of the animals slaughtered were hidden in safe places, to be taken up on their return. Excited by their success they proceeded even farther than they intended. Night surprised them, and collecting together they formed a camp, with fires blazing in the centre to keep off the savage beasts roaming around.

Their supper having been discussed, they were merrily laughing and talking over their adventures when they were startled by some terrific shouts and cries close to them. They grasped their arms, but before a bow could be drawn a body of warriors rushed in on them with clubs and swords, knocking over or cutting down all who stood at bay or attempted resistance. Some endeavoured to escape, but they were completely surrounded. Several were killed by their savage assailants, and their bodies were left where they fell. The greater number were secured with their arms bound tightly behind them, and they found themselves captives to the troops of the King of Dahomey, towards whose capital they were marched away in triumph. They had heard enough of the fate which had befallen so many of their countrymen to know that they must never more expect to taste the sweets of liberty; but they were scarcely aware of the horrible cruelty to which the will of the tyrant King of Dahomey might compel some of them to submit. Bitter, too, was the anguish which poor Orlo suffered when he felt that he should for ever be separated from his beloved Era.

The journey was long and tedious, and the captives’ feet were torn by the thorns and cut by the hard rocks over which they had to pass; but whenever they lagged behind they were urged on by the long spears of their relentless captors. Arrived at the capital, they were astonished at its extent and the number of its inhabitants, and, more than all, by the vast army they saw drawn up for the inspection of the king. They had little opportunity of seeing much, for they were soon conducted into a large low building, where they were secured by iron shackles, back to back, to a long beam, scarcely able to move.

After remaining here for several days Orlo and others were separated from their companions and carried to a building on one side of the great square of the city, where all public ceremonies were performed. Dreadful shrieks assailed their ears both by day and night. They heard they were uttered by the human victims offered up by the savage king to the spirits of his departed ancestors.

They were not long left in doubt as to what was to be their fate. They also were to be destroyed in the same manner. Some of their number on hearing this sank into a state of apathy, others loudly bemoaned their cruel lot, and others plotted how they might escape, but Orlo could think only of his beloved Era, and the anxiety and anguish his absence would have caused her.

At length Orlo and nine others were taken out and told they were to enjoy the high privilege of being sacrificed in presence of their king. They were now dressed in white garments, and tall red caps were put on their heads. Their arms and legs were then bound securely, and they were placed in a sitting posture in small canoe-shaped troughs, and thus in a long procession were carried around the square amid the cruel shouts of the savage populace. At length they reached a high platform or slope in the centre of the square, on which sat the king, under the shade of a vast umbrella, surrounded by his courtiers and chiefs. Below the platform were collected a vast mob of savages, their hideous countenances looking up with fierce delight at the terrible drama which was to be enacted. Among the crowd stood several men of gigantic stature, even more savage-looking than the rest, armed with huge knotted clubs. These they knew instinctively were their intended executioners. Not one of them attempted to plead for mercy; that they knew were vain. Their eyes glanced hopelessly round, now on the assembled throng below, now on the groups collected on the platform, not expecting to meet a look of compassion turned towards them. But yes, among one group they see a man of strange appearance. His skin is white, and by his fine dress, glittering with gold, they believe him to be a great chief. He advances towards the king, whom, with eager look, he addresses in a strange language. What he says they cannot tell, till another man of their own colour speaks, and then they know that he is pleading for their lives; not only pleading, but offering a large ransom if they be given up to him. How anxiously they listen for the reply! The king will not hear of it. The spirit of his father complains that he has been neglected; that his nation must have become degenerate; that they have ceased to conquer, since so few captives have been sent to bear him company in the world of shades. Again the strange white chief speaks, and offers higher bribes. Curious that he should take so much trouble about some poor black captives they think. What can be his object? What can influence him?

He does not plead altogether in vain. The king will give him four for the sum he offers, but no more. He would not dare thus to displease the shade of his father, and the white chief may choose whom he will. The victims gaze anxiously at his countenance. It is merciful and benign they think—unlike any they have before seen. Which of them will he select?

He does not hesitate; he knows what must be passing in the hearts of those poor wretches. He quickly lays his hand on four of them, and turns away his head with sorrow from the rest. Orlo is among those he has claimed. They show but little pleasure or gratitude as they are released, and, being stripped of their sacrificial garments, are placed under charge of his attendants. The rest of the miserable captives are held up, some by men, others by the Amazonian warriors, to the gaze of the expectant multitude, who shriek and shout horribly, and then they are cast forward into the midst of the crowd, when the executioners set on them with their clubs and speedily terminate their sufferings. For several successive days is the same horrible scene enacted, the Fetish men declaring that the spirit of the late king is not yet satisfied.

Orlo by degrees recovered from the stupor into which his sufferings, mental and bodily, and the anticipation of a cruel death had thrown him. He then found that the white chief, whose slave he considered himself, was no other than the captain of a British man-of-war, cruising off the coast for the suppression of the slave trade—not that he understood very clearly much about the matter, but he had heard of the sea, and that big canoes floated on it which carried his countrymen across it to a land from which none ever came back. Still, as this captain had certainly saved his life, he felt an affection for him, and hoped that he should be allowed to remain his slave, and not be sold to a stranger. As to asking to be liberated to be sent back to Era, he did not for a moment suppose that such a request would be granted, and he therefore did not make it. At last the coast was reached, and a ship appeared, and a boat came and took them on board. The captain had seen something in Orlo’s countenance which especially pleased him, so he asked whether he would like to remain with him; and Orlo, very much surprised that the option should be given him, said, “Yes, certainly.”

So Orlo was entered on the ship’s books, and soon learned not only to attend on the captain, but to be a sailor. His affection for his patron and preserver was remarkable. Whatever Captain Fisher wished he attempted to perform to the best of his ability, while he was attentive and faithful in the extreme. He soon acquired enough English to make himself understood, while he could comprehend everything that was said to him.

The Sea Sprite was a very fast sailing corvette, and had already, by her speed and the sagacity with which her cruising-ground was selected, made more captures than any other craft of the squadron. Her success continued after Orlo had become one of her crew. He always got leave to go on board the prizes when they were taken possession of, and his services were soon found of value as interpreter. His object was naturally to inquire about news from his own part of the country. He was not likely to obtain any satisfactory information. Some time passed—another capture was made. He returned on board the corvette very depressed in spirits, and was often seen in tears. Captain Fisher asked him the cause of his sorrows. He had learned that at length his own village had been surprised during the night by the slave-hunters of the King of Dahomey, that not one of the inhabitants had escaped, and that all had been carried off into captivity. They had been sold to different dealers, and had been transported to the baracoons on different parts of the coast, ready for embarkation. Where Era had been carried he could not ascertain; only one thing was certain—she and her child had been seen in the hands of the Dahomian soldiers, on their way to the capital. His beloved Era was then a slave; and he by this time full well knew what slavery meant. He had seen several slave ships captured, and the horrors, the barbarities, and indignities to which the captives on board were exposed. He pictured to himself the terrible journey from the interior, the lash of the brutal driver descending on her shoulders as she tottered on with her infant in her arms, her knees bending from weakness, her feet torn with thorns and hard rocks—she who had been so tenderly cared for—whom he loved so dearly;—the thought was more than he could bear. He looked over the side of the ship, and gazed at the blue waters, and said to himself, “I shall find rest beneath them; in the world of spirits I shall meet my own Era, and be happy.”

One of the officers of the ship, a Christian man, had watched him. He had before observed his melancholy manner, so different to what he had at first exhibited. Lieutenant L— called him, and asked him the cause of his sorrow.

Orlo narrated his simple history.

“And no one has thought all this time of imparting any knowledge of Gospel truth to this poor African,” said the lieutenant to himself; and a blush rose on his own cheeks. “No time shall be lost, though,” he added; and he unfolded in language suited to his comprehension, and in all its simplicity, the grand scheme of redemption whereby sinning man can be accepted by a holy and just God as freed from sin, through the great sacrifice offered once on the Cross.

Orlo listened eagerly and attentively. All ideas of suicide had left his mind. He longed to know more of this wonderful, this glorious news.

“Then, Orlo, would you not wish to please so merciful and kind a Master, who has done so much for you?” asked the lieutenant.

“Yes, massa, dat I would,” answered the African.

“One way in which you can do so, is to bear patiently and humbly, as He did, the afflictions the loving God thinks fit to send. He does it in mercy, depend on that. God’s ways are not our ways; but the all-powerful God who made the world must of necessity know better what is right and good than we poor frail dying creatures, whom He formed from the dust of the earth, and who, but for His will, would instantly return to dust again.”

“Me see, me see,” answered the negro, in a tone as joyful as if he had found a pearl of great price; and so he had, for he had found Gospel truth.

“God knows better than we,” was his constant remark after this when he heard others complaining of the misfortunes and ills of life.

The ship had now been nearly her full time in commission, and her captain was in daily expectation of receiving orders to return home. Poor Orlo’s heart sank within him. He must either quit his kind master and his still kinder lieutenant, or, by leaving the coast, abandon all hopes of ever again seeing his beloved Era. To be sure, he knew that she might long ere this have been carried off to the Brazils or Cuba; and faint indeed was the expectation that they ever should meet in this world. Then, again, another feeling arose: “I am now a Christian and she is still a heathen. How can God receive her in heaven?” But after a time he thought—“Ah, but I can pray that she may become a Christian. God’s ways are not our ways. He will hear my prayers—that I know. He can bring about by some of His ways what I cannot accomplish.” And Orlo prayed as he had never prayed before. Captain Fisher treated Orlo with unusual kindness, and, under the circumstances, he could not have been happier on board any ship in the navy.

Captain Fisher was not a man to relax in his efforts, as long as he remained on the station, to suppress the abominable traffic in human beings by all the means in his power. The Sea Sprite continued cruising, accordingly, along the coast, looking in at the different stations, till one morning, at daybreak, a suspicious schooner was seen at anchor, close in with the shore. The increasing light revealed the corvette to those on board. The schooner instantly slipped her cable and stood along the coast, while the Sea Sprite made all sail in chase. Of the character of the vessel there could be no doubt, or she would not have attempted to run from the man-of-war. The Sea Sprite stood as close in as the depth of water would allow; farther in she dare not go. There was still a possibility of the chase escaping. Orlo, as usual, was the most eager on board. He delighted in seeing his countrymen freed from slavery, and he never abandoned the hope of meeting with Era. “I pray I meet her. I know God hear prayer,” said Orlo.

The wind fell. “Out boats,” was the order. Captain Fisher went himself. The chase was a large schooner. A boat was seen to put off from her and pull towards the surf: whether or not she could get through it seemed a question. The English seamen bent to their oars; they were resolved to reach the chase before she could again get the breeze. They clashed alongside, and soon sprang over her bulwarks. No resistance was made. Poor Orlo, glancing round, discovered, to his disappointment, that she had no slaves on board. The master, it was found, had landed with the specie for the purchase of slaves. One of the slave crew—a mate, he looked like—appeared to have a peculiar thickness under his knees; Orlo detected it, and pointed it out to the captain. The master-at-arms was ordered to examine him. Most unwillingly the fellow tucked up his trousers—grinning horribly at Orlo all the time—when he was found to have on a pair of garters, out of each of which rolled thirty doubloons.

The schooner’s head being put off-shore, the boats took her in tow, till, a breeze springing up, sail was made on her for Sierra Leone. The next morning commenced with a thick mist and rain. Orlo, from his quickness of vision, was now constantly employed as one of the look-outs. He was on the watch to go aloft directly it gave signs of clearing. His impatience, however, did not allow him to remain till the mist dispersed. Away aloft he went, observing, “It must fine soon; den I see sip.” He had not been many minutes at the masthead when he shouted, “Sip in-shore!” He had discovered her royals above the mist. Sail was instantly made in chase. Some time elapsed before the Sea Sprite was discovered. Suddenly the mist cleared, and there appeared close in-shore a large American slave ship. There was no doubt about her, with her great beam and wide spread of canvas.

Hoisting American colours, the stranger made all sail to escape. He was standing off the land; but as on that course he would have had to pass unpleasantly near the corvette, he tacked in-shore, and then bore away along the surf, hoping thus, with his large sails, to draw ahead and escape. The light wind appeared to favour him, but Captain Fisher determined that it should not. Ordering the boats away, he took one with a strongly-armed crew, and pulled to windward to cut off the chase, while two others went to leeward, so that his chance of escaping was small indeed. The slave captain seemed to think so likewise. He dared not meet in fight the true-hearted British seaman. Regardless of the risk he and his own crew would run, of the destruction he was about to bring on hundreds of his fellow-creatures, the savage slave captain put up his helm, and ran the ship under all sail towards the shore.

“What is the fellow about?” exclaimed Captain Fisher. “If that ship is full, as she seems to be, she has not less than four or five hundred human beings on board, and he’ll run the risk of drowning every one of them.”

It was too evident, however, that this was the design of the slaver’s captain. His heart was seared. Long accustomed to human suffering in every possible form, he set no more value on the lives of his cargo than if they had been so many sheep, except so far as they could be exchanged for all-potent dollars. On flew the beautiful fabric—for beautiful she was, in spite of her nefarious employment—to destruction. With all her sails set, through the roaring surf she dashed, then rose on the summit of a sea, and down she came, striking heavily, her ropes flying wildly and her sails flapping furiously in the breeze. What mattered it to the slaver’s crew that they left their hapless passengers to perish! Their boats were lowered, and, with such valuables as they could secure, and some of the slaves which, for their greater value, they wished to save, they made their escape to shore, leaving the ship, with the American colours flying, to her fate.

Captain Fisher and the other boats now closed with the wreck, while the corvette also was standing in. When close as she could venture to come, she anchored, and the master came off from her in a whale-boat and joined the other boats. Terrible was the sight which now met the eyes of the English seamen. Orlo beheld it, too, with horror and anguish. As the ship rolled fearfully from side to side, the terrified negroes forced their way up on deck, and in their wild despair, not knowing what to do, many leaped into the raging breakers which swept by alongside, and, helplessly whirling round and round, were soon hidden beneath the waves. One after the other the poor wretches rushed up on deck; many, following the impulse of the first, leaped overboard to meet a like speedy death; others, clinging to the wreck, were washed overboard; some of the stronger still clung on; but many yet remained below.

“This is sad work,” exclaimed Captain Fisher. “We must save these poor people at all hazards.”

A cheer was the reply, and, the men giving way, the boats dashed at great hazard through the surf to leeward of the wreck; but here it seemed almost impossible to board her from the heavy lurches she was making, sending the blocks and spars and rigging flying over their heads, and threatening to swamp the boats should they get alongside. Still Captain Fisher and his gallant followers persevered. He was the first on board, and Orlo leaped on the deck after him. The scene appeared even more horrible than at a distance. The negroes, as they could get clear of their manacles, climbed up from the slave deck, and ran to and fro, shrieking and crying out like people deprived of reason. Some ran on till they sprang overboard; others turned again, and continued running backwards and forwards, till the seamen were compelled to catch them and throw them below till the boats could be got ready for their rescue. The captain ordered Orlo to try and pacify them. He answered, that their extreme terror arose from the idea which the slaver’s crew had given them, that the object of the English in taking possession of the vessel was to cut all their throats. Orlo did his best to quiet their fears when he learned the cause, assuring them the reason the British seaman had come on board was to do them good, and to try and save their lives. It was some time, however, before they would credit his assertions. The ship’s barge had now been brought in and anchored just outside the rollers, while the cutter was backed in under the slaver’s counter. Three of the slaves at a time were then allowed to come up, and were lowered into the boat, from which the whale-boat took them through the surf to the barge, and that when full ultimately carried them to the corvette. The process was of necessity slow, the toil was excessive, and the danger very great; but the British seamen did not shrink from it. Orlo had from the first, while acting as interpreter, been scanning the countenances of all he met, making inquiries of those who could understand his language, (for all could not do so) if they could give him any information about his beloved Era. Again and again he went below, but the darkness prevented him from distinguishing any one, and the shrieks, groans, and cries from making his voice heard, or from hearing what any one might have said.

Night closed on the hitherto unremitting labours of the gallant crew. They had thus saved two hundred poor wretches, but upwards of two hundred remained on board when darkness made it impossible to remove them. Still, could they be left to perish, which they probably would if left alone? The slaver’s crew might return, and either attempt to land them, to keep them in captivity, or burn the ship, to prevent them from falling into the hands of the British. The risk of remaining was very great, but several officers volunteered. Orlo’s friend, Lieutenant —, claimed the privilege, and Orlo begged that he might remain with him. The last performance of the boats was to bring off some rice which had been found in the captured schooner, and cooked, thoughtfully, by the captain’s orders, in his coppers, in readiness for the liberated negroes. Plenty of men were ready to remain with Lieutenant —. Without this supply of food, few, probably, of the slaves on board would have survived the night; even as it was, many of those who were rescued died on their passage to the corvette, or on her decks. Lieutenant — and his brave companions had truly a night of trial. The wind increased, the surf roared louder and louder as it broke around them, the ship rolled and struck more and more violently, till it seemed impossible that she could hold together, while all this time the unhappy captives below were shrieking and crying out most piteously for help. Poor creatures! they knew not how to pray, or to whom to pray. They thought and believed, and not without reason, that a Fetish, or spirit of evil, had got possession of them, and was wreaking his malice on their heads. Orlo gladly, by the lieutenant’s orders, went frequently below to try and comfort them, and to assure them that by the return of daylight fresh efforts would be made for their rescue. Still great indeed were their sufferings. Many, both men, women, and children, died during that fearful night, from wet, cold, fear, and hunger, as they sat, still closely packed on the slave deck. Orlo’s kind heart made him suffer almost as much as they were doing—the more so that he felt how little could be done to relieve them.

At length the morning dawned, when it was found that the ship had driven considerably farther in towards the beach. As daylight broke, people were seen collecting on the shore; their numbers increased; they were gesticulating violently. Did they come to render assistance to their perishing fellow-countrymen? No; led on by the miscreant whites who had formed the crew of the slave ship, and deceived by their falsehoods, they had come to attempt the recapture of the ship. The corvette had, of necessity, stood off-shore for the night. Lieutenant —, hoisting a signal of distress, prepared to defend the prize to the last. He examined the shore anxiously. The slaver’s crew and their black allies were bringing boats or canoes to launch, for the purpose of attacking the ship. Should the wretches succeed, he knew that his life and that of all his companions would be sacrificed.

At length the corvette was seen working up under all sail. She approached; her anchor was dropped, and her boats, being lowered, pulled in towards the wreck. As they got near, the people on shore, balked in their first project, opened a hot fire of musketry on them. The boats had not come unarmed. The larger ones were immediately anchored, and, each having a gun of some weight, opened a hot fire on the beach. This was more than the slave-dealers had bargained for. They were ready enough to kill others, but had no fancy to be killed themselves. Several times the blacks took to flight, but were urged back again by the white men, till, some of the shot taking effect on them, the beach was at last cleared.

The wreck was now again boarded. Lieutenant — and his men were found almost worn out; the hold was full of water, and the ship was giving signs of breaking up. No time was to be lost. The larger boats anchored, as before, outside the rollers, and, by means of the smaller ones, communication by ropes being established, the negroes were, a few at a time, hauled through the surf. Many were more dead than alive, and several died before they reached the corvette. Some were brought up by their companions dead, and many were the heartrending scenes where fathers and mothers found that they had lost their children, husbands their wives, or children their parents. Orlo had held out bravely all the night, but his strength, towards the morning, gave way, and Lieutenant —, seeing his condition, directed that he should be carried back to the corvette, which he reached in an almost unconscious state.

This living cargo was composed of all ages. There were strong men and youths, little boys, women, young girls, and children, and several mothers with infants at their breasts. How fondly and tenderly the poor creatures pressed them there, and endeavoured to shelter them from the salt spray and cold! Fully two hundred were carried on board the corvette during the morning, and it was found that the immortal spirits of nearly fifty of those who had been left on board during the night had passed away. The last poor wretch being rescued, the wreck was set on fire, both fore and aft; the flames burst quickly forth, surrounding the masts, from which still floated that flag which, professing to be the flag of freedom, has so often protected that traffic which has carried thousands upon thousands of the human race into hopeless and abject slavery. The seamen instinctively gave a cheer as they saw it disappear among the devouring flames.

The labours of Captain Fisher and his brave crew were not over. They had to provide food and shelter for fully four hundred of the rescued negroes. Rice, as before, was boiled, and cocoa was given them, and those who most required care were clothed and carried to the galley fire to warm. Among the last rescued was a young woman with a little boy, on whom all her care was lavished. Though herself almost perished, before she would touch food she fed him, and when some clothing was given her she wrapped it round him. She had been found in the fore part of the ship in an almost fainting condition, where she had remained unnoticed, apparently in a state of stupor, with her little boy pressed to her heart. Orlo had been placed under the doctor’s care. It was not till the next morning that he was allowed to come on deck, where his services were at once called into requisition as interpreter. Though unacquainted with the language of many of the tribes to which the captives belonged, he was generally able to make himself understood. A sail had been spread over part of the deck, beneath which the women and young children were collected. The doctor, when about to visit it, called Orlo to accompany him, as interpreter. Among them, sitting on the deck, and leaning against a gun carriage, with her arm thrown round the neck of a little boy, was a young woman, though wan and ill, still possessing that peculiar beauty occasionally seen among several of the tribes of Africa. Orlo fixed his eyes on her; his knees trembled; he rushed forward; she sprang up, uttering a wild shriek of joy, and his arms were thrown around her. He had found his long lost Era and their child. “Ah! God hear prayer; I know now!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Wife soon be Christian, and child. God berry, berry good!”

Happily, the next morning the corvette fell in with another man-of-war, between which and the schooner the rescued slaves being distributed, all three made sail for Sierra Leone. The blacks were there landed, and ground given them on which to settle. Orlo begged that he and Era and their child might also be there set on shore. He did not go empty-handed, for, besides pay and prize-money, generously advanced him by his captain, gifts were showered on him both by his officers and messmates, and he became one of the most flourishing settlers in that happy colony. At length, however, wishing once more to see his own people, and to assist in spreading the truth of the Gospel, which he had so sincerely embraced, among them, he removed to Abbeokuta, where, with his wife now a Christian woman, and surrounded by a young Christian family, he is now settled, daily setting forth, by his consistent walk, the beauties and graces of the Christian faith. Whenever any of his friends are in difficulties, he always says, “Ah! God hear prayer! You pray; never fear!”

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith"

Chapter One.

My first Adventure—Programme of Travel—Off across the Atlantic—The Mississippi—How we got snagged—I save Peter Roberts—The Cayman’s Company—The Island Refuge.

The love of travel was a family instinct, and was born with me. My maternal grandfather went to Central Africa—at least, he left us intending to do so, but never came back again. I had a great uncle who voyaged three times round the world, and one sailor uncle who, half a century ago, spent a winter at the North Pole along with Parry and Franklin. Then I had a cousin who was very ambitious of reaching the moon, and spent his life in studying its maps and making preparations for the journey, which, however, he never accomplished. When asked when he was going to start, he always replied that he had deferred his journey for six months—circumstances requiring his longer sojourn on this planet Tellus; but he never expressed the slightest doubt about his being able ultimately to accomplish his proposed journey. I held him in great respect (which was more than any of the rest of the family did); but as my ambition never soared beyond an expedition round this sublunary globe, I resolved as soon as possible to commence my travels in the hopes of having the start of him.

My voluntary studies were of a character to feed my taste. The travels of the famed Baron Munchausen, “Gulliver’s Travels,” those of Sir John Mandeville and Marco Polo, were read by me over and over again. I procured others of a more modern date, and calculated to give more correct information regarding the present state of the world; but I stuck to my old friends, and pictured the globe to myself much in the condition in which they described it. Not having the patience to wait till I grew up, I resolved at the commencement of my summer holidays to start by myself, hoping to come back before their termination, having a full supply of adventures to narrate. I was some days maturing my plans and making preparations for my journey. I had denied myself such luxuries as had been brought to our school by the pieman, and had saved up my pocket-money—an exercise of self-denial which proved the earnestness of my resolve. I had had too several presents made to me by relations and friends who happened to be in the house. I paid a visit also to my cousin, Booby Skipwith, as he was called. I did not confide to him all my plans; but I hinted that I had one of great importance in hand, and, to my great delight, he presented me with a five-pound note, observing that he believed that such things were not current in the moon, and that, therefore, he could dispense with them. I hinted that if such was the case he might hand me out a few more, for that where I was going they would be greatly in demand; but it proved that this was the only one of which he was possessed.

I had got a small portmanteau, into which I packed all my best clothes and valuables, with a few glass beads and knives which I had purchased to bestow on any savages I might encounter. I had a lance-head brought home by my great uncle. With this I purposed manufacturing a lance for my defence. I knew that, as England is an island, I must cross the water. My idea, when on the other side, whether north, south, east, or west I did not care, was to purchase two steeds—one for myself and another for my luggage and a squire, whom I intended to find. I was certain that he would turn up somewhere, and be very faithful and brave. The first, thing, however, was to get away from home. I wrote an affectionate letter to my father, telling him that I was going on my travels as my ancestor had done, and that I should be back, I hoped, by the end of the holidays; that if I was not, it could not much signify, as I should be gaining more information from my intercourse with the great world than I could possibly hope to reap from the instruction of Dr Bumpus.

This done, one very fine morning I crept out of the house with my portmanteau on my shoulders, and getting over the park palings, so as not to be seen by the lodge-keeper, I stood ready for a coach that would pass by, I had ascertained, about that time. I waited anxiously, thinking that it must have already passed. At last I saw it coming along the road in a cloud of dust. I hailed it in a knowing way, handed up my portmanteau to be placed by the coachman in the boot under his feet, and climbing up behind in a twinkling before any questions were asked, away we bowled at a famous rate. “All right,” I thought; “I am now fairly off on my travels.” We had twenty miles to get to the railway station. Once in the train, I should be beyond pursuit. I had no fear of that, however. I should not be missed for some hours, and then no one would know in what direction I had gone.

We approached the station near Burton. My heart throbbed with eagerness. In a few minutes the train would be starting. The coach stopped before the hotel. At that a moment a gentleman on horseback was passing. He saw me before I had time to hide my face.

“Why, Harry, where are you going?” he exclaimed. It was my uncle, Roland Skipwith, the arctic voyager. He looked into the coach, expecting to see some one. “What, are you all alone? Where are you going, boy?”

“On my travels, uncle,” I answered, boldly, hoping that he might approve of my purpose, seeing that he was himself a great traveller. “You will not stop me, I know.”

“We’ll see about that,” he answered, in a tone I did not quite like. “Get down, youngster. I’ll give you a little advice on the subject. You can’t go by this train, that’s certain.”

While I reluctantly obeyed, he inquired of Tomkins, the coachman, how he came to bring me away from home. Tomkins apologised—thought that I was going on a visit to my aunt, Miss Rebecca Skipwith, who lived at Burton, and finished by handing out my portmanteau, and receiving my fare to Burton in exchange.

I was sold, that was clear enough. The portmanteau was deposited in the bar till the coach would return soon after noon.

“Come along,” said my uncle, who had given his horse to the hostler. “I have ridden over to breakfast with your Aunt Rebecca, so we’ll hear what she has to say on the matter.”

I felt rather foolish as he took my hand and led me away.

We soon reached Aunt Becky’s neat trim mansion. My uncle had time to say a few words to her before she saw me. She received me with her usual cordiality, for I was somewhat of a pet of hers. I was desperately hungry, and was soon seated at a table well spread with all sorts of appetising luxuries. My uncle, after a little time, when I had taken the edge off my hunger, began to question me as to my proposed plans, to an account of which he and Aunt Becky listened with profound gravity. I began to hope that he was going to approve of them, till suddenly he burst out laughing heartily. Aunt Becky joined him. I found that they had been hoaxing me. I was sold again. This was the last attempt I made during that period of my existence to commence my travels.

On arriving at manhood, and having just quitted college and had an independence left me, the desire once more came strongly on me to see the world—not the fashionable world, as an infinitesimal portion of the human race delight to call themselves, but the great big round globe, covered with our fellow-creatures of varied colours, languages, customs, and religions.

“Good-bye, Aunt Becky! I really and truly am off this time,” I exclaimed, as I rushed into my dear, good old aunt’s drawing-room at Burton, she looking as neat and trim as ever, being the perfection of nice old-maidenism, not a whit older than when, some thirteen years before, I had been brought there a prisoner by my uncle.

“Where are you going to, my dear?” asked Aunt Becky, lifting up her spectacles from her nose with a look of surprise.

“Oh, only just across the Atlantic, to take a run up and down North and South America, as a kind of experiment before I attempt a tour, by land and water, to China and Japan, and home again by way of Australia, New Zealand, and Tahiti, by the Panama route, which I mean to do some of these days.”

“Well, well,” said Aunt Becky, “you are a true Skipwith, and if that Captain Grant hadn’t got the start of you, I suppose you would have discovered the source of the Nile and the snow mountains under the equator, and, like Hercules, in that gem on my finger, which I wear for the sake of an old friend, have come home with a lion’s skin across your shoulder, or dressed up like an ape, as Monsieur de Chaillu did sometime ago. However, I shall wish, Harry, if you ever want an additional hundred pounds or so, draw on me; I have always some spare cash at the banker’s. But you’ll never came back if you attempt half you talk of doing. You’ll be scalped by Indians, or roasted and eaten by other savages; or be tossed by buffaloes, or lost in the snow; or be blown up in one of those dreadful American steamers, which seem to do nothing else; or you’ll catch a fever, or be cast away on a desolate island, and we shall never hear anything more of you; or something else dreadful will happen to you, I am certain.”

“Never mind, Aunt Becky; I shall be embalmed in your memory, at all events,” I answered; “and besides, I am going to have a companion to look after me.”

“Who can he be who would venture to accompany such a harum-scarum fellow as you are, Harry?” said my aunt, looking more satisfied.

“One who has ever proved faithful, aunt: his name is Ready.”

“Why, he’s your dog, Harry!” she exclaimed, disappointed.

“Could I have a more trustworthy and, at the same time, active and intelligent follower?” I asked. “I had thought of taking Bunbry,” (he was my father’s old butler, and remarkable for his obesity and laziness); “but you see, aunt, in the first place, my father could not spare him; and, in the second, he could not exactly keep up with me on a day’s march of thirty or forty miles, and would certainly be nowhere when chasing wild buffaloes, or hunting panthers or grizzly bears. So I gave up the idea of having a servant at all; and as for a friend, I don’t happen to be supplied with one ready to go, and I hope to find plenty on the way.”

Having at length consoled Aunt Becky, by assuring her that I would take very good care of myself, and promising to bring her home trophies from all the lands I should visit, I gave her a parting kiss, in return for her blessing, and a few days afterwards I found myself, with Liverpool astern, sailing down the Mersey on board the good ship Liberty, bound for New Orleans, which the people on board pronounced New Orle-e-ens.

The striped and starry banner waved over our heads. “There, now, that’s the flag of flags,” said the skipper, pointing to it. “You Britishers talk of your flag which has ‘braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze,’ but I guess that flag of ours will be flying proudly in every quarter of the globe when your old obsolete government will have come to a consummate smash.” He looked so savage at me, that Ready would have flown at his leg, had I not held him back.

I was determined not to be put out of temper, so I answered quietly—

“Now, captain, I should be very happy to suppose that your stars and stripes will fly to the end of the world; but I do not see why the banner of old England should not be allowed to wave as long. There’s room for both of us, surely. It’s my principle to live and let live.”

“Why, stranger, because you are not a nation of free men, you don’t know what true liberty is,” he replied, gnashing his teeth in a way which made Ready show his in return.

“Our old obsolete government showed that it appreciated liberty when, at a vast cost, it knocked off the shackles from every slave owned by a Briton,” I observed, calmly.

“I guess you’d better not touch on that there subject, stranger, when you get to New Orle-e-ens, or Judge Lynch may have a word to say to you,” croaked out the skipper, curling his nose, and giving a malicious wink at me while he squirted a stream of tobacco juice into the eye of poor Ready, who went howling round the deck with pain.

I took the hint, and held my tongue on the dark subject. It’s ill to talk of the gallows to a man whose father has been hung, and none but a Knight of La Mancha runs a tilt against windmills when travelling in foreign lands. Still, I say, do not do at Rome as Rome does, but protest, if not loudly, silently—by your conduct—against vice and immorality, and all the abominations you may meet with.

We had a large number of emigrants on board, who were fully persuaded that they were going to enjoy not only the most perfect government under the sun, but every blessing this world can supply. Poor people! how different did they find the reality. We kept to the southward of that mighty stream which, coming out of the Gulf of Mexico, sweeps away north, across the Atlantic, and, with its well-heated waters, adds considerably to the warmth of our shores at home. We saw neither floating icebergs, whales, nor sea serpents, but had several births and deaths, and at last made the island of St. Thomas, which appeared floating like a blue cloud on the ocean. As we drew nearer, a vast mountain rose before us, seemingly, directly out of the water, having a sterile summit, sprinkled round with spots of refreshing verdure. The harbour is in the form of an amphitheatre, and the land round, with its glittering white town on three hills, its old fort advancing into the sea, its green valleys, groves of cocoa-nuts, and fields of sugar-cane, is a highly picturesque spot. We put in to get a supply of water, fruit, vegetables, and fresh provisions; but, as the yellow fever was at the time carrying off about twenty of the inhabitants a day, negroes and mulattoes as well as white people, I was satisfied with admiring its beauties at a distance. Putting to sea again as fast as we could, we weathered the north-western point of Cuba, and entered the Gulf of Mexico, between that island and Florida.

About a week afterwards vast numbers of logs of wood, floating in yellow water, indicated that we were at the mouths of the Mississippi, for, of course, a mighty stream a thousand miles long, would not be content with one mouth, like our poor little humble Thames. The scenery, consisting of mud-banks and swamps, as far as the eye can reach, is not very attractive. It is curious to look back after making numerous windings, and to observe the sea over the mud-banks, considerably lower than the water on which the ship is floating. With a fair wind stemming the stream for a hundred and thirty miles, we found ourselves amid a crowd of vessels of all nations off New Orleans, the capital of Louisiana. It is a large handsome looking city, but, as the ground on which it stands is lower than the surface of the river, I could not help feeling, while I was there, that some night I might find myself washed out of my bed by its muddy waters.

Intending to return to New Orleans, I left my traps at my hotel, and embarked with Ready on board a huge steamer bound up the Mississippi. A cockney might describe her as like a Thames wherry with an omnibus on the top of it, and vast paddles outside all. I found that passengers could only ascend to the upper saloon, which ran the whole length of the vessel, the roof being of necessity sacred to the officers and crew. There were numerous galleries, however, on each side of the paddle-boxes, and forward and aft, whence I could observe the scenery. It was not very attractive, consisting chiefly of low swamps—the habitations of alligators and rattlesnakes. Here and there were more elevated spots, on which villages were perched, and patches where once the forest grew, but which were now covered with fields of sugar-cane, maize, and cotton bushes.

We were dashing on at a prodigious rate—I fancy the engineer must have been sitting on the safety-valve—when, feeling a dreadful concussion, and being thrown forward with my nose on the deck, I heard those around me exclaim, “Snagged!” “We are sinking!” A snag is a log of timber stuck sloping in the mud. Against one of these snags we had run. Down, down sank the huge machine. “Aunt Becky forgot to mention this, among the other modes of losing my life which she enumerated,” I thought to myself. “She forgot that Mississippi steamers could sink as well as blow up.” However, I had no intention of going out of the world just then, if I could help it.

The river was at that part very wide and shallow; but I observed an island not far off, and I hoped to reach it. If there were any boats round the vessel, there was no time to lower them. The awful plunge came. Some hundred human beings were hurled amid the turbid waters. Many were carried down with the vessel; others were shrieking piteously, and struggling for life. The weather was intensely hot. I had on but little clothing. I struck out towards the island. As I did so, the thought occurred to me, “For what purpose was my great strength given me? Surely to be of use to my fellow-creatures. I can save one of these poor people at all events.” I turned back. The first person I saw was a poor lad, who had been my fellow-passenger on board the Liberty. I had more than once spoken to him. His name was Peter. “Help, help!” he shrieked out. “Oh, Mr Skipwith, save me.” I caught him by the collar, and threw him on to my back. “There, Peter,” said I, “cling on, but don’t touch my arms, and, with Heaven’s support, I’ll carry you on shore.” The lad made no answer, but did as I bade him, and away Ready and I swam towards the island. I cannot forget the shrieks and cries for help of the unfortunate beings drowning round me. Now an arm was lifted up; now two hands in the attitude of supplication. Now the countenance of some strong man full of horror and despair came into view. Women and children were floating about, held up for a while by their clothes, and others were clinging to chairs, and stools, and bits of the wreck, which had risen to the surface. I felt many clutch at me. A sad necessity compelled me to shake them off. I should have endangered Peter’s life, as well as my own, had I attempted to help them.

It was no easy work. The current was strong, and there were eddies which whirled me round and round, while Mississippi’s muddy waters were less buoyant than those of the ocean. The island for which I was making was lower down than where the steamer had struck, or I doubt if I should have been saved. As I approached the bank, I saw that there were numerous reeds flinging it, which I doubted if I could penetrate. Still the attempt must be made. I looked about, till I saw a space which appeared more clear, and I swam at it to force my way through. The reeds seemed to grow thicker and thicker. It became very heavy work, and I feared that I should get my legs entangled, and be held fast. At last I saw a thick log of wood floating a little way on.

“I will let Peter rest on it while I make my way to the shore, and, after recovering my strength, I will go off and tow him in,” I thought to myself: and then I told him what I proposed doing. I swam up to the log, lifted Peter off with my left hand, and had placed him on it, while I kept myself afloat with my right, when Ready began to bark furiously, turning round his head at the log, and swimming off in an opposite direction. I thought this odd, when suddenly the log began to move. A vast pair of jaws, with long rows of formidable teeth, opened, but instead of snapping at me, the alligator (for such it was, and of prodigious size) swam away after my faithful Ready. I eased poor Peter, who, terror-stricken, was about to take a most uncomfortable ride on the alligator’s back, and dragging him off before the creature had towed us many yards, I succeeded, by efforts which the greatest alarm alone could have enabled me to make, in reaching the shore. I climbed up the bank myself, and was dragging up poor Peter, when the alligator, disappointed in catching the sagacious Ready, who was safe on land, furiously barking at him, made a dash towards us. I had just time to draw the boy up by a violent jerk, when the monster’s long jaws closed with a loud clack close to his heels. Peter shrieked out, believing that he was caught, but I soon reassured him, and, by setting him on his legs, proved that he had retained them. The alligator, or cayman, was, however, not to be baulked of his prey, and, not being aware of the number of people floating away helplessly down the stream, he began to climb up the bank with the intention of catching one of us at least. The island was of about twenty acres in extent, with a clump of cypress trees and a palm or two in the centre; but the ground of the greater portion was soft and boggy, and covered with reeds, and long grass springing up among logs of timber, in all stages of decay, which had been washed up during the floods of spring. This was not very convenient ground for active operations; yet still the alligator took care that we should be actively employed. As we had no arms with which to assail him, we could only act on the defensive.

The alligator soon got up the bank, and then stopped and eyed us all three, meditating, apparently, which he should first devour. I had made Peter move a little way off on one side of me, while Ready ran about on the other. The brute was hungry, and, seeing that I was the largest animal, he made up his mind to have me first; so on he waddled through the grass, at so rapid a rate, that the consequences, had I tumbled, would have been very serious.

Ready played his part admirably, and directly he saw that the cayman was running at me, he began to bark more furiously than ever, so as to distract the monster’s attention. He succeeded, for the alligator stopped several times to look at him, but his mouth was watering with the anticipation of the bonne bouche my substantial carcass would prove, and he again made chase after me. I shouted to the lad to run for the clump of trees. He obeyed my directions as well as he could, but twice he fell and disappeared between some logs, and I was afraid he was lost, but he scrambled out and ran on. I had to keep my eyes about me, as I leaped from log to log, watching the alligator, and looking to see where I was going. I had got more than half way to the clump of trees, when I heard a loud hissing, and looking down, I found that I was about to leap into a nest of snakes. Mrs Snake put up her head, of flat, venomous form, and I thought would have flown at me, but I sprang on one side with more agility than ever. I had not much fear of the cayman, but no courage, strength, or activity would avail against a single serpent, and the island, I suspected, swarmed with them. It would not, however, have done to stop, as the alligator, having no dread of the snakes, did not. Peter had reached the clump, and had wisely begun to climb a tree. I dashed after him, kicking up several rattlesnakes who had not time to bite me, Ready running by my side, and our pursuer, as the ground was smoother, following faster than ever. I seized Ready in my arms, and threw him up to Peter, who caught him, and placed him safely on a branch, while I sprang up after him, and the alligator, who darted on, snapped his jaws within a foot of my legs as I swung them up out of his way. A pretty predicament we were in, perched on the branch of a cypress tree with the monster cayman leering up at us from below, and thinking it very hard, after all the trouble he had taken, that we should have escaped his jaws. Still I felt how much better off we were than the several hundred human beings who had so suddenly met a watery grave. I looked out from our perch towards the spot where the steamer had gone down. Not a creature could I see: the pieces of wreck, with people floating on them, had been carried out of sight down the stream, but whether any were likely to reach the shore I could not tell. I thought that some might; but I pictured them roaming about through those vast swamps, without food, far from human habitations, till at length they fell a prey to alligators, or were killed by serpents, or sank down and died from hunger and fatigue. Our position was not very pleasant either, for the river was so wide that I was not at all certain that we should be seen by vessels passing up and down; and I dreaded that we might be starved before we could get off. I grew very hungry, for I had been waiting to rush into dinner when the vessel sank. Peter had scarcely spoken; indeed, I was uncertain whether or not he was grateful to me for saving him; but he was evidently not a lad of words. I remarked that I had had nothing to eat since breakfast.

“What, haven’t you had your dinner, sir?” he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise. “Well, things always turn out lucky with me. Here, sir.”

Diving into his coat-pockets, he produced some meat and cheese, and two large lumps of bread, which, however, were rather mashed by the soaking they had got.

“There, take that; it will do you good; you want something after that long swim,” said he.

“Thank you, I will take a piece of bread and meat gladly,” I answered. “You, Peter, keep the rest for yourself.”

“No, no, it’s yours, sir. I’ll not touch it,” he replied in a determined, steady tone. I ate a small portion, and begged him to keep the rest.

“There’s another friend wants something,” he remarked, cutting off a piece of the cheese rind and some gristle from the meat, and giving them to Ready, who had looked up wistfully at him as he was handing me the food. “There, old fellow, you deserve it, I am sure you do,” said he, patting the dog’s head.

I had little doubt after this that Peter’s heart was in the right place. Night, was coming on, and the danger of our position increased. When the sun went down, the mosquitoes attacked us furiously, and ran their huge probosces into our skins, till there was scarcely a spot without a wound. The only satisfaction was that they kept us awake; for had we gone to sleep, we might have fallen off the bough; and had we fallen off the bough, we should have tumbled into the jaws of the alligator, waiting anxiously below to devour us. Such were the not over-pleasant prospects for the approaching night.

Chapter Two.

Mosquitoes—A Runaway Slave—I am wounded—The Struggle, and Ready and Peter come to the Rescue—Peace Negotiatons—Treaty of Alliance, Defensive and Offensive—The Canoe Voyage—Marcus’s Story.

We sat up in the tree, wishing that the alligator would betake himself to the waters of the Mississippi; but he seemed resolved to make his supper off one of us, and in this neither of us was willing to indulge him. Peter made no remarks, but Ready, every now and then, gave a growl of disapprobation; indeed, I believe, had I allowed him, he would have jumped down and done battle with the monster. I did not suppose that the cayman would catch him; but I knew that he could not by any possibility hurt the cayman, so I kept him safe up on the branch beside me. The mosquitoes continued as active as ever, and as Peter and I had only each of us a hand at liberty, we could but partially defend ourselves from their attacks. Hour after hour passed by.

“I wonder whether it will ever be morning!” observed the poor lad, giving himself, for the thousandth time, a slap on the cheek.

“We are not the first people who have wished for the return of day, my boy,” said I. “But hark—”

There was a slight sound as of an oar dipped in the water. It approached the island. It ceased, and I felt sure that the person or persons in the boat had landed. I listened. I could hear the sound of a canoe or boat being hauled up, and soon a light bursting forth showed me that a fire had been kindled, for the purpose probably of cooking. The alligator heard the sounds also, I suspect; for finding that we were not likely to come down to satisfy his appetite, he wheeled round and began to crawl back to the other spot whence the sounds proceeded. I suspected that he had not seen the fire, which, from our higher position we had observed, and I knew that he was not likely to approach it. I should otherwise have shouted out to warn whoever might be there of the approach of the monster. As soon as the brute had moved off, Peter, Ready, and I jumped down to the ground and advanced towards the spot where we had seen the fire. It had now burnt up brightly, and between us and it I observed the huge form of the alligator crawling on. He must have suddenly become aware of the fire, for I saw him, much to my satisfaction, scramble off as fast as he could on one side, and the sound of a heavy plunge assured me that he had once more taken to the water. Peter and Ready followed at my heels. I slowly advanced, and in a short time I saw a man sitting down on his hams before the fire, at which he was cooking a fish. He was a negro, a big athletic-looking fellow, with a bare woolly head, and naked to the waist, round which he wore a belt, and in it were stuck a brace of pistols and a long bowie-knife. The noise of the river rushing by and the crackling of the burning sticks had prevented him from hearing our approach. He turned his head—the glance of the fire fell on us. In a moment he was on his feet, and, drawing a pistol from his belt, he levelled it at my head.

“I am a friend,” I shouted out as rapidly as I could, but the black had not time to change the impulse given to his finger. There was a flash, a report, and a sharp stinging sensation in my neck told me that the bullet had taken effect. To save my life I sprang forward, and throwing myself with all my might on the stranger, I grasped his arm as he was drawing a second pistol, and bearing him down we both rolled over together to the ground and very nearly into the water. He was as strong as I was, and being naked I had great difficulty in holding his arms and preventing him from drawing his knife, which he made strenuous efforts to do, while at the same time he was evidently endeavouring to roll off the bank into the river, and to drag me with him. I could not help thinking of my friend, the cayman, who would probably have most largely benefited by the success of his attempt. When people go to fisty-cuffs, there are seldom wanting alligators to profit by their quarrels. Had I been alone, strong and active as I was, I scarcely know what would have been the result; but I had two trusty friends at hand. We had not been struggling many moments, when Ready, having laid his plans for the campaign, flew at the negro’s legs, one of which he gripped so firmly that the poor fellow roared out with pain; while Peter, after hesitating an instant, caught him by his woolly head and tugged away manfully in an opposite direction. In our struggles we all rolled into the fire—black, boy, dog, and I; and had not our clothes been still somewhat damp, we should have been quickly in flames, and, had the alligator come back, all ready cooked for his supper. As it was, we kicked about the burning ashes, tossing them into the air, when they came down in showers upon us, till, what with the singeing he was undergoing, the biting of the dog, and the pulling of his hair, the negro cried out lustily for mercy.

“Well, I have no wish to hurt you,” said I, still holding down his arms. “Don’t attempt again to shoot me, and I will very gladly be your friend. Off, Ready! let go dog! Don’t pull the man’s hair any more, boy.”

Peter and the dog obeyed me, and the man, getting up and shaking himself, began to scrape the ashes together, and then, looking for his fish, stuck it on a stick to roast as if nothing particular had occurred.

“You are a cool hand, my friend,” said I, sitting down opposite to him. “You might have killed me just now.”

“Of course; I took you for an enemy,” he answered.

“What enemies have you to fear?” I asked.

“Slave-hunters,” he answered, grinding his teeth and uttering a fearful oath.

“But how do you know that we are not searching for a runaway slave?” I asked.

“Because you are an Englishman,” he replied.

“Why do you fancy that?” said I.

“From the way you spoke to your boy and dog,” he observed with a fierce laugh. “There would have been a kick and a curse had you belonged to this country; but, though you gripped me hard, and well-nigh squeezed the breath out of me, I know you to be a man, and I trust you.”

“I am obliged to you for your confidence, and I will not betray it; though, as it may be better, I will ask no questions.”

“That’s wise; but I must ask you one,” said the negro. “How came you here?”

I told him. He was silent for some time, turning his fish on the spit, while my companions, imitating my example, seated themselves beside me. Peter sat gaping with mute astonishment, Ready’s lips and eye showed that he still looked on the big negro rather as an enemy than a friend. The excitement had hitherto prevented me from feeling the wound in my neck. The pain and a sensation of blood flowing down my shoulder reminded me of it, and I was about to call Peter to my aid, when the negro looked up and said—

“Stranger, you believe that all men have sprung from the same parents?”

“Certainly, my friend,” I replied. “I have not the slightest doubt about the matter.”

“Then, do you think that one portion has the right to keep another in bondage, to spit upon them, to beat and abuse them, and to treat them as brute beasts without souls?”

He ground his teeth as he continued speaking. I saw that he was working himself up into a fury, so I interrupted him:

“Assuredly not, my friend,” I said. “No man has a right to keep another in slavery; but slavery is a fact, and facts are stubborn things, not to be got rid of.”

“I don’t quite understand you, stranger,” he replied. “But, from what you say, I believe that you would help a slave to escape from his bonds, if you had the opportunity?”

This was a most disagreeable question. I had resolved, when I entered the slave states, not to interfere in the slightest way with the subject of slavery, and now I was asked to commit the most atrocious crime against the white community of which I could possibly be guilty.

“Do you ask me to help you?” said I.

“I do,” was the answer.

“What claim have you on me?” I demanded.

“That of one man on another,” said the negro, rising unconsciously, and stretching out his hand over the fire. “That of one immortal soul on its fellow, who must both stand, some day, before the judgment-seat of Heaven, to be judged of the deeds done in the flesh. If you have the feelings of a true man, the conscience of a living soul, you dare not refuse my appeal.”

“I will not,” I exclaimed, rising also and taking the negro’s hand. “I will aid you at every risk, to the best of my power.”

“Stranger,” said the black, wringing my hand, while his voice trembled with emotion, “your words may prevent me from doing many a fierce deed, which I otherwise should have committed; from turning my hand against every man’s; from believing that every man with a white skin is a demon in human shape.”

He came round to me, and sat himself down by my side.

“But you are hurt,” he observed, in a tone of concern, “and I, in my fear, did it. You have a handkerchief. It is only a flesh wound; I will bind it up. I wish I could do more.”

Ready growled when he saw my late antagonist touching me, but proceeded no further in his hostilities. Peter brought some water in a pannikin, which the negro had with him, and my wound, being bathed freely, was bound up: and we sat down to discuss the fish, and another brought from the canoe, of which the negro insisted that we should partake, Ready coming in for the heads and bones. No one would have supposed that we and our entertainer had just before been engaged in a deadly struggle. I observed that the black man yawned and appeared very weary.

“I should like to sleep for a short time,” he said. “You took something away from my strength. I have had also a long row, and have a longer before me. I know not when the chase after me may begin; but I do know that the blood-hounds will not give it up till they run me to earth, or till they are sure I have escaped them.”

“I will gladly watch over you while you sleep,” said I. “How long do you wish to rest?”

“Half-an-hour will be enough. That tussle with you wearied me more than all my previous exertions. Just keep the fire alight, or we may have more snakes and alligators visiting us than would be pleasant.”

I promised to follow his wishes, and having reloaded the pistol he had fired at me, stretching himself on the ground, in an instant he showed me by his heavy breathing that he was fast asleep. What surprised me most about the man was the way in which he spoke. The remarks he made caused me to suspect that he possessed a higher amount of education than I should have expected to find in a negro. I felt gratified, too, at the perfect confidence he placed in me. He was, at all events, evidently a man far above the common order, and I hoped to learn more about him before we separated. I employed Peter in collecting drift-wood, of which there was a plentiful supply on the island. The fire kept the mosquitoes off, and from the quiet I thus obtained I had the greatest difficulty in not going to sleep. The moment Peter sat down he fell off, and even Ready shut his eyes, though, if I moved in the slightest degree, he was awake again in an instant. I knew that I could depend on him for giving me timely notice of the approach of an enemy of any description; but still I did my utmost to keep my senses alive. By degrees, however, I began to see all sorts of curious shapes in the fire, and to hear strange noises; and wild unearthly shrieks struck on my ear, and snakes seemed to be crawling in and out among the embers, and then I suddenly found myself at the dear old hall, my home, with my feet on the parlour fender, while Bunbry’s voice informed me that tea was in the drawing-room. I started up, and saw the negro watching me across the expiring embers of the fire.

“Pardon me, friend,” said I. “Most unintentionally I went to sleep.”

“I could not expect aught else,” he answered, in a tone which made me feel rather ashamed of myself. “It is time for me to be moving. What do you wish to do?”

“To get away from this island. We shall be starved if we remain here,” was my answer.

“I will take you,” said the negro. “Step into the canoe—quick—all of you. Stay! I will put out the fire. It might betray me, should I be pursued.”

He threw some water on the ashes, and scattered them about.

The canoe was what is called a “dug-out”—a hollowed trunk of a tree fashioned into a boat shape. Though narrow and light, it was long, and capable of carrying three or four people. Peter and I stepped in, followed by Ready. The negro, taking his seat in the centre, turned to me and asked if I could row. I told him that I could.

“Then I will thank you to take one of the paddles and help me. I have a long voyage before me. We will go up the stream.”

We paddled rapidly along. The negro steered, keeping out of the strength of the current. He seemed to know the river well. I was curious to ascertain something about the man. That he was a common plantation negro I did not think possible.

“You have travelled, friend?” I observed.

“I have. I have visited your country. I have trod a free soil. I have read much. I know the rights of man, and I resolved no longer to be a slave,” he answered, with a rapid utterance. “I remembered, too, the days of my childhood, when I roamed free in my native woods on the shores of Africa, the son of a powerful chief. Indistinctly at first, but afterwards clearly as I dwelt upon them, those times came back upon me, and I could bear my chains and degradation no longer. You are surprised at my telling you that I have read much. In my youth I accompanied my master to England. He was a kind man. He allowed me to be instructed in reading. I learned rapidly. My master, on leaving England, persuaded me to accompany him, promising legally to manumit me on our arrival in the States. In England I had become a free man. I had almost forgotten what slavery was. My master died on the voyage. I apprehended no danger, though, for prudence sake, I contemplated returning to England; but scarcely had I set foot on shore, than I was seized by the captain of the ship which brought me, and claimed as a slave. I was carried off to my master’s heir. He has taken care to make me feel what slavery is. I will not tell you what I have borne—how my purest and best feelings have been outraged—how one I loved was torn from me—how—But to go on would unman me; and I have need of all my coolness and self-possession. About four miles from this there is a village. I will land you there, and we must part. I shall not tell you what course I intend to pursue: it may be better for you not to know.”

I agreed with him in this, but at the same time I had become so interested in the fate of the poor fellow, that I was willing to run any risk to assist him. I told him so. He thanked me, but said that he would not allow me.

“And by what name shall I remember you?” I asked.

“I have been called Marcus—Marcus the slave. I do not boast of any other,” he answered bitterly. “Dogs and negroes have seldom more than one name.”

“Marcus, I shall never forget you. I hope we may meet again,” said I. “Our first introduction was somewhat unpleasant, but we part as friends.” He leaned forward, and grasped my hand.

“Hark!” he whispered, suddenly. “There is the sound of paddles in the water.” His quick ear had detected the sound before I had done so. I could hear nothing. “I am certain of it,” he exclaimed, with a groan. He was right.

“Here, take my paddle, and let the boy use yours; it is my only chance should my pursuers be at hand. I will lay down at the bottom of the canoe. Now, round with her; and pull down the stream to meet them. The best way to escape danger is boldly to face it. I may be supposed to be a wounded or a dead man.” The change of places was quickly effected, and turning round the canoe, Peter and I paddled down the stream, with Ready standing in the bows, looking out ahead. I could now hear the sound of paddles in the water. Already the first streaks of dawn had appeared in the eastern sky. Our only chance of escape was to pass the strangers before the light should show them the canoe, or, should they discover us, before they could see that there was any one in her besides Peter, Ready, and me. We paddled on steadily. The men in the approaching canoe were talking, and, from the words which reached my ears, I could have little doubt that they were in search of the fugitive slave.

Chapter Three.

The Pursuit—The Fight and Victory—We dispose of our Prisoners—The Black Dwarf—The City of Themistocles—We part Company—I go with Peter and Ready aboard the wondrous Highflier.

Happily, I was well accustomed to the use of a paddle; Peter was not. I therefore told him to lay his down, while I steered the canoe with as little noise as possible, inclining towards the opposite bank near which I fancied the slave-hunters were working their way up the stream.

The light was increasing,—the voices grew louder. I guessed that the other canoe must be about abreast of us. “A few minutes more, and we shall be free of her,” I thought to myself, when I observed that Ready was throwing up his nose and stretching out his neck. I tried by a low whisper to tranquillise him. In vain. He ran to the side nearest the other canoe and gave a furious bark. It was immediately responded to by another dog, and a vehement exchange of fierce growls and barkings ensued.

“Who goes there?” shouted some one in a surly voice. “Answer, or I’ll fire.”

“Don’t do that same, friend,” I replied in as calm a tone as I could command. “I’ve just escaped drowning, and I’ve no fancy to be shot. You haven’t heard, then, that the Mighty Go-ahead has gone down, and to the best of my knowledge every soul has perished, except a boy I picked up, and two or three people I saw floating down the stream, and who may possibly have reached the shore in safety.”

“Not very likely that,” observed another man, with a savage laugh. “The Mississippi isn’t famous for helping people to swim ashore.”

The first speaker now inquired how the accident had happened, and how I had escaped. I told him.

“Then it was daylight when the Mighty Go-ahead went down,” remarked another man. “What have you been doing with yourself ever since, stranger?”

I replied that I had spent part of the night up a tree, till, coming down, I had discovered the canoe in which I had embarked, and was on my way back to New Orleans. By this time I could see the other canoe and the people in her. There were three of them. Their dog, a large bloodhound, and mine continued to exchange fierce barks and growls, in spite of our mutual endeavours to silence them. This was an advantage to me. It gave me time to consider what I should say. I was very anxious, not on my own account, but for the sake of Marcus. Still should it come to a tussle, in which our antagonists might not have the advantage of their firearms, I thought very probably Marcus, Peter, and I might come off victorious, and I felt sure that Ready would give some account of the other dog. It was, however, more than possible, should we begin to fight, that our canoes would be upset, and that we might all be drowned together. I did not wish to show the slightest unwillingness to approach the other canoe, lest I might raise the suspicions of the men in her, so we gradually dropped nearer together. The closer we got, the more furiously did our dogs bark. The other dog seemed scarcely able to keep himself in the canoe, as he ran backwards and forwards in an ungovernable rage. I was in hopes that the men had finished questioning me, and would allow me to proceed. I gave a flourish with my paddle, and had made a stroke with it which sent the canoe ahead, when one of the men cried out—

“You don’t happen to have seen a darkie, as you came along, stranger, have you?”

“Not very likely that I should have seen one in the dark. His colour would not be favourable for that,” I replied, evasively.

“But Sharpfangs smells him, though,” exclaimed one of the other men, with a terrible oath. “Seize him!”

What else was said I scarcely heard. I thought that it was all over with Marcus, and probably with myself. To attempt escaping a conflict seemed hopeless. Marcus did not stir; but I heard the click of a pistol. The other canoe, the bloodhound standing ready for a spring, dashed alongside ours. I had no time for considering how I should act. Still Marcus did not move. As the sides of the two canoes touched, up he rose with his gleaming dagger in his hand. The furious dog flew at him; but he was prepared, and, striking the brute full in the chest, he hurled it from him overboard, and in another instant a bullet from his pistol had gone through the head of one of the men, who fell backward into the stream. Another of the men was lifting his rifle to fire; but the negro, quick as lightning, sprang on board the canoe, and wrenching it from him, he cast it into the water.

On this the man drew a long bowie-knife from his belt; but before he could strike with it, Marcus had seized him by the wrist, and the two closed in a deadly struggle. I had wished not to interfere; but when I saw the other white man draw his knife, evidently with the intention of striking Marcus, I could not resist springing into the canoe, when, grasping his arm, I bore him down to the bottom of it. It is surprising that we did not upset the canoe, which was, however, a large and broad one. Peter, with much forethought, before attempting to come to my assistance, lashed the two canoes together. Ready, however, the instant the man fell, springing into the canoe, seized his left arm, and held him down so tightly that he could make no effectual resistance. He struggled, however, and endeavoured, as we rolled about in the bottom of the canoe, to strike his knife into me. As soon, therefore, as Peter was at liberty, I told him to try and wrench the knife out of the man’s hand. This he did, and then he gave me a piece of rope, which, with his help, I passed rapidly round my antagonist’s wrists, while I kept him down by kneeling on his chest, and very nearly squeezing the breath out of his body.

All this time the canoe was rocking so violently from side to side that I expected every instant to find myself struggling in the water. The same idea probably occurred to my antagonist, and this, as very likely he could not swim, paralysed his efforts more than it did mine. At all events, in a few minutes I found myself the victor, and, leaving Peter and Ready in charge of my conquered foe, I was able to go to the assistance of Marcus, at the other end of the canoe.

The man with whom he was struggling was little less inferior in strength to himself, and, had I not been able to help him, the issue might have been doubtful. By stepping into our canoe I got at the man’s arms, and held them down, while Marcus, still kneeling on his body, lashed them securely together, and prevented him from making any further resistance.

“You’ll not let that damned darkie murder me, stranger?” said the man, in a humbled tone.

“Do you think the scars of your merciless lash have yet disappeared from my shoulders?” said the negro, grinding his teeth. “Can you restore those you tore from me and delivered over to worse than death? Am I to forget the curses, the insults, you have heaped on me?”

He seized the man and shook him, as a savage dog does an animal he has conquered. I dreaded that he was about to throw the overseer—for such I supposed the man to be—into the water.

“Hold, Marcus!” I exclaimed. “I cannot stand by and allow murder to be committed. These men are now in our power, and we may dispose of them as may be necessary for our safety; but we must not take their lives.”

“To kill them will be the only safe way of disposing of them,” he answered, in a hoarse voice. “What else but death can such vermin expect at my hands?”

I was in hopes that he said this to frighten the men, rather than with an intention of murdering them. At the same time I well knew that, even had he not killed their companion, he could expect no mercy at their hands. I remembered, also, that, having participated, as it would be called, in the crime, though my conscience was free from guilt, I should certainly share the consequences. Probably, if caught, we should both of us, and very likely Peter and Ready also, be hung up from the nearest tree. How to dispose of our prisoners was therefore the question. Of course the tempter, ever ready to instigate men to do evil, whispered, “Kill them;” and the cowardice in our hearts added, “It will be the safest course.” But I had been taught some maxims, when I was a boy, which I did not forget. They were, “Do right, whatever comes of it;” “Never do wrong in the hopes of avoiding a possible evil.” Accordingly I entreated Marcus to refrain from injuring the men, and to come into our canoe, and talk the matter over.

Having thrown all the arms overboard, except a rifle which lay loaded at the bottom of the boat, we stepped back into our canoe, followed by Peter and Ready, and paddled away out of earshot of our prisoners. Marcus suggested various plans for their disposal. Although but a few minutes had elapsed since I caught the first glimpse of the other canoe, the dawn had increased so much that we could already see the shore on either hand. Marcus stood up and looked about him.

“I see where we are,” he whispered as he sat down.

“I have a friend who lives not far off. We will blindfold the eyes of the men, and leave them under his charge. He will take good care that they do not escape till we have had time to get out of their reach.”

The plan seemed good; so dropping alongside the canoe, we took the men’s handkerchiefs from their pockets and secured them over their eyes. I observed that Marcus went to the man whose eyes I had bound, and tightened the handkerchief. The man groaned.

“Ah! it is not pleasant, but you might be seeing things you should not, if it slipped,” said the black, between his teeth. “Be silent; we are not going to kill you, as you deserve.”

We now took the smaller canoe in tow, and paddled rapidly on. We had need of haste, for the steamers and other craft might be moving up and down the river, and we might be discovered. We crossed to the opposite or west side of the river, to a spot where a wide stream ran into it. We pulled up a little way, with dark woods on either side of us, till we came to a small island, on which Marcus ran the canoe on shore. Putting his finger to his lips to enjoin silence on Peter and me, he stepped on shore, and disappeared amidst the tangled underwood. I sat watching our captives, and wondering what was to be done with them. One of them was working his head about, evidently with the hopes of loosening the handkerchief. I gave him a touch with the paddle, and Ready, who seemed to consider that he was to keep watch and ward over the vanquished, uttered a fierce growl, which made the man keep perfectly still, though he groaned in his rage and fear. In a short time Marcus returned with a companion, another negro, but very unlike himself. The new-comer was short, and out of all proportion broad; indeed he was a dwarf Hercules, for the appearance of his head and shoulders showed that he possessed immense muscular power. He soon gave proof of his strength, for, looking into the canoe, he stooped down, and lifting one of the men up, he carried him off on his back, with as much ease as if he had been an infant. The man shrieked out with pain, for the cords cut his wrists; but the dwarf only uttered a hoarse peal of laughter and walked on, more than once striking the unfortunate wretch against the trees as he passed. He soon returned for the other, whom he treated in the same way. I observed that Marcus removed everything from the larger canoe into ours. By the time this was done, the dwarf came back again, and, nodding to his companion, lifted the canoe bodily up out of the water, and carried it off on his shoulders among the bushes.

“Come, it is time that we were away,” said Marcus.

Once more we all three resumed our seats in our canoe. Ready took his place in the bow, and away we paddled as before. I could scarcely persuade myself that the fierce tragedy in which I had just taken a part had really occurred. All seemed like some dreadful dream. I said nothing; I could not speak. Marcus was silent. We paddled on out of the river, and into the Mississippi, nearly to the middle of it. There he looked around him, and then dropped the articles he had taken out of the other canoe, one after the other, into the water. The rifle and other heavy things sank; the rest floated down the stream.

“If they are seen, so much the better,” observed Marcus. “It will be supposed that the canoe was upset, and the men were drowned.”

“But surely their lives are safe?” I observed, with some doubt in my tone, for I could not help thinking of the ferocious countenance of the man in whose power we had left them.

“Safe enough, but not agreeable,” he answered. “Ah! if you knew all I have suffered from those men, you would own that I have treated them mildly. I spared their lives for your sake, and partly that I did not wish to have more blood on my hands than I have already; and yet, to effect my purpose, how much deeper may I have to dye them! Every man’s hand is against me, and mine must be against every man. Alas, alas! hard is my lot! Oh! stranger, be thankful to Heaven that you have a white skin and are a free man!”

He spoke in a tone of the bitterest anguish. I tried to console him. Too true, every man’s hand in that country would be against him; not because he had killed a fellow-creature, but because he was attempting to escape from bondage and degradation.

We continued paddling on for some time without speaking, till we came in sight of a collection of log-huts and a landing-place. It was a city, he told me—or at least a city that was to be—with a very fine name—the City of Themistocles, if I recollect rightly.

“I’ll put you on shore there, stranger,” he observed. “There is no one on the quay. They are not early-risers in that place. You can expect no better opportunity of being free of me. There, leap on shore. Say that a negro, in a canoe, took you off an island to which you had swum when the steamer went down, and that after he had landed you here he went on his way. Be wise; say nothing more. The boy understands me?”

Peter nodded.

“Farewell!”

Marcus put out his hand. I shook it warmly. We exchanged no other words. I sprang on shore, followed by Peter and Ready, and the canoe glided away down the stream, and was soon out of sight. We sat down on some logs piled up ready for the steamers, and Ready, conceiving that he had for the present done his duty, coiled himself at my feet, and went to sleep. I was too anxious to do the same, though I leaned back against the logs to rest my weary frame. It must be remembered that, since the steamer went down, the only rest I had enjoyed was while sitting over the fire with Marcus. I had had a fatiguing swim, a run from an alligator, a climb up a tree, to the branches of which I had had to hang on for some hours, a desperate struggle for life, a long paddle, a second fierce conflict, and another paddle, not to speak of the anxiety to which I had all the time been subject. I had not rested long, when Ready started up and uttered a warning bark, and I saw a couple of men lazily sauntering down from the huts towards the quay, and rubbing their eyes as if just awoke out of sleep.

“Well, and where do you come from, stranger?” was the very natural question they put to me, and which I willingly answered by telling them of the loss of the Mighty Go-ahead, and of most, if not all, of her crew and passengers.

“Then that’s the shouts we heard last night,” observed one of the men to the other.

The men, I found, were overseers of some gangs of negroes, a number of whom soon appeared, some loaded with bales of merchandise, and others with logs of wood. They came stumbling along, laughing and chattering in spite of their burdens. Several, however, relaxing in their efforts, when their taskmasters’ whips descended on their shoulders, howled with pain, but they were very speedily again shouting and talking as merrily as before. The overseers were evidently not satisfied with my account of myself. I looked anxiously up the river for the steamer coming down on her passage to New Orleans, but I found that she was not expected for another hour. I would have tried to obtain some refreshment, but I knew that if I went to the huts I should be subjected to more inquiries, so I told my companion that we would wait till we got on board the steamer for breakfast. While waiting, I gathered from the conversation of the overseers that Marcus’s pursuers had actually touched there on their way up, and had left a full description of him. I felt thankful that no one had been about when he put us on shore. As it was, I could not help fancying that the overseers associated us in some way with him.

It was a great relief to my mind when I caught sight of the huge steamer afar off, gliding rapidly along over the bosom of the mighty stream, her white paint glistening in the beams of the morning sun, and contrasting with the dark foliage of the trees which lined the bank. The negroes stood marshalled ready with their loads to rush on board. Her tinkling bell gave notice to the engineers to stop. She came alongside the quay. Peter, Ready, and I sprang into her vast interior, among casks and chests and bales, and soon found our way into the saloon above, and on to the platform abaft, where I hoped Ready would be allowed to remain. Once more the bell tinkled. The huge wheels of the Wondrous Highflier began to revolve, and away she glided down the Mississippi.

Chapter Four.

Arrive at New Orleans, and off to Galveston in Texas—A Hurricane and worse—The Pirate—A Fight for it—We are lost—An unexpected Friend—The black Fins—Marcus has Charge of the Pirates’ Prize, and lands us at Galveston.

The quay was still in sight, and I saw several men rushing along it, waving their hands, and apparently shouting at the top of their voices; but the paddles made too much noise to allow of their being heard, while, as the master and crew of the steamer were looking ahead, they were not seen. I had an idea that they wanted to say something about me, and I was very glad when the Wondrous Highflier had run the City of Themistocles out of sight. We reached New Orleans without any adventure, and I was not sorry to get a shave and to change my clothes, which were not improved by the adventures I had gone through. I took Peter regularly into my service, for, poor fellow, he had no one else on whom to depend, and I thus obtained an attendant on whose fidelity I could perfectly rely.

I had now to consider in which direction I should next bend my steps. It was a question with me whether I should make another attempt to ascend the Mississippi or steer my course to the westward. I was, I found, more knocked up than I had at first supposed, and required some days’ rest. A week or more passed before I again went out. The second or third day after this, I was sauntering along, when I encountered a negro staggering under what seemed a very heavy load. Presently he came directly against me, and as his white eyes rolled round, I heard him say—

“Massa, you Harry Skipwith? Den cut away from here, or you no live to-morrow. You know Marcus. Dat’s ’nough!”

On went the negro, staggering as before under his load, and I soon lost sight of him among the motley crowd of that capital of the South. After all I had heard it would have been madness to have neglected the warning, so on my way to my hotel I inquired at a ship-broker’s if any vessel was ready to sail for Galveston, the chief port of Texas.

“The steamer goes in three days,” was the answer.

“Yes, but I have a fancy to go by a sailing vessel.”

“Oh, if that’s it, there’s a fine brig, the Shaddock, Captain Buckwheat, sails this evening. If you can be ready, I will ask the captain if he can give you a berth.”

I did not wish to appear too eager, so I said I would try to get ready, and, if I succeeded, I would take a passage in the Shaddock.

I had never shrank from danger when I could meet it face to face, but the uncertain character of that which now threatened me made me unusually nervous.

I hurried back to my hotel, and, after packing up my luggage, I ordered some negro porters to convey it down to the wharf where the schooner was lying, telling Peter to accompany them, while Ready and I followed at a distance.

I had a notion that the men whom Marcus and I had encountered on the river had escaped, and in each white man I met I expected to recognise one of them. Of course I knew their features better than they could know mine, for it was still dusk when our struggle took place; but then I had told them that I had escaped from the Mighty Go-ahead. That was a sufficient clue for them to trace me; and that they would attempt to do so, and not rest till they had wreaked a bitter vengeance on my head, I felt very sure.

I was walking leisurely along, when I felt some one brush by. A voice said, “Quick, massa, quick!” It was the same black who had in the morning given me the friendly warning. I hurried on, and reached the Shaddock without interruption.

“You’re just in time; we should have sailed without you, if you hadn’t come,” said Captain Buckwheat, as I stepped on board. “We were all ready ten minutes ago; the wind is fair, and we can’t afford to lose time in this country, whatever’s your fashion in the Old World.”

I heartily agreed with my friend in this instance, and was not sorry to see that the last warp was being cast off, and that the topsails were loosed. I recognised the friendly negro watching the brig at a distance, as she slowly glided out from among the other vessels. Once free of them, aided by the current, we made rapid progress down the river. I could not help frequently looking astern, to ascertain if we were followed; and though I had done nothing of which my conscience accused me, I had a pretty vivid notion of the feelings which must animate a culprit endeavouring to escape from the hands of justice. When clear of the yellow-mouthed Mississippi, the wind fell, and the brig lay rolling on, the glassy yet undulating surface of the ocean. The sun, casting a blood-red hue on the water, was just sinking behind a dark mound of vapour to the west, while in the east vast masses of ensanguined clouds floated slowly across the sky. I had never felt the air so hot and oppressive. Even Ready lay gasping at my feet, looking up inquiringly into my countenance, with his tongue out.

“There’s something coming,” observed the skipper, and he ordered every stitch of canvas to be furled, and the topmasts to be struck. There was indeed something coming. Scarcely was the vessel made snug, than down came the hurricane on us with terrific violence. Away we drove helplessly before it, like a mere straw on the water. Happily it was from the westward, or we should have driven on shore. Away we scudded, out of our course, but that could not be helped. When the hurricane ceased, we found that we had been whisked off some two or three hundred miles nearer Cuba than we were when it began. The wind subsided towards evening, and though the little vessel tumbled about a good deal, we were once more able to make sail. Two days after that, I was awoke soon after daybreak, by a loud exclamation uttered by the captain, who had entered the cabin. I saw him busily employed in stowing away some papers and bags, which he had taken out of a chest, in a hole under his bed-place.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“Matter! why that a pirate is close aboard us, and that the chances are we all have our throats cut before ten minutes are over. That’s something the matter, I guess.”

I agreed with him, and slipping into my clothes, hurried on deck. There, about two hundred yards off, on our quarter, coming fast up with us, was a long, low, black schooner, the very beau-ideal of a pirate. Her decks were crowded with men, all black, and a very villainous-looking crew they appeared to be. At that moment, that we might have no doubt as to her character, up went a black flag at her peak, and a shot from a gun in her bows came whizzing between our masts.

While the black schooner approached, the crew of the Shaddock were employed in making sail, but I saw at a glance that we had not the slightest chance of escaping; still I have always held that while there is life we should never despair, so I lent a hand with all my might at pulling and hauling. Peter followed my example. Ready took the end of the ropes in his mouth and hauled too, but I cannot say that he did much good.

“Will those black chaps aboard there really cut all our throats, as the captain says?” asked Peter, looking up at me. “We’ll stand up and fight them before we give in, I hope, sir!”

“I hope so too, Peter,” I answered. “But our two guns cannot do much against the six or eight they carry, besides that long fellow amidships.”

“Hip, hurrah! there is the captain casting loose our little barkers—we are not to yield without a blow.”

By this time all sail was set—the guns were manned, and the captain now served out arms to all on board.

The pirates, however, on seeing that notwithstanding all our efforts we could not escape them, did not again fire. Our two guns could do very little harm to them till they got nearer. They were run over on the starboard side, on which the schooner was approaching.

“Aim high, lads,” said the captain to his two mates who had charge of them. “Our best chance will be to knock away some of his spars.”

“Ay, aye, sir,” was the answer, given in a cheerful voice, which, at all events, betrayed no fear.

It was satisfactory to feel that we were to have a stroke for life, and yet, as the schooner drew near, and I observed through my glass the villainous-looking, well-armed fellows who crowded her decks, and saw the size of her guns, I felt that we had but little chance of escaping.

“Now, lads, see what you can do,” cried the captain, who was narrowly watching the schooner.

Our two pop-guns gave out their puffs of smoke, and a couple of holes in the enemy’s sails showed that the aim had not been bad, but no other damage was done.

Still the schooner did not fire, but came silently and stealthily gliding on in a way which was much more calculated to try our courage than if her crew had been shouting and gesticulating. It showed that they had perfect confidence in their own power. The mates loaded and fired their guns again. An after mainbrace aboard the schooner was shot away, and it made her head incline a little more towards us.

We were now almost within pistol-shot of each other, when I saw some thirty muskets levelled at us, and the next instant a rattling shower of bullets came whistling round our heads. Several of our poor fellows fell: the rest fired in return, but before the smoke cleared away, with a loud crash the pirate ran us aboard, and fifty fierce-looking desperadoes sprang shouting on our deck.

I had armed myself with a cutlass, resolving to fight to the last, though fully expecting to be cut to pieces. Ready stood barking furiously on one side of me; Peter kept on the other. Captain Buckwheat proved that he was a man, but he was cut down by a pirate’s sword, as was one of the mates close to me, and in less than a minute half our crew lay bleeding on the deck. Our opponents were mostly blacks—though there were brown fellows also—and as they were shouting in English, I concluded that they were either runaway American slaves or vagabond negroes from the West India Islands. Not that I thought much about what they were at the time; indeed, the grinding of the two vessels together, the cries and shrieks of the combatants, the smoke and rattle of firearms, and the fall of spars and blocks from aloft completely bewildered me, besides which all my energies were required for my own defence.

Scarcely an instant after the pirates had reached our decks, I found myself set on by a huge brown fellow, who had led the boarders, and was apparently an officer among them. He was a good swordsman, and had not Ready flown at his legs, and Peter kept poking at him with a boarding-pike, he would soon have put me hors de combat. With their aid I managed to defend myself till several other fellows set upon me, and, overmatched, the big pirate had his sword uplifted to cut me down, when a black man sprang forward and interposed his own weapon between it and my head, shouting at the same time—

“Back, all of you. That man’s life is sacred, and the lad’s too. You’ll own it when I tell you.”

It was a thoroughly melodramatic position. Though he was now dressed as an officer, I instantly recognised in my deliverer, Marcus, the slave, whose life I had assisted to save.

The pirates, who were about to hack me to pieces, now surrounded me with friendly gestures, and I felt that I was safe. When, however, I looked about me, I saw with regret that not a single man of the crew had escaped: a few were gasping out their heart’s blood on deck; the rest were dead. I should by that time have been in the same condition had not Marcus interposed to save me. Ready recognised him immediately, but he snapped and growled at the other blacks as they passed. Poor Peter kept close to my side; though so ready at first to fight, he was unaccustomed to scenes of slaughter, and was terror-stricken with the horrors he had witnessed.

Marcus kept near us, sword in hand, evidently uncertain how the pirates might treat us, and prepared, if necessary, to do battle in our cause. I wished to address him—I scarcely knew how.

“Marcus,” I said at length, “I am grateful to you for saving my life, but I little expected to find you in such company.”

“‘Misfortune introduces us to strange bedfellows’ is an old saying,” he answered. “And most decidedly my misfortunes have given me some roughish companions; but you see I have already gained some influence over them; and of one thing be assured, your life and that of the lad are safe. When I tell them what you have done for me, there is not a man of all this lawless band who would not be ready to die for you. One hideous monster, slavery, has made them all what they are; and when they know how you hate it, they will love you.”

While Marcus was speaking, the pirates were unceremoniously pitching the dead bodies of my shipmates overboard—all of them yet warm—some who had scarcely ceased to breathe. Two or three, though badly wounded, were yet fully capable of comprehending their position. They begged—they entreated for life.

“What are you—Englishmen or Americans?”

Two owned that they were Americans from the Northern States.

“Then overboard with them,” shouted the captain. “We’ll not deprive the sharks of their share of the booty.”

One man declared that he was an Englishman, but a tin case was found on him, containing a certificate of his being a citizen of the United States. I was certain, from some remarks which he had let fall, that the man had run from a British man-of-war. In vain he protested that he hated slavery and the people of the States, that he was a true-born Briton—in vain he shrieked out and entreated for mercy. In spite of his desperate struggles, he was lifted up and thrown among the shoal of black-finned monsters which surrounded the vessel. I cannot dwell longer on these horrors—I would gladly shut them out from my thoughts as I would then have done from my sight.

The schooner’s crew were sufficiently numerous to man the brig more strongly than before; some more guns were sent on board her, that part of her cargo which seemed useless thrown overboard, and the two vessels then made sail together. I was allowed to retain my cabin, and Peter had one awarded him aft, that he might be near me.

Marcus came on board as one of the officers of the prize. I asked him how he came to know enough of nautical affairs to take a command among the pirates.

“I picked up my knowledge on my voyage to England,” he answered. “Besides, a very small amount of knowledge makes me superior to most of my companions. Only two or three know anything of navigation, and that very imperfectly. The captain knows most, and he is jealous of any equal. If he were to be killed, the rest would scarcely find their way into a port; but for that he does not care.”

“But, Marcus,” said I, “how can you, a man capable of better things, endure such a life?”

“I hate it,” he answered bitterly. “Recollect, though, what drove me to it. To escape from the lash and chains, from indignities and insults, what will not a man endure?”

“Will you leave it?” I asked.

“Yes, certainly, if I have the means,” he answered.

“I will afford them if I have the power,” I answered. “Trust to me; think on the subject, but do not allow your comrades to suspect your intentions, nor to observe that we have any secrets between us.”

Marcus walked forward. The two vessels made sail to the westward. A mulatto acted as captain of the brig. He seemed to be a smart seaman, but knew very little of navigation. I now had practical experience of the advantage of never losing an opportunity of gaining knowledge. Whenever I had been at sea I had always endeavoured to pick up as much nautical information as possible, and had learnt to take an observation and to work a day’s work with perfect ease. I therefore offered my services to navigate the brig to any port to which the pirates wished to proceed, intimating that I should prefer being set on shore on the mainland.

“You were bound for Galveston, and we will go there,” said Marcus. “We will put you on shore on the island; and should the truth be suspected, we can be far away before any vessel is sent in pursuit of us.”

Marcus afterwards told me that he arranged with his shipmates to do as I wished. It was wonderful what influence he had in a short time gained over those lawless characters. It was the triumph of mind over brute strength. He had, I learned, however, known several of his present comrades before, and they had spoken in his praise to the rest. Cruel wretches as the pirates had become, they treated me with every consideration, and supplied me with all the luxuries at their command. Light and contrary winds delayed our progress, so that ten days passed before we made the low sandy shore of Galveston Island.

The sky was of intense blue, the ocean, smooth as glass, shone with brilliant lustre, and the sun’s rays darted down on our deck, making the pitch in the seams bubble and hiss, while a line of white sand was the only soil on which I could hope to land—terra-firma it certainly was not.

The atmosphere sparkled with heat—the sand almost blinded me, and I expected to be thoroughly cooked before I reached Galveston. Still my desire to be free of the pirates overcame every other consideration. The two vessels stood in. There was nothing suspicious about the brig, and the schooner was made to look as innocent as possible. How my followers and I were to get on shore was now the question. At length we made out some canoes with Indians in them fishing. We made a signal, and one of them paddled towards us. The people in her held up the fish they had caught and offered them for sale, thinking that was what we wanted. They seemed rather astonished when they saw that Peter and I were the only white people on board. The captain took the fish, paid them liberally, and then told them that they must take some passengers, who wanted to land at Galveston, as he was bound elsewhere. After some bargaining, the Indians agreed to do as we desired.

I took the opportunity, while the captain was bargaining with the Indians, to ask Marcus how he purposed to quit the pirate band.

“If you remain willingly among evil companions, you cannot avoid being responsible for their crimes,” I observed.

“I must bide my time,” he answered. “I have promised you that I will do my best to quit them, and I never break my word.”

I knew that I could trust him. My parting with the pirates was brief. Marcus was the only man on board with whom I could bring myself to shake hands. Scarcely had I and Peter and Ready taken our seats in the narrow canoe, with my very moderate amount of luggage between my knees, than, a breeze springing up, the two vessels stood away from the land. The canoe’s head was put towards the north end of the island on which Galveston stands. Our crew were of a peculiarly unhealthy-looking olive-colour, their faces being covered with wrinkled parchment-like skin. A straw hat and a shirt and belt formed their costume. They understood a little English, but I judged it better not to enter into conversation with them, lest they should ask inconvenient questions; and so almost in silence, except when they exchanged a few remarks with each other in their native tongue, we glided over the sparkling water. At length, when we had rounded the north end of the island, they ran the canoe on to the beach, and told me to get out, as they were going no further. I expostulated, but they said that they had performed their contract, and had their reasons for not going to the town with such suspicious people as we were. Against this I had nothing to say. I thus had practical experience of the inconvenience of having been seen in bad company. Though a reason, it is the lowest for avoiding it. How to get my baggage into the town was a puzzle, till I bethought me of slinging it on a long pole, one end of which Peter carried on his shoulder, and the other I placed under my arm, and thus we began our march towards the town.

Chapter Five.

Off by Steamer to Houston—Ants, and how to avoid them—By Waggon through Forests—Silas Slag, our Kentuckian Driver—I buy Horses and engage an Indian Guide—The Prairie—Two Human Skulls—The Comanches.

The founders of Galveston must have been very fond of sand. It stands on sand, is surrounded by sand, and in high winds almost covered with sand. We could scarcely get along: We sank over our ankles at every step. I heard Peter groan frequently, and poor Ready dragged his weary legs after my heels with his tongue out, till I began to be afraid that he would go mad with the heat. As to fresh water, that seemed an impossibility, and there was nothing cooling in the appearance of the bright shining surface of the surrounding ocean. Still to stop would positively have been death, so on we trudged, I doing my best to keep up the spirits of my two-legged as well as four-legged companion. At last, in no very dignified guise, we entered among the streets of wooden houses, bordered by odoriferous and flowering trees, which compose Galveston. Two white people carrying a load was a sight rarely seen, and when we reached the door of an hotel the clerk and waiters looked at me with so supercilious an air, that I saw it would be necessary to assume an authoritative manner.

“Here, some of you lend a hand,” I exclaimed. “A pretty country this of yours, where a gentleman on landing can find neither porter nor carriage to convey his baggage! All I can hope is that your hotel will make some amends for the inconvenience I have suffered.”

The people, as I knew they would, began to defend their country, to assert that there was not a finer in the world; and then, to prove that their hotel was a good one, gave me one of the best rooms.

Galveston struck me as remarkable for the pungent sting of the mosquitoes, the undrinkable nature of the water, and the number of vociferating negroes, though there were some tolerable buildings and broadish streets. Perhaps I was prejudiced, for, not feeling very comfortable as to my safety, I was anxious to get out of the place again.

Having got a bill cashed at a somewhat high discount, and written home an account of my adventures to Aunt Becky, with a request that my epistle might be sent the round of the family, I put myself, with Peter and Ready, on board a steamer bound for Houston, the capital of Texas. We crossed the straits which separate Galveston from the mainland, and entering the Buffalo River found ourselves between lofty banks, covered in the richest profusion with magnolias and other flowering shrubs, and groves of lofty trees, among which flitted birds of the gayest plumage, while squirrels sported and leaped from branch to branch. Houston is picturesquely situated, and will, I have no doubt, become an important place, as it already shows signs of the enterprise of its Anglo-Saxon inhabitants. I slept there only one night. My room was on the ground floor. I found the four legs of my bed placed in as many basins of water. I inquired the reason, and was informed that it was to prevent the ants, which are not nautically inclined, from getting into it and devouring the inhabitant in his sleep. Peter’s bed, which was in the corner of the room, was similarly guarded, and Ready very wisely jumped up and slept on the foot of it.

The next morning Peter got up to procure water for me for washing, and to perform other duties of a valet; but scarcely had he donned his clothes than I saw him jumping and twisting about, and slapping himself in the most eccentric manner.

“Oh dear! oh dear! I shall be eaten, I shall be eaten!” he exclaimed, slapping himself harder and harder.

Ready barked, not knowing what to make of it, and jumped back on the bed again. Peter set to work to tear off his clothes, which he had placed on a chair, and of which a colony of ants had taken possession. He shook them out by hundreds, and then rushing out, he returned with a broom, with which he cleared the boards. The people of the house were rather astonished at my insisting on having a tub of cold water, which Peter at length brought me, and I managed to dress without being devoured by the ants.

Two hours after this we were rattling away along the corduroy road in a mail waggon, with a Kentuckian driver, through the forests of Texas. It was not altogether a pleasant style of locomotion, for we were bumped about terribly, our vehicle being innocent of springs; but it had the advantage of novelty. We stopped at nights at settlers’ huts, and slept on the roughest of rough beds, and sometimes without any beds at all except the bare boards and our cloaks; but I had made up my mind to grumble at nothing short of being scalped or positively starved. I had brought a saddle with me from England, and had procured another at Galveston for Peter, with the intention of purchasing at the first opportunity horses for riding and for carrying the luggage and tent, and starting away across country. I mentioned my intention to my Kentuckian driver, Silas Slag by name.

“Then I guess, stranger, that you don’t care very much about your scalp,” he observed, with a wink of his eye, as he made a significant gesture round his head.

“Why, who do you suppose would venture to take my scalp?” I asked, thinking that he was quizzing me, and wishing to turn the tables on him. “Don’t you know that if any one injures an Englishman, the British government will hunt him out, in whatever part of the world he may be, and make him pay dearly for his folly?”

“I guess, stranger, that the Comanches, or any other Redskin varmint, care no more for your British government than I do, and that is about as much as that panther there does for your dog.”

As Silas spoke, he pointed to a huge creature, which, half concealed by the tangled underwood of a tropical forest, lay crouching down about twenty yards ahead of us, and apparently prepared to spring out as we passed.

I had turned Ready out to stretch his legs, and he, unconscious of danger, was running on in high glee, abreast of the horses. In another instant he would have been in the jaws of the wild beast. I called to him to come to me, and at the same time lifted my rifle from the bottom of the waggon to be ready to fire. Silas whipped on his horses in the hopes of passing the creature before he could make his spring, but the animals, aware of the approach of an enemy, began to plunge and kick, and drove the waggon against some stumps of trees amid which the road wound, with a force which sent Peter sprawling at the bottom of it, and at the same instant the panther, with a tremendous bound, sprang on one of the leaders. The poor brute struggled so violently, that I was afraid of wounding it instead of killing the panther if I fired. At last I got a fair aim at the wild beast’s head, and to my infinite satisfaction over he rolled dead. The horses stood trembling in every limb, but I was afraid that they would dash on, before we could put the harness to rights, and leave us in the lurch. Once more, however, we were on the road, through a forest composed of oaks, maples, acacias, sycamores, and other trees with which I was familiar, and many others to be found in the tropics alone, interlaced with all sorts of creepers. On either side were a vast variety of flowers of every bright hue, but the most attractive were the red and white blossoms of the cotton trees, which, waving to and fro in the breeze, were dazzling to look at, while humming-birds, butterflies, and insects innumerable made the air appear as if filled with the most gorgeous gems. All this sort of scenery was very interesting, but I was not sorry when we reached the town of Billyville, I think it was called, bordering the prairies, where I was told that I could purchase horses, and find a trustworthy guide for my farther progress.

The name of Billyville was not significant of a very important place, nor had the town any great pretension of any sort, as it consisted of a few rough huts, while the surrounding fields were full of the stumps of the trees which had been cut down. I bought the horses required, and on the evening of my arrival a thin wiry little fellow presented himself, saying that his occupation was that of a hunter, and that he could guide me safely through any part of the North American continent. Whether he considered himself a white man or a Redskin I could not tell, while he spoke English, Spanish, and French with great volubility, though absurd as to correctness, and asserted that there was not an Indian dialect with which he was not acquainted. His garments were of fine tanned leather and ornamented with coloured threads and beads, while a straw hat covered his head. I inquired of Silas Slag if he knew anything of him. He said that he believed that he was honest, and that he had the character of being a very brave fellow and a successful hunter. He was the sort of man I wanted, so I engaged Mr Jack Lion, as he called himself in English, with an Indian to assist in taking care of the horses. An old man and a young one now joined our party, and took our vacated places in the waggon.

We were to accompany the mail another day’s journey before we turned off to the north, where Mr Lion informed me I should find numbers of buffaloes and other large game.

“Well, I shall be sorry to part from you, stranger,” said Silas Slag, as I rode alongside him on my trusty little steed. “I hope you’ll come to no harm, but you’ll just remember that while you’re shooting buffaloes there’ll be people maybe looking out to shoot you. Those Comanches are terrible wild chaps, and you never know where they may turn up.”

We had now entered a most desolate-looking prairie country. We had lost sight of the forest through which we had been travelling, and there appeared before us only one uniform level of dry waving grass. As we rode on, I saw some white objects glittering in the sun ahead. Getting up to them, I found that they were two human skulls and other bones. There they lay grinning at each other. Near one was the barrel and look of a gun. Close to the other was a hatchet and a scalping-knife, and several tips of arrows. A tale was thus told me of how a white man and an Indian had met, and fought, and died on that spot. I had dismounted to examine these miserable relics, speaking of human sin and folly, when Silas cried out—

“Look there, stranger; look there Jack Lion! What do you say to those black spots out there? Are they birds, buffaloes, or Redskins?”

The hunter stood up in his stirrups and took a long steady gaze in the direction Silas pointed, just as a sailor does when he is looking out for an enemy’s cruiser at sea. Suddenly dropping into his saddle, he exclaimed, “Comanches! And they are coming this way.”

“Then they’ll scalp every mother’s son of us,” cried Silas, lashing on his horses.

“Keep together, my men, at all events,” I exclaimed, as my companions began to move on; and away we dashed at a rapid rate.

We had not gone far, however, when, on turning my head, I discovered that we were pursued, and that the strangers were coming up with us. I desired Lion to take another look at them, and to tell me what he thought they were.

“Comanches,” he answered, “Comanches, there’s no doubt about it.”

“Is there any place we can hope to reach where we can defend ourselves better than in the open plain?” I asked.

“None, none that I know of,” was the answer.

“Then let us halt at once, before we have exhausted our strength, and fight it out like men,” said I.

My companions listened to my appeal. Silas stopped his horses, and unharnessing them, placed them at one end of the waggon, while we secured our steeds at the other end. A few boxes and bales which the waggon contained, with some stout poles ready in case of necessity to repair it, were tumbled out, and with them we formed a very imperfect barricade for our defence. Scarcely were our fortifications finished than the hoarse voices of the Indians uttering their war-whoops were borne down to our ears on the breeze. They approached. There could be no doubt about their intentions. They were in their war-paint. Brandishing their gaily ornamented spears with horrible shrieks, which I own, in spite of my resolution, made me feel very uncomfortable, on they came on their mustangs at full tilt towards us. We cocked our rifles and stood ready to receive them, resolving if they wanted our scalps to make them pay dearly before they got them.

Chapter Six.

On they come—Order of Battle—Numbers prevail—Ready and Peter save my Scalp—Unlooked-for Aid—Our Wounds are dressed—Shelter on the Verge of Civilisation.

The two skulls were still in view, as the shrieks of the Comanches grew louder and louder, and the sight of these mouldering relics determined our party to conquer or to perish in the attempt. On came the Comanches, their mustangs at full gallop, and their gay trappings fluttering in the breeze. Their object was, apparently, to alarm and unnerve us before they approached. I looked round at the countenances of my companions, to judge how far I could depend on them. Ready was the most pugnacious, as he stood up with his front paws on a chest, growling and snarling. There was a dogged resolution in Peter’s face, which satisfied me that he would fight to the death; while Silas Slag and Senior Jack Lion were sufficiently cool and determined to make me feel I could depend on them. The other men looked as if they wished that they were anywhere else, but at the same time would stand to their colours if their comrades did.

“Now, lads, reserve your fire till I give the word,” I exclaimed. “Let each of you select his man. Fire one after the other, not all together on any account, and it will be hard if each of us don’t hit his man. Load again as fast as you can, and be ready for the rest who may venture to come on.”

What I said encouraged my companions, and the plan which had at that moment suggested itself to me gave me a confidence I had not before felt.

“Now, all steady,” I cried. “You, Silas Slag, will fire first, Jack Lion next, I will take the third and fourth shots with my double-barrel. Peter, you follow me, Sam Noakes next, and, Paul, don’t fire till your father has shot his man.”

The Indians had got within fifty yards of us, imagining that they would make us on easy prey. I gave the word. Silas looked calmly along his rifle. He fired, and as the smoke cleared away, an Indian was seen to fall from his horse. Jack Lion’s trigger was pulled an instant afterwards, with the same success. I felt terribly cool; not at all as if I was about to take the life of one or more human beings. I have been far more flurried when a pheasant has got up close under my nose. Two of our enemies had fallen. I fired both my barrels, and two more mustangs were galloping away without riders. Still the Indians came on. Peter showed that my instructions had not been thrown away on him. He fired with steadiness, and though the Indian at whom he aimed still sat his horse, the lance he held fell from his hand. One of our party missed altogether, but the rest hit, if they did not kill, the Indians they had picked out. Silas, Lion, and I had our pieces reloaded before our enemies were upon us. With terrific shrieks they came close up to us, when we each knocked over another of the yelping band. This was more than they expected, and having endeavoured in vain to leap their steeds over the barricade which protected us, they wheeled round and galloped off to a distance.

Our party shouted with satisfaction, but we soon perceived that our foes had not retreated. After hovering about for some time, and apparently consulting together, they again formed a dense body and advanced at full speed towards us. Hoping that the same plan we had before adopted would succeed, we were waiting to fire, when the horsemen, separating, swept round to the right and left with the evident intention of taking us in the rear. Though there was no barricade on that side, we had the waggon to protect us; but then our horses were exposed, and might either be killed or carried off.

“We are in a fix, I guess,” exclaimed Silas Slag; “but never say die, lads; I have been in a worse one than this, and am still alive.” This address infused new courage into the rest of the men.

The Indians, finding that our small band was far more formidable than they expected, had become very wary, and kept hovering around on every side, just beyond reach of our rifles. Bound and round they swept, making various feints, for the purpose of wearing out our courage, I suppose. This, however, gave us time to make further preparations for their reception.

By cutting some holes in the awning of the waggon, and replacing a few chests and bags on one side of it, we turned it into a little fortress, likely to prove of service against enemies on horseback, armed only with spears and bows and arrows. Our chief cause for fear was, that some of them might dismount, when they would be much more formidable at close quarters. They did not, however, seem inclined to attempt such a proceeding. Now with loud shrieks they advanced, and then wheeling round, off they went as if in fall flight, but in another moment they were again advancing towards us with threatening gestures. I thought they would turn, but no; on they came from each quarter of the compass, shouting, shrieking, and flourishing their spears. The next instant a flight of arrows came flying among us, compelling us to sink down under our barricade to avoid them. This was no easy matter. One grazed my shoulder, and another went through Peter’s hat, and for a moment I thought he was wounded.

“Fire, lads!” I shouted, “steady as before.” I, with two of the men, sprang into the waggon to receive our enemies, and as they approached, we fired in quick succession; but, very naturally, our aim was not so steady as before, and still on they came, shrieking terrifically.

As the Indians got within thirty paces of us, without stopping the speed of their mustangs, they for an instant dropped their lances, and grasping their bows, let fly another shower of arrows. Then on they came more rapidly than before. I did not look round to see who was struck. I felt a sharp pang in my side where an arrow was quivering. I trusted that it was not poisoned; it had come through the tilt of the waggon. I had no time to draw it out, for the point of a red warrior’s spear was close to me. I had fired one barrel, but I had the second loaded. I pulled the trigger. The Indian sprang forward, the spear passed on one side, and he fell dead at my feet, while his horse, turning aside, galloped off.

Our men had all fired, and three Indians lay dead in front of us. But though the front rank had wheeled round, the rest were coming on with furious gestures of vengeance. Our little band was also sadly diminished.

For an instant, not hearing Silas Slag’s voice, I turned my head. He lay writhing on the ground, with an arrow through his breast, which he was in vain attempting to drag out, while another man, though he still stood at his post, seemed badly wounded with a spear-thrust in his neck. The pain in my side was increasing so much, that I every instant expected to drop fainting to the ground.

I got out of the waggon, for in a hand-to-hand encounter I could fight longest in an open space. I knew that it would be destruction to yield, so I instantly began reloading my rifle, while I shouted to my companions to struggle to the last. They were doing their best to keep the Indians at bay while I reloaded. Again I fired; my aim was unsteady; and I killed the horse instead of the rider. The animal fell directly in front of me, and served as a barricade, but the Indian, disengaging himself, drew his scalping-knife from his girdle and sprang towards me.

Weak, and suffering intense pain, I could do little to help myself, and thought that my last moments had come when, just as the Redskin was about to plunge his weapon in my breast, Ready, who had been watching by my side, with a fierce growl flew at his throat, and compelled him to turn the intended blow on one side, and the next moment the butt of Peter’s musket came crashing down on his head and stunned him. The rest of the party, still able to stand up, were engaged in single combat with the more daring of our adversaries, while other Indians were flocking round, either thrusting at us with their spears, or with arrows in the string, standing ready to shoot as opportunity might offer.

Now, indeed, I had lost all hope of escaping. More Indians were galloping up, when, through a gap in their ranks, as I stood with one foot on the dead horse, I caught sight in the distance of another body of horsemen moving at full speed across the prairie.

Had I till now entertained even the slightest hopes of resisting our foes, this circumstance made me feel that such hopes were vain; still “the never-say-die principle” made me resolve to fight to the last, and my companions, I saw, were resolved to do the same.

We were, indeed, in a desperate plight. One man was killed outright, Silas appeared to be mortally wounded, and I expected every instant to drop. I heard the Indians shouting to each other—I thought probably to make short work of us. Suddenly they wheeled round and galloped off, as I concluded, to wait till they were joined by the fresh band we saw approaching, when they would again come on and crush us at once. Again I loaded and fired, but it was a last effort; overcome with pain and loss of blood, I fell fainting behind the dead horse, which had served as a barricade.

In vain I tried to rise. I heard the men about me shouting and firing; then there was a loud tramping of horses; the shouts grew louder. In another instant I expected to feel my scalp whipped off my head. In that moment I lived an age. I should have been glad to have lost all consciousness. Had I been able to fight bravely, even against odds so fearful, I should have been content; but to lie helpless at the mercy of savages was terrible. I had heard of the tortures they were wont to inflict on their captives, and I expected to have to endure some such ordeal to try my courage.

On came the horsemen. Voices struck my ear, but they were familiar sounds. The words were mostly English. I opened my eyes. They fell not on Redskin savages, but on a party of white men, well aimed with rifles and pistols, and broadswords or cutlasses.

“On after the varmint!” shouted one, who seemed to be the leader. “Some of you lads stay by these people. Doctor, there’s work for you, I guess.”

While most of the horsemen, to the number of fifty at least, galloped after the flying Indians, some few dismounted and came within our camp.

“Why, lads, you seem to be in a bad way,” observed one of them.

“I guess if you hadn’t come, we shouldn’t have had a scalp on the top of our heads,” was the answer. “There’s the captain dead, and Silas Slag, the next best man, no better off; for, if he isn’t dead, he’ll be before many minutes are over.”

“We’ll see,” said a stranger, whom I guessed to be a surgeon, approaching the spot where poor Silas lay groaning with agony. “Take your hands off the arrow, boy. You’ll not get it out that way. Many a man has lived with a worse wound than that through him. Here, some of you, lend a hand.”

I just lifted myself on my side, and saw the young surgeon engaged with his instrument in cutting out the arrow from Silas’s body. The poor fellow groaned, but did his utmost to refrain from giving fall expression to the agony he was undergoing.

“It will be my turn next,” I thought to myself. “I must nerve myself for the suffering I must endure.”

I waited till the wounds of all the men had been attended to.

“There’s the dead captain on the other side,” said one. I had been dubbed captain by my companions.

The surgeon came up to me.

“I’m not quite dead yet,” I murmured. “Just pull this ugly stick out of me, and I hope to do well.”

“No fear of that, captain,” said the stranger. “Here, lads, some of you hold him down. It’s an unpleasant operation, but it’s necessary.”

The surgeon was skilful, but I own that my nerves got such a twinge that I would rather not dwell on the subject.

Our new friends now set to work to get us into marching order. One of our party had been killed, and another wounded, besides Silas Slag, who was in a very precarious condition, and I was very considerably hurt. The Indians had carried off four of our horses, but as six of their number lay dead on the field, and others were badly wounded, they had paid dearly for their success. Fortunately none of the waggon horses were missing. They were harnessed, and we began to move. Silas Slag and another man who had been hurt were placed in the waggon with me. Some spirits was poured down my throat, and after a time I recovered sufficiently to ask questions. I found that the horsemen who had arrived so opportunely to our rescue were in search of the very band of Comanches that had attacked us. Those predatory Redskins had attacked a party of Texians travelling across the prairie, and were said to have killed all the men, and to have carried off a white girl as prisoner. She was the daughter of one of the murdered men, an old officer of the United States army, and, I was told, was possessed of great personal attractions.

On hearing this, all the romance in my composition was instantly aroused. I regretted my wound more because it kept me a prisoner than on any other account, and longed to be in the saddle and in pursuit of the savages to aid in rescuing the poor girl. We were on our way back to the settlement to which she belonged, but of those who had come to our rescue, the doctor and the greater number were pushing forward after their companions. They had vowed vengeance on the marauders, and were likely to execute it in a terrible manner if they succeeded in overtaking them.

It was dark before we reached the nearest shelter. It was a farm-house on the very verge of civilisation, surrounded with stockades to guard against a sudden attack of Indians. The inhabitants, who were of German descent, though speaking English, received us with kind expressions, and had Silas and me and the other wounded man carried into their largest sleeping-room, where beds were placed for us, into which we were put at once. The mistress of the house then came with ointments, and with the greatest tenderness dressed our wounds, and afterwards brought us some light and nourishing food, of which we stood in great need.

“I can feel for you, stranger,” she remarked to me, as she sat watching like a mother by my bedside. “I had a son wounded by the Redskins many years ago. He came home, poor boy, to die. The young girl, too, carried off by the savages, is a relation. I tremble to think what her fate may be. All the men of our family, even my husband, old as he is, and my sons and grandsons, are gone in pursuit of the enemy. Altogether there are twenty of them from this farm alone. Ah me! I shall rejoice when they come book. It is anxious work waiting for them. I have lost in my time so many kindred and acquaintance through the treachery of these Redskins, that I always dread what may happen.”

I did my best to comfort the kind old lady, and told her that as our small party had been able to keep them so long at bay, there could be little doubt that a well-armed band, such as her friends formed, would have little difficulty in conquering them.

The night, however, passed away, and nothing was heard of the party. Neither the following day were any tidings received. The anxiety of the poor women, of whom there were a considerable number in and about the farm, became very great. People from various other locations also came crowding in, chiefly women, whose husbands and sons had gone on the expedition, to make inquiries. Some, indeed, began to express their fears that the party had fallen into an ambush and been cut off. Such things had occurred before. I was already better, and only wanted strength. I offered, if men could be found, to head a party to go out in search of the missing band.

“They will be here by nightfall,” said the old lady, trying to comfort herself.

I felt, from the remarks I had heard made, considerable doubt about this, and could not help fearing that some catastrophe had occurred. Two whole days passed away, and still there was no tidings of the missing ones.

Chapter Seven.

Our Deliverers pursue the Comanches, but fail to return—I am Convalescent and head a Party in Search—There is a Lady in the Case—Stores for Camp—Tony Flack’s Tale of the “Injuns.”

Day after day passed away, and no tidings of the expedition. Under the care of my kind hostess I quickly recovered from the effects of my wound, from which I suffered wonderfully little, and I began to hope that in another day or two I might be fit to mount a horse, and set off to the assistance of the settlers. While I lay on my bed I had plenty of time for thinking. Among other things, I began to regret that I had been turned aside from my original purpose of ascending the Mississippi. I never like to be thwarted in anything I undertake, and on this occasion I felt that I had allowed fear to influence me. I thought this so unworthy of me that, “so soon as I have brought my present adventure to a conclusion,” I said to myself, “I will go back and steam up the mighty river; and any slave-owner or slave-dealer who dares to stop me shall pay dear for his temerity.” I told Peter and Ready of my determination. The latter wagged his tail and seemed highly pleased, though I suspect he thought I was speaking of going home. The former said that he was willing to go wherever I wished, and, if needs be, would fight by my side as long as he could stand up.

“I know you would, Peter,” said I. “Indeed we shall probably have something to try your courage before then.”

I was right in this conjecture. The party which had gone in pursuit of the Comanches did not return, and their friends becoming anxious about them, began to assemble from all directions on horseback, and well-armed. By this time I was able to leave my room, and when they heard that an Englishman was ready to take the command of the party, they all expressed a wish to have me at their head, and to set out immediately. Weak as I was I determined to go. My kind hostess showered blessings on my head when I told her so. I could only reply that I should better merit them if I returned successful.

We were to set off the next morning. Another night’s rest would increase my strength, or might perhaps see the return of the former expedition. I went to see. Silas Slag before starting.

“Well, you Britishers can sometimes put the best leg foremost, I see,” he observed as he took my hand, and pressed it with a warmth I did not expect. “You ain’t far behind us free and independent Americans, I guess. I wish I could go with you; and so I would, if it wasn’t for the big hole which that Comanche made between my ribs. I’d like to go for your sake, and to help to find the young gal those varmint have carried off.”

I thanked Silas heartily for his friendly feelings, and assured him that I shouldn’t wish to have a better man by my side. In truth, I have seldom found Americans wanting in bravery or generosity.

Daybreak found me in the saddle, surrounded by fifty well-armed men; young and old, white, brown, and black; with Peter mounted on a raw-boned steed at my side, and Ready—looking as if he well knew what was in the wind—at my heels. My army was somewhat variously armed: some had muskets, others rifles, others blunderbusses, and others only spears and pistols; while the swords were of all shapes, from Spanish Toledos, to English cutlasses and broadswords. The costumes of my followers were of the same diversified character, as were the accoutrements of the horses and the steeds themselves, but as the men mostly looked ready for work I was satisfied. We had secured a half-caste Indian for a guide, whose parents had been killed and scalped by the Comanches; so he was anxious that we should fall in with them. I must own that I chiefly thought about the young woman who had been carried off, and I hoped that no disaster might have happened to the brave men who had preserved my life and that of my companions at the moment we were almost overpowered. Each of us carried his provisions and cooking utensils at his saddle-bow, as well as a cloak or blanket in which to sleep at night. Every man had his axe in his belt, and a long knife for cutting grass, so that we were provided for a campaign even should it take a month or more.

We pushed on as fast as we could move, making, through the open prairie, full thirty miles each day. We thus travelled a hundred miles; but still there was no sign of our friends or the Comanches. Our guides assured us that the former must be ahead, but, as to the Indians, it was impossible to say where they were. Any moment they might appear on our flanks or rear, and, unless we were well prepared, overwhelm us by their numbers. We, of course, kept a careful watch at night, and sent out scouts as we advanced.

We were soon completely in the desert, and might at any moment be attacked by our enemies. Had our animals been capable of pushing on without stopping, I believe that we should have done so, from the intense eagerness all felt to ascertain what had become of their friends; but my companions were too practical to attempt this. They well knew that “the more haste the less speed.” We therefore camped regularly, and only travelled at stated hours, as if we were in no way in a hurry. This somewhat slow progress was very trying to my temper, although, had we attempted to go faster, we should have knocked up our steeds, and been unable to progress at all.

The time, however, spent while camping, was not occupied unpleasantly. Most of the party had led wild, roving lives, had followed various vocations, and gone through strange adventures, which they were not prevented by bashfulness from recounting. They were not in a mood to sing, but one after the other narrated the most wonderful events, in which, as a rule, they were the chief actors,—grizzly bears, panthers, buffaloes, and rattlesnakes being part of the dramatis persona.

We had several articles of food which were new to me, all as little bulky as possible, and qualified to keep a long time. We had some dried meat, procured from the Mexicans. They prepare it by cutting the meat while fresh into long strips, when it is hung on a line to dry in the sun and wind until it becomes thoroughly hardened. Sometimes it is smoked and dried, with a slow fire underneath, as are dry fish in England. It will, when prepared in either of these ways, keep for a long time. We had another article of food called Penole, which is made by parching Indian corn, then grinding it, and mixing it with cinnamon and sugar. A third, called Atole, is also worthy of mention. It is a kind of meat which, when prepared in a peculiar way, appears and tastes very like what the Americans call Mush. Mush, again, is simply maize, or Indian corn, boiled in water. Penole is especially valuable for travellers, as it requires no fire to cook it, being prepared in a minute by simply mixing it with cold water. In proportion to its weight it occupies very little space, but when prepared for use, swells to twice its former bulk. A very small quantity at a time is therefore sufficient to satisfy hunger. We had, besides, coffee and brown sugar as our chief beverage. I mention these things to show that some forethought had been exercised before starting.

As I said, we were attired in a variety of costumes, but the most common dress was a check or “hickory” shirt, buck-skin pants, a fringed hunting-shirt of the same material, gaily lined with red flannel, and ornamented with brass buttons. A coarse broad-brimmed straw hat covered the head, while the feet and legs were cased in strong cow-hide boots, reaching to the knee. Each man carried at his saddle-bow a porous leathern water-bottle. When hung up in the sun just enough of the liquid exuded deliciously to cool the rest, and in that climate this was a great luxury.

Our progress was in part directed by the places at which water could be procured. Before nightfall we prepared to camp. We first turned our horses out to feed, but as soon as it grew dark they were brought in and picketed in the centre, while we, with our saddles as pillows, lay down in the form of a square outside them, eight or ten men on each side, while the rest watched as scouts in advance. Thus several nights passed away. Our chief apprehension arose from the possibility that the Comanches, discovering our camp, might make an attack during the night on it with overwhelming numbers, and ride over us before we were prepared to receive them.

An old hunter who accompanied us gave me a vivid description of such a scene, when he was one of the few of his party who had escaped. He went by the name of Tony Flack. He was a gaunt, parchment-skinned, wizened individual, with a most lachrymose expression of countenance, which, however, did not exhibit his real character, for he was rather a merry fellow at bottom, but his jollity took some time in appearing. As a Yankee remarked, “I guess he takes a long time to pump it up.” He, in fact, did not begin to laugh till the subject of the conversation had been changed.

“I guess that was an awful time,” he began. “We’d just got into the big sandy desert, not far off from here; there was fifty of us at least, and we were all a-lying down, having no more fear of Injuns than of so many heffers, when there was a whirl and a rush just as if the Falls of Niagara and St. Anthony was running a race.

“‘It’s a stampede!’ shouted one. I looked up. There I saw in the moonlight a thousand warriors, their white shields and spears glistening in the moonbeams, as they galloped right down upon us. Some of our men sprang to their feet, and attempted to defend themselves; but the savages darted on and cut them down, and ran them through in a moment. I was so much astonished that I rolled over with my saddle above my head, and this, I guess, saved my scalp, for most of my companions lost theirs. I thought the mass of warriors would never have done passing. Not one of their horses touched my body, but the loud trampling continued, and the shrieks and cries of my companions rang in my ears as the spears of our assailants went through them, or they were trampled on by their mustangs. At last the noise of the tramping ceased, though I could hear the shouts of the Indians in the distance as they drove off our horses. I knew their ways, and that some of them would certainly return before long to take our scalps. I lifted my head up from under my saddle, and seeing no one moving, I crept away towards some rocks which I had observed before night closed in at a little distance from the camp. I was afraid of speaking, lest any Indians might have remained near—indeed, I thought that all my companions were killed. On I crept, scarcely daring to lift my head above the ground, lest I should be seen. I endeavoured also not to move a stone, or a bush, for fear of being heard. More than once I stopped to listen, fancying that some one was approaching. I did, however, reach the rock, and scarcely had I got behind it, than I again heard the trampling of horses, and then once more arose the fearful shrieks of some of my companions who had remained alive, and whom the savages had now returned to scalp. I wasn’t much given to fainting, even in those days, but I nearly lost my senses as I heard the dreadful cries of my friends, and thought how narrowly I had escaped from the same fate, and that even now it might overtake me. I dared scarcely to breathe till I heard the Indians once more retreating. At daylight I crept out cautiously from my shelter; no one was moving. I advanced towards our camp. I have seen many dreadful sights, but never one more horrid than I then gazed upon. There lay the bodies of my companions; the heads of all of them had been robbed of their hair scalps, while the ground was stained with blood from their wounds. Most of the arms and property had been carried off, but there was food enough and to spare. I loaded myself with as much as I could carry, and, to my great satisfaction, I found a rifle with ammunition, which had been dropped. I must now, I concluded, find my way back to the States as best I could. I had begun my march eastward, when I heard a foot-fall. I started, expecting to see a scalping-knife whirling over my head. My heart leaped with joy when I saw one of my friends. He, like me, had escaped and hid himself before the return of the Indians. We trudged on together across the desert, often thinking that we should never get back to our friends; but we succeeded at last. For some months I fancied that I should never again set my face to go westward, but in time I got tired of a quiet life, and have lived out in these parts pretty well ever since.”

Just as the speaker ceased a cloud of dust was seen in the distance, and out of it emerged our scouts galloping at headlong speed.

Chapter Eight.

Our Friends besieged—We surprise the Comanches—Our Victory, and our Friends relieved—What they had suffered—The young Girl restored to her Home.

“Forward!” was the word, and our whole troop galloped on, eager for the information the scouts could give us. We pulled up as they drew near. At first all we could make out were the words, “The Comanches are there; on, on! our friends are well-nigh done for.” I ordered a halt, that we might hear more exactly the information they had obtained, and have time to form a plan, of operation with calmness and judgment. They had found themselves, from indubitable signs, in the presence of a numerous band of Indians. Soon the sound of firing reached their ears. Two of them, leaving their horses with the rest, crept forward on foot, till they caught sight of a rocky mound partly covered with trees. The Indians surrounded this mound, and on the top of it some sort of fortification had been thrown up, which they had no doubt was held by our missing friends. From the slow way, however, in which they were firing, it was very evident that their ammunition was almost exhausted, and that in a short time longer their fate would be sealed. The Indians seemed aware of this, for, though completely besetting the hill, they kept close under shelter at a distance, only showing themselves when they had to advance to get a shot at the besieged. One thing was certain—there was not a moment to be lost; for, even while we were advancing, the savages might make one of their fierce onslaughts, and destroy our friends. Still, the very greatest caution was necessary. The enemy far outnumbered us, and were brave and wary. It was advisable, if possible, to take them by surprise, an undertaking of no ordinary difficulty, as Tony Flack observed, in his peculiar way, when I proposed it: “Cap’n, did you ever catch a weasel asleep? No, I guess; then you’ll not catch these here red-skinned varmints, when they know an enemy’s not far off.”

However, there was nothing like trying. I first ascertained from our guides and the scouts the line of country which afforded most shelter, and then directed them to lead us along it. Though speed was important, concealment, till we could make a rush at the Indians, was still more so; and I therefore ordered, as we got nearer, all the men to dismount, and to lead their horses, one following another, in single file, so that there would be less risk of our being perceived. I threw out scouts at the same time, that we might not ourselves be surprised. As we advanced, we listened anxiously for the sound of firing, to assure us that our friends were still holding out. Not hearing any shots, I was considering whether we ought not to mount and dash on all risks, when one of my companions assured me that there was no hurry, that the Indians were too wary to attack the fort till long after our friends had ceased firing, and that very likely they would attempt to starve them out. Thus reassured, we cautiously continued our progress as before. Our well-trained hones seemed to understand the necessity for silence, and, it appeared to me, trod as cautiously as any of the party. At last, emerging from a valley, the report of a musket-shot reached our ears; another and another followed; they sounded louder and louder; we knew that at all events our friends were still holding out, and, what was of infinite consequence, that the Indians would be so engaged in front, that they would probably not discover our approach in their rear. But a thin belt of wood intervened between us and the enemy. I called a halt. Every man looked to the priming of his rifle and pistols, and felt that his sword drew easily from the scabbard. At a word they sprang into their saddles. Still I was unwilling to order a charge till we had got so close that we could not fail to be discovered. Ready, indeed, very nearly betrayed us, by barking at an Indian dog which strayed up to us, and I had to call him off, to prevent a combat, but not without difficulty, as he seemed highly delighted at having found an antagonist worthy of his prowess. We now pushed steadily on; not a shot was fired from the fort. We guessed, and rightly, that our friends’ powder was expended. The Indians redoubled their fire, and with terrific yells were pushing on in dense masses towards the fort.

“They have calculated to a nicety the quantity of ammunition used, and they know that it is all expended,” observed the person who rode next me. The Indians were, apparently, not much better supplied with powder and shot. We could see our friends springing to the ramparts to receive the savages, who were rushing up the hill-side in overwhelming numbers, intent on taking the scalps of those who had so long resisted their attacks. In a few minutes more, there could be little doubt that none of our friends would have been left alive. We had reached the very edge of the wood, and as we were full in view of the savages, we should have been perceived by them, had they not been so intent on the attack as not to turn their heads towards us. Our friends might have seen us, but they took us, we guessed, for a fresh body of their foes. The time was come agreeably to undeceive them. Forming my party by signs in close ranks, I led them slowly on, so as to get still nearer, if possible, before we commenced our charge. The frightful yells of the savages prevented their usually quick ears from detecting the footfall of our horses. I looked round at my men. Their knees were pressed tight to their saddles; their teeth were firm set; their heads, with their eyes wide open, were bent forward: their hands grasped their swords. Already, in anticipation, the onslaught had commenced. There was no necessity for longer holding them in. I shook my reins, and waved my sword. We should be among the foe while our horses were fresh and vigorous. On we dashed. We could no longer restrain from giving way to a loud shout. The Redskins heard it and turned their heads. Our friends heard it too, and, recognising us, returned it with a will; but their voices sounded weak and faint. The Indians who were climbing the hill sprang down to join their companions, who hurried together in a mass to oppose us; but they seemed to be a mob without a leader, and, unaccustomed to fight except on horseback, they were utterly unprepared to withstand a charge of horsemen. We galloped towards them on their front; our friends rushing down from the hill, attacked them furiously in flank. In another instant we were upon them. The front ranks stood bravely, and seizing our horses’ reins, endeavoured to grapple with us; but we shook them off, and cut them down, and went on riding through and through them, till the greater number fled on every side. Some fought to the last, trying to wound us and our horses; with most of these our friends on foot settled; we disposed of the rest, and then galloped on in pursuit of the flying multitude. I shouted to my men to keep together, for I caught sight of a group of horses, held by Indians, in the distance; and I knew that if we could capture them, we should have little difficulty in overtaking the men on foot. Unfortunately several of my party, unaccustomed to discipline, had scattered on either side in pursuit of the flying foe. Some of the Indians had turned to bay, and were fighting furiously with them, and more than one man was wounded or unhorsed by the savages. In the meantime, the Indians who held the horses seeing us coming, mounted and galloped off at full speed, the whole stud following them at a rate which precluded all hopes of their being overtaken.

Our victory was complete, but an important object would be lost unless we could make prisoners of some chiefs or leading men, whom we might hold as hostages for the delivery of the people who had been first carried off. We were by this time at some distance from the hill, at the foot of which our friends were assembled. I shouted to all my followers, who were considerably scattered, to assemble round me, and directed them, having fixed on three or four of the fugitives, who by their costume we supposed might be chiefs, to ride after them and to take them prisoners. All were, however, by this time at a considerable distance. Three of the Indians we pursued managed to catch some of the horses galloping round, and leaping on their backs were soon out of sight. One tall chief alone, who seemed to be wounded, did not attempt to fly, but leaning on his spear calmly awaited our coming. I was in great hopes of taking him without resistance, but as we got close up to him he sprang forward in a defensive attitude, thrusting his spear at us, and evidently resolved to fight to the last. He had already wounded one of our men and two of our horses, when a Spaniard, whom he was attacking, drew his pistol and fired at him. With a ferocious grin on his countenance he sprang into the air, and fell forward on his face, dead.

We now rode back to join our friends, anxious to hear an account of their adventures. The field was strewed on every side with dead bodies of Indians. We had killed nearly thirty, while two of our own men had fallen and four had been wounded. On reaching the hill we were warmly greeted by our friends, whose haggard looks told the sufferings they had endured, even before they had time to describe them. They had, it appeared, day after day, perseveringly pursued the enemy, whose traces they were on, but with whom they could not manage to come up. At length they got within four or five miles of them, and began to entertain hopes of surprising their camp. Preparations were made, and they were actually advancing to the attack when the scouts brought in word that the Indians had disappeared. They were now well into the Indian territory, and it was necessary to advance with the greatest caution. They were in the neighbourhood of the hill where we found them, when the scouts brought word that, at a short distance off, there was a large camp of Indians containing a number of warriors, quite capable of overwhelming them. It might have been wiser to retreat, but instead of doing that they at once rode up to the top of the hill, and began throwing up fortifications from such materials as were at hand. While some were thus employed, others remained in the plain to cut forage for their horses. They themselves had but food sufficient, on reduced rations, for a week or ten days. Their scouts meantime were watching the camp of the enemy, in case any opportunity might occur for rescuing the prisoners. They soon ascertained that their hopes on this score were vain, for preparations were seen to be making for the usual mode by which the Indians torture and then execute their prisoners. Two unfortunate men were thus destroyed the next day, and on the following two more were killed. It was proposed by some of the more daring of the party to attack the camp at this period, and I think that the attempt might have been successful, but the counsels of the timid prevailed. The consequence was that two of their scouts were caught and scalped, and they found themselves closely beset by the enemy. In this condition they had remained day after day, surrounded by such overwhelming numbers that they had no hopes of cutting their way out. The forage collected for the horses was soon consumed, and, one after the other, most of the animals died. They soon, too, had to kill more for the sake of supplying themselves with food. They had now no means of escaping, and they had made up their minds to fight to the last, and to sell their lives dearly unless relieved. Several of their number had fallen, but fewer than might have been expected.

Attacked day and night, their provisions entirely expended, with the exception of a little putrid horse-flesh, our friends were on the point of rushing out against the enemy to perish in the fight, when we were seen charging down on the enemy. Never did succour more opportunely reach a hard-pressed garrison. What was next to be done was now the question. A number of the Indian horses were still scampering about, and fortunately the greater portion were captured. We were thus able to mount all the heavier men of the party, while the stronger horses were made to carry two men each. As the day was drawing to a close before all our arrangements were made, we resolved to camp on the hill, where we could defend ourselves, rather than risk a march at night, when we might be attacked to disadvantage. Having lighted our fires, attended to our wounded, cooked our provisions, and made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow, we sent our scouts as usual to give notice of the approach of an enemy. Though the Indians had been signally defeated, they still mustered we knew in the neighbourhood in numbers so overwhelming, that we could scarcely expect they would not make another attack on us. I felt the responsibilities of my office, and could not rest, in spite of the fatigue I had gone through, more than a few minutes at a time. I rose several times during the night, and, accompanied by Ready, climbed to the top of a rock on the brow of a hill, whence I could look out on the wide extent of open country, which, with the exception of small spaces covered by woods, stretched around. Not a sound, however, was to be heard: there was not a sign, that I could discover, of a foe near us. I regretted that our expedition had not proved more successful. We had relieved our friends and gained a victory, but another important object was not attained. We had not recovered any prisoners, and the poor young girl, in whose fate I had become interested, was still a captive in the hands of the savages. Again I awoke and went to the rock. A few streaks of light were appearing in the east, and grey dawn was stealing over the landscape.

It was time to arouse the camp, and to commence our journey, unless our scouts brought in such information as might lead us to hope that we might recover any survivors among the prisoners, either by force or negotiation. I was about to utter the usual shout to awaken the sleepers, when my eye was attracted by an object moving in the distance over the plain. What it was I could not tell, till it resolved itself into a horseman galloping at full speed towards us. Presently, as the light increased, I observed some other objects still further off, moving at like speed, and which I took to be other horsemen, very probably pursuing the first. The first was seeking us—of that there could be little doubt. Not a moment was to be lost; I shouted loudly to my companions, ordering them to mount their steeds, and follow me. Peter had run for my horse, which was picketed near. I dashed down the hill; about a dozen men followed me closely. I galloped on. The long locks of the seeming horseman, streaming in the wind, told me that a woman was approaching, while almost close behind her came eight or ten savages with their lances in rest, intent on her destruction. This made me the more eager to place myself between the lady and her pursuers. My men came on in good order, while others were hastening down the hill to their support. The stranger was fair and young. We opened our ranks to let her pass, pointing to our friends behind, and then spurred on against the Indians. Seeing that their prey had escaped them, they turned and galloped off. We sent some shots after them, and two fell dead from their saddles. The rest we pursued for some distance; but, unwilling to tire our horses, and aware of the danger of getting far from our main body, we allowed them to escape, and returned towards the hill. We found a group at the foot of it. They were surrounding the fugitive, who was no other than the young girl of whom we were in search. She had fainted when she found herself in safety among her friends. After a little time, however, she recovered, and was able to give an account of the fate of her companions. Every one of them had been tortured and murdered. She had stolen out of the tent of the chiefs in which she had been confined, and, mounting the fleetest mustang of his stud, had made her escape.

There was now no reason for our remaining in the neighbourhood. We reached the settlement without any further adventure, when I had the satisfaction of restoring the young girl to her friends, and receiving their thanks.

Chapter Nine.

I determine to return to New Orleans—A drunken Captain—Sam Snag, the Mulatto Mate—A Hurricane and Wreck—A Night of Horrors.

I had seen enough of life in the outskirts of Texas to satisfy me for the present, and as I had gone there, not from choice, but because it was the country I could most easily reach when it was necessary to run away from New Orleans, I felt that I could beat a retreat without loss of self-respect. Therefore, accompanied by Peter and Ready, I returned by the way I had come, without any adventure worthy of note, to Galveston.

I found a vessel, the Weathercock, Captain Parsons, sailing immediately for New Orleans, and, in an unfortunate moment, as it proved, took my passage in her. I supposed that after the lapse of so many months I should no longer be recognised in New Orleans, and having purposed to push up the Mississippi to its sources, I did not like to be baulked, and so determined to chance it. Ready was evidently pleased at finding himself again on salt water, but poor Peter was very uncomfortable.

“I hope we shan’t fall in with them black fellows as cut all our throats afore,” he remarked, as he gazed on the fast-receding land. “I do wish, sir, you’d tramp it back overland to Old England.”

Peter’s knowledge of geography was very limited, and I thought it scarcely worth while to explain to him that he proposed an impossibility.

“It would be a long tramp, even if there were a bridge; but as there is no bridge just now, nor likely to be for some time, we must e’en go back as we came,” said I. “But as we’ve a good many more places to see first, I cannot promise you a sight of the white cliffs of Old England for some long time to come, Peter. However, if you are afraid to go on, I will either find you employment in America, or put you on board the first homeward-bound ship we fall in with.”

Peter looked up at me with a half-reproachful glance as he answered—

“No, no, sir. You wouldn’t wish me to go and take service with any strangers in these foreign parts; and in the old country there’s no home for me now—all those who made it home are gone. No, no, sir, you’d not wish me to leave you.”

“Certainly not, my lad; but I thought that you might be afraid of going on,” I remarked.

“Afraid when I am with you, sir!” he exclaimed, in a tone which showed how much his feelings were hurt at the supposition. “No, no, sir; I’ll stick by you through thick and thin, now and ever, till you turn me away.”

I was sure that Peter felt what he said, and setting as I do a high value on a faithful friend, however humble he may be, I assured him that he need be under no apprehension that I should part with him without his consent.

This tranquillised him, and he seemed at once to become reconciled to his life on the heaving wave.

I soon discovered that the Weathercock was far from deserving the character which her agents gave her of a fine clipper sea-boat, and that Captain Parsons was a different sort of person to what he had been described. He was not drunk when he came on board, but he very soon got so; and if he turned out sober in the morning, he took care very quickly to reduce himself to a condition of utter indifference to all sublunary affairs. As may be supposed, therefore, he did not make a very direct course for his destination.

While the weather remained fine, this did not so much signify, as a day or two more at sea was of little consequence to me, and I knew that we could not well miss the yellow water at the mouth of the Mississippi; but should it come on to blow—no impossible contingency—we should, I saw, be placed in a very unpleasant predicament. Still there was no help for it; the skipper would not have put back had I asked him, but very likely, in a drunken fit, might have blown my brains out, or pitched Peter overboard.

The mate was likely to prove a more formidable opponent. He was a huge Mulatto, with a villainous expression of countenance. From my first stepping on board, he seemed to have taken a dislike to me. It might have been because he saw that I was a man not likely to stand nonsense. He dared not show it to me, however; but whenever he had an opportunity, I saw that he gave Peter a cuff and Ready a kick, which, as may be supposed, secured the latter as an enemy, though poor Peter was too kind-hearted to indulge in ill-feeling towards any human being. Sam Snag, the fellow was called, and he tyrannised over the crew, who dared not disobey his least command, and even the captain held him in awe, and disliked him; but they were necessary to each other. Sam Snag, though a good seaman, knew nothing of navigation, and therefore could not get the command of a vessel, and so he had to ship as mate, and preferred serving with a man like Parsons, whom he could govern, rather than with one who would govern him.

Why the mate had allowed the captain to get as drunk as he was puzzled me. I could not help suspecting that he had some sinister object in view.

Three days had passed since we left Galveston, and the only notable fact with regard to our navigation was, that, though we had lost sight of the land, we had made very little progress. There lay the vessel on the glassy shining sea, her sails flapping idly, but with now and then loud reports, against the masts. The captain was perfectly contented, and rather amiably-disposed towards me; for, as he sat in his little hot, stifling cabin—the atmosphere of which could not have been much under a hundred degrees—he sent his boy to ask me to come and liquor with him, and began to be very abusive when I declined the honour.

“That sneaking, white-haired, milksop of a Britisher—what business has he to refuse my civilities, I should like to know? It’s his natural pride, I guess, but I’ll pull it down a peg or two before I’ve done with him, I guess,” I heard him muttering as I sat reading on deck near the skylight under the shade of the mainsail.

He continued to drink and growl on, and as he got more and more drunk, he confused me with Snag, and abused both of us. From the language he occasionally used, and one or two expressions he let fall, I suspected that the unhappy man had fallen from a higher position in society to that which he now occupied. Now he quoted a line of Latin or Greek, and now he spoke in some Oriental language, Hindostanee or Arabic, I fancied, and swore in it fiercely, and then gave way to fits of idiotic laughter. Yes, I was certain that man had ranked as a gentleman, and now in appearance and manners he was the veriest brute under the sun.

“That’s what drink has done for him,” I said to myself: “or crime, and then drink to drown conscience; or probably drink produced the crime, and then, instead of repentance, came the more drink, that he might try and forget the crime. I am not in a pleasant position with the companionship of a set of ruffians. However, I have been in many a scrape before, and have got out of them. I hope that I may get out of this as well as I have done out of others.”

As the day grew on, however, I became more anxious. The heat increased until it became almost unnatural and utterly insupportable, and the sky assumed a lurid, brazen hue, which struck me as indicative of an approaching hurricane, or a gale of some sort. I observed the seamen casting anxious glances every now and then at the horizon, but no move was made among them to do anything; the mate was below asleep, and the master was too drunk by this time to know whether the sky was copper-colour, black, or blue, or to care what might become of the ship and all on board.

At last, having thought over all the descriptions I had read of hurricanes, I myself began to grow uneasy, and resolved to summon the mate, though I knew that I ran the risk of a quarrel in consequence. I put my head down the companion-hatch, and called out his name two or three times. The stifling air which came up from below made me unwilling to descend. The mate did not reply. He must be sleeping very soundly, I thought, or else he does not choose to answer. Peter, finding he did not appear, without my leave sprang down below, saying, as he did so, “I’ll rouse him up a bit, sir.”

“I say, mate—Mister Snag—wake up, will you? Wake up, Mister Snag,” I heard him sing out.

There was no reply for a minute, and then came a cry of pain and terror, and poor Peter reappeared faster than he had gone down, with an expression of alarm on his countenance, followed by the mate, who had a thick colt in his hand, with which he was accustomed to belabour any of the crew who offended him.

“For what you make all dat row?” he exclaimed fiercely, turning to me with a threatening gesture.

“To wake you up, and remind you of your duty,” I answered, in as calm a tone as I could command. “Look out there; what do you say to that sky?”

The mate gave a hurried glance round the horizon. He did not answer me, but he shouted—

“Aloft, all of ye! Furl the topsails. Let fly topgallants sheets. Here, you—Britisher, go to the helm, and do as I bid you. You, white boy, stand by those ropes.”

There was no time for further orders. The men flew aloft. They knew what ought to be done; but before they could do it the hurricane burst us. With desperate energy they attempted to gather in the furiously flapping canvas. As Snag directed I turned round the spokes of the wheel, and as the ship’s head was providentially pointing in the direction towards which the hurricane blew, away she flew before it, like a bird just escaping from the nets of the fowler. Had this not been the case, she would probably have instantly been thrown on her beam-ends. I had to exert all my strength to turn the wheel. I kept my eye on Snag, for not a word could I hear, as he rushed from rope to rope, hauling away with Peter on some, and letting go others.

The sails flapped and struggled with claps like thunder, as the blast caught them, till the vexed canvas tore itself out of the bolt-ropes. The masts bent and trembled, the yards strained and cracked. I looked up for a moment; I knew that the poor fellows aloft were in instant peril of their lives. They clung desperately to the yielding yards—clung for their lives—for the rent sails lashed furiously round them, and they scarcely dared to loose their hold for an instant to move in towards the masts. Most of them had lost their hats or caps, their hair was streaming out, their eyeballs starting from their heads.

A wild shriek reached my ears, even through the terrific din of the tempest. I caught a glimpse of the outer man on the fore-topsail-yard as the leech of the sail, torn to ribbons, coiled itself like some huge serpent round him, and tore him from his hold. In vain he tried to regain his hold, in vain to extricate himself—no human power could avail him. Helplessly he stretched out his arms; the fierce wind unloosened the coil of canvas, and, though grasping at a rope which eluded his hand, he was flung into the seething waters through which the brig was rushing onwards. For one instant I caught a sight of his countenance, as, still desperately struggling for life, he dropped astern, while the vessel flew by him. The mate saw what had happened, but took not the slightest notice. I thought Peter would have jumped overboard in his eagerness to try and save the man. He threw a rope, but it was utterly useless. Even had the poor wretch caught it, it would have been torn out of his hands. When Peter was certain that the man was hopelessly lost, I saw him wring his hands in sorrow, and he was evidently giving utterance to his feelings in words, though what he said of course I could not hear.

Even the gale did not bring the wretched master to his senses, but I fancied that I could hear him singing, or rather howling away in his drunken madness, keeping up a wild concert with the creaking of the bulkheads, the rattling of the blocks, the whistling of the wind through the rigging, and the loud roar of the rising seas, as they dashed against the sides of the vessel. The mate, to do him justice, was the only man of the whole crew who remained calm and collected. How he might have behaved aloft I do not know; still I think he would have been the same. He soon saw that it was impossible for the men to furl the canvas—or, rather, that there was no canvas left for them to furl. He made a signal to them to come down off the yards. It was not given too soon. Some obeyed, and slid down on deck, but before the last two on the main topsail-yard were off it, the main-top mast, which had already been bending ready to crack, gave way and went over the side, carrying the rigging, and the yard, and the two men on it, overboard. They were not shaken off, but still they clung with all the energy of despair to the spar. It was but for a moment. There were several loud cracks, some ropes gave way, the bolts which secured the shrouds to the side were drawn, and the whole mass of rigging, parting from the side, floated astern. In vain the men shrieked for help; in vain they held out their hands to us imploringly; no help could be given them, their fate might presently be ours.

The next minute the fore-topmasts went over the side, and the fore-yard came down with a crash on deck, carrying away the bulwarks, and crushing a man who had just descended from aloft, and thought he was in safety. There he lay writhing under it, and unable to extricate himself. I would have hurried to his assistance, but I dared not leave the helm, and Snag and the other men were so engaged in clearing the rest of the wreck, that they could make no attempt to lift up the yard so as to release him. It was dreadful to watch the poor fellow, as, with the movement of the ship, the heavy yard rolled on his broken limbs, inflicting the most excruciating torture. He shrieked out in his agony, entreating his companions either to release him or to put an end to his sufferings with a crowbar—so Peter told me, for his voice was borne far away from me on the wings of the hurricane. Peter, as soon as he saw what had occurred, in spite of the gestures of the mate ordering him to remain where he was, hurried forward. Still his whole strength could not, of course, move the spar; but getting hold of a handspike, he was able to prevent it from rolling over the man as often as before. Every moment the sea was rising, and as the vessel pitched more and more, the difficulty of keeping the yard off the man became greater.

At last the wreck, by means of axes and knives was cleared, and the mate had no longer on excuse for neglecting the seaman who lay under the yard. With careless indifference he directed the other men how to lift the spar so as to drag out the sufferer.

“He’s of no further use,” he exclaimed (so Peter told me) when he saw the injury the man had received. “May as well heave him overboard at once. We can’t mend broken legs here.”

“Oh, no; no, don’t now!” shrieked the poor wretch, who was probably not aware of the extent to which he was hurt. “I shall soon be well. I’ll work; I’ll work. Oh spare me!—spare! I am not fit to die! I’ll get well and work. Will nobody save me? I can’t die; I mustn’t die!”

“That’s what many more say, but it’s of no use,” growled out the mate.

Peter told me that on hearing this he could not help saying:

“Well, if you throw that poor fellow overboard while he’s got life in him, you may as well throw me and my master; for as sure as ever we get into port, we’ll go and tell the magistrate of you.”

The mate, with a look of surprise, gave a scornful laugh, but allowed Peter to draw the wounded man on one side, while he and the crew secured the spar, and passed life-lines forward where the bulwarks had been carried away.

I witnessed all that was taking place from my post aft, and as the mate saw that I could steer the vessel properly, he did not think fit to relieve me. I shouted to him over and over again to send a hand to the helm, but he either did not, or would not, hear me. As to where I was steering I had little conception. All I knew was that I was keeping the ship’s head away from the wind, for I had not thought of looking at the compass at first, and a block had fallen from aloft and broken in the binnacle.

The mate, I knew, was as ignorant as I was, and should the master not recover his senses, I suspected that we should have some difficulty in finding our way to New Orleans. There was a vast deal still to be done in getting the ship as much to rights as circumstances would allow, and, to do the mate justice, he worked himself, and made all under him work also.

On the ship flew under the bare stumps of the masts—they, I expected, would go next, as there were no shrouds to support them. The tortured, foaming waters rose higher and higher as the hurricane increased in strength and had longer time to affect them; and the higher the seas rose, the more the ship laboured, and the more difficult it was to steer, till my arms ached with the exertion, and I felt that if not relieved I must leave my post.

I shouted—I beckoned—to Snag, but though I was certain he saw me, he took no notice of my signs. At last Peter found his way to me, not without difficulty, and I sent him forward to summon one of the crew. The mate guessed his errand, and received him with a kick, and an order to tell me to remain where I was and make myself useful. Life is sweet, and we cling to it as long as we can; or otherwise, under the belief that the ship was hurrying to destruction, I should have thrown myself on deck, and let her broach to, which would probably at once have brought about the catastrophe. I was directing Peter to go back and help the poor wounded man, to drag him aft, if possible, and to get him down below, when there was a cry from forward. A huge sea came rolling up alongside, and (whether or not from my bad steering, I do not know) it broke on board, and, sweeping across the fore part of the deck, carried in its grasp all it reached. Two of the crew could be seen for an instant battling with the foaming seas, as if there was a possibility of their regaining the ship.

When once more the deck was free of water, the poor wounded man had disappeared. “He was surely taken in mercy, for his sufferings would otherwise have been fearful,” I said to myself. I was now glad to get Peter’s assistance, which he willingly gave; while honest Ready lay at my feet, looking up every now and then into my face, and saying in his own peculiar language, “Master, I wish that I could help you; but I couldn’t, I know—not if I was to try ever so much.” But Ready could be of use, even on board ship. Another huge sea came up, and this time, striking the quarters, it deluged the whole after-part of the vessel. I clung to the wheel, but Peter, less prepared, lost his hold of the wheel, and was carried away. Ready, instantly comprehending his danger, dashed after him, and seizing on the leg of his trousers as he lay thrown on his back, with the certainty of either being washed overboard or drowned in the lee-scuppers, dragged him up out of the water, and held him tight, till at length the mate, if not for my sake, for that of the ship, came aft to the wheel, and I was able to go to the rescue of my faithful follower.

Snag, though unconcerned for the loss of our companions, could not conceal from himself the danger we were in, and the probability that before long their fate would overtake him. He was as fierce and sulky-looking as before; but he said nothing, and I made no mark calculated to provoke his anger. The crew had done all that was possible for the safety of the ship, and the remnant now gathered under the after-bulwarks, awaiting what was next to happen.

The hatches had been put on, or they might possibly have gone below and turned into their berths—there to await their fate, as I have known seamen do. Night was coming on; but even that could scarcely add to the horrors of our position, except that perhaps darkness might render steering more difficult. As the mate stood alone at the helm in the gloom of evening, his hair, which was long, streaming in the wind, his neck bare, his dark countenance expressive of fierce and bad passions, his tall figure, the upper part of which was scarcely hid by the shirt—the only garment he wore besides his loose trousers—I thought that I had never seen a more perfect impersonification of some evil spirit. I scarcely, even now, like to recall the horrors of that night: the last sight on which my eyes rested was that demon-looking man steering the shattered vessel—amid the howling of the winds, the roaring of the seas—as it appeared, to inevitable destruction. Peter, Ready, and I crouched together under the bulwarks, holding on by lines secured to ring-bolts in the deck, and drenched by the seas which were constantly breaking over us. The darkness increased till it was impossible to see across the deck; nor could I even distinguish those nearest to me. The roaring waters continued sounding in my ears: frequently I felt myself under them as they broke over the ship; again I felt as if I could not possibly hold on longer, but with desperation I clutched the rope as the seas washed by, and had to be thankful that I had for the moment escaped the death which threatened me. Peter’s shout, close to my ear, of “All right, sir,” assured me that he and Ready had also escaped; for both were hanging on to the same rope, the latter holding it by his teeth with might and main, evidently as sensible as we were of the perilous position in which we were placed.

Hour after hour passed by, and no change occurred in the dreary monotony of that night of horror. I think that I must have dropped asleep for an instant, strange as that may seem; for a feeling of indifference as to what might happen had stolen over me, and unconsciousness of the present, when I was startled by the cry of “She’s sprung a leak!—she’s sinking! We are lost—we are lost!”

The voice of the mate was heard, even above the hurricane. “Lost! Who says we’re lost?” he shouted. “We shall not be lost if you’ll work like men. All hands to the pumps!”

The dismasted vessel flew on as rapidly as before through the foaming, tossing seas. The crew laboured at the pumps, the mate swearing furiously at them, when, as at times, they stopped to rest. Then again they pumped away till one of them cried out, in a tone of obstinate despair:

“The leak is gaining on us; we can pump no more.” Again the mate swore, and threatened them with death if they did not persist.

Suddenly, while the mate and the crew together were shouting and swearing at each other, there came a fearful crash; the ship trembled in every timber; another and another crash followed; the roaring sea washed over the vessel; now she lifted, and then down she came with yet more fearful force than before, and every plank and timber seemed rent asunder.

Chapter Ten.

I cling to a part of the Wreck, and am tossed in the Sea—Peter and Ready are also saved—I improvise a Raft, and get Peter and Ready aboard—We reach an uninhabited Island—Sam Snag and another also reach land—Friends or Foes?—Water! Water!—We land a Cask and find it Claret—Ready discovers a Spring—The Mate wants Meat, and means to eat us.

My impulse—and I followed it—was to cling fast to the ring-bolt to which I was holding on when the ship struck. I heard a few piercing shrieks, some faint cries followed, and then all was silent. I felt that the vessel was breaking up, and plank after plank was torn away, till I judged that but a small portion of the wreck remained for me to hold to. I urged poor Peter to hold on tight to the last, and scarcely had I uttered the words than the remainder of the vessel was rent asunder, and I found myself floating alone on the plank through which the ring-bolt was run. I shouted to Peter—there was no answer; I called Ready, but, for the first time since his puppyhood, he did not reply. I felt very forlorn as I was tossed up and down in the darkness amid that raging sea, with a sensation of down-heartedness which I had never before experienced. The planks forming the part of the deck to which I clung seemed to hold well together, so that I was under no expectation of immediate destruction, and that fact gave me time to think more of the loss of my two faithful companions.

I was convinced that daylight must soon come, and I hoped then to be able to ascertain how near to land I was. I supposed that the vessel had struck on a coral reef, and that it formed a barrier or outside reef to some island, or islet, such as is common in those seas. I was confirmed in this belief from finding the sea so much calmer than it had been, judging by the comparatively easy movements of my raft. I wished and wished for day, and though the wishing did not bring it, it came at last—a grey, cold dawn at first; but as the sun rose, the wind fell, the black vapours cleared away, the blue sky appeared, and now—the raft floating so calmly that I was able to stand up on it—I saw, rising at no great distance above, a yellow sandy beach, a grove of cocoa-nut palms, bananas, and other trees of the tropics. On the opposite side, a line of breakers, showing the position of the reef, outside which the sea still tossed and tumbled from the effects of the hurricane. Portions of the wreck, too, were floating about in the smooth water, and as I looked I saw that something was moving on one of them. I waved and shouted to draw attention to myself. A figure rose up and waved in return, and a faint bark reached my ear. Even at that distance my faithful Ready recognised me. I was indeed thankful that Peter and he had been thus far saved, though, as we were still some distance from the shore, we might both be starved before we could reach it. I could have swam to it with perfect ease, but I knew too much of the black fins of those seas to risk myself in the water, especially as I suspected that the monsters must have had their thirst for blood freshened by the meal they must have had off some of my late shipmates.

I longed to be able to communicate with poor Peter, but it seemed impossible that I could reach him. As the sun rose the hurricane completely ceased, and the water inside the reef became so perfectly smooth, that I could not only stand upright but could walk about. As I was doing so I saw, not far off, a boat’s oar, and a little beyond it what I took to be a mast, with other spars, and a sail and cordage hanging to it. I was contemplating swimming towards the oar, at all events, when, as I was about to plunge in, the fin of a shark slowly gliding by, warned me of my danger. I looked at the oar with a longing eye, and tried if I could by running on the piece of wreck urge it forward. While thus employed without any effect, I felt the breeze, which had completely fallen, fan my cheek, and as it increased I saw that my body was acting as a sail, and the raft was approaching the oar, though very slowly. At length I was able to seize it, and giving it a flourish above my head in my satisfaction, I began to paddle towards the broken mast with the spars and sail.

As the breeze increased, my fear was that I should be driven past it on one side, and I had to paddle with all my might to steer for it. I shouted with satisfaction when I got up to it, and had hauled it upon the raft. By forcing out a bull’s-eye in the deck I found a stop for the mast, and by carrying shrouds to the ring-bolts and to the splintered ends of the planks, I was able to secure it. I next hoisted my sail, and, infinitely to my satisfaction, found that I could direct my course for the part of the wreck to which Peter and Ready were clinging. They saw me coming. Peter waved his hands, and shouted and cried, and Ready jumped and barked, and nearly tumbled overboard in his agitation. I saw a shark waiting to catch him had he done so, and I entreated Peter to hold him down in case of an accident. They both, as I got up, sprang on to my raft at the same moment. Peter could scarcely speak to express his joy at my preservation, and Ready tried to lick me all over to show his love, though he could scarcely have understood how great was the danger we had run. The breeze which had carried me thus far, began to fail, and I feared that, after all, we should be unable to reach the shore.

We were very hungry, and as we had nothing to eat or drink, we were anxious to reach land as soon as possible. Peter suggested that we should make another paddle with one of the smaller spars I had picked up. To show that it was possible to do so he forced out some nails from the planks, and breaking off a piece of board, secured it to the spar. By this means we were able to paddle much faster than before, and, after considerable exertion, we reached the sandy beach with hearts thankful for our preservation.

To show his satisfaction, Ready scampered about on the sands, and then coming to lick my hands, lay down at my feet, with his tongue out, panting for water. My heart misgave me when I saw this. Had there been water his instinct would have conducted him to it, I fancied. I was already suffering severely from thirst, and so, I saw, was Peter, but he made no complaints. The cocoa-nuts, many of which strewed the ground, were yet too small to contain any milk, and we broke one after the other without finding one with any milk, although we allayed our thirst by chewing a little of the scarcely-formed fruit. A little refreshed, we set off in search of the much-desired water, but we had not gone many yards before the conviction forced itself on me that there was none to be procured.

Except the narrow belt of palm which I had at first seen, not another green thing was to be seen on the islet, the whole surface being little more than sand and coral rock.

As we stood outside the belt observing the inhospitable aspect of the country, I saw two objects moving along the beach in the distance. They were men, and there could be no doubt that they were part of the crew of the unfortunate Weathercock. I was thankful that some of the poor fellows had escaped, and we at once hurried on toward them. We had gone some distance when Peter slackened his speed, and even Ready hung back.

“What is the matter?” I asked of the former.

“Don’t you see that it’s that ill-doing mate fellow?” he answered. “No good’ll come if he’s to be with us.”

“Possibly the peril he has escaped may have improved his character,” I remarked, as I advanced towards the individual named, for I saw that he was no other than Sam Snag, and that the man with him was one of the most ill-favoured of the crew—a fellow with a stolid, hang-dog, evil countenance, who looked capable of committing any atrocity without the slightest compunction. Still, repulsive as were the two men, they were fellow-creatures, and I instinctively held out my hand to congratulate them on escaping from the terrific dangers we had gone through, when so many of our companions had perished.

Without either of them appearing to observe the motion they scowled fiercely at me, Snag greeting me with the remark, “Oh, so you’ve turned up, have you?”

“Yes, our lives have been spared as yet,” I answered quietly, determined not to give any cause of offence. “But, friends, we are suffering greatly from want of water. Can you tell us if any is to be found on the island?”

“Friends! eh—well, that’s as the case may be,” growled Snag. “As to the water, there may or there may not be some; but as there isn’t enough for all, it will be for those who have it and can keep it.”

The two ruffians held pieces of a spar in their hands, and assumed so menacing an attitude that I felt that it would be hopeless to obtain the water they had found by force, and equally hopeless to obtain it by persuasion.

“Very well, Mr Snag, what is your own you have a right to keep,” I replied calmly. “But I thought that a common danger escaped, would have made us friends, and I certainly should not have treated you as you seem disposed to treat me.” Saying this I turned aside towards the belt of palm trees. I was very glad that he had no firearms in his hand, for from the look he gave me, I felt very sure that he would have shot me at that moment, and would then probably have made Peter work for him as a slave, or have killed him also. I heard the ruffians giving way to shouts of hoarse laughter as I and Peter and Ready retired.

Such were the men who were to be my fellow islanders (I will not call them associates or companions), till we could make our escape from the islet. Their presence would greatly increase my difficulties. It would have been bad enough had I and Peter and Ready been alone. All we could do was to keep away from them, and to try and find something with which to quench our thirst.

After hunting about we found some young cocoa-nuts, blown down by the hurricane. The softest part of these afforded us sufficient moisture somewhat to allay our burning thirst. Ready shared with us, and without this would I think have gone mad. We then felt very hungry, and hoping to find some shell-fish on the rocks we returned to the beach. We were not disappointed, and were soon able to collect as many as we could require. While thus engaged I saw an object floating some way off in the lagoon. I pointed it out to Peter. He thought with me that it looked like a cask. We were seized with the hope that it might be filled with water, and therefore resolved forthwith to put off on our raft to try and obtain it. We had some difficulty in launching the raft, but at length getting it afloat we paddled out into the lagoon. I cannot describe the eagerness we felt as we neared what we hoped would prove a treasure incomparable. Only those who have been suffering from thirst as we then were, or in an open boat in the tropics, or when traversing the sandy deserts, can fully comprehend our sensations. We reached the cask. As I was paddling Peter ran to the fore part of the raft and seized it.

“It’s heavy, sir, it’s heavy,” he shouted. “I hope it’s water by the weight.”

Putting down my paddle I eagerly ran to help him. It was indeed heavy, but we at length got it safe up on the raft. Though the cask had the appearance of a water-cask, I dared not broach it till we could get it back to the shore, as while engaged in doing it we might have drifted away from the land. Parched as were our mouths and throats, we refrained, therefore, till we reached the beach. We had then to find a piece of wood to serve as a hammer, with which I knocked a nail out of our raft, and having sharpened the point, with this instrument managed to make a hole in the cask. It was frill of liquid, but not the pure fluid we wished for—it was wine. I cannot describe my disappointment. For an instant I refrained even from tasting it, till Peter observed—

“Well, sir, sure wine ain’t so bad a thing after all, is it?”

My month in a moment was at the hole. Instead of the strong wine I expected, it was claret. I quickly quenched my thirst, and bid Peter do the same. Though we valued it far less than water I hoped that after all it might serve to prolong existence if used with moderation, and keep us in health even better than water.

Our next thought was to conceal it from the other men, for of course should they find it, they would take care that we should not benefit by it. I was very anxious, however, about Ready—for though claret might keep us alive it would certainly not suit his taste.

We were not long in digging a hole in the sand and rolling our cask into it, and we then set to work to collect shell-fish to satisfy our hunger. Fortunately I had in my pocket a small article which I would advise every one travelling as I was to carry—a burning-glass—and with it we easily lighted a fire, so that we had not to eat our shell-fish raw. While we were employed as I have described, Ready disappeared. He had been absent for some time, and I began to fear that he had fallen into the power of Snag and the other man, who I felt sure would kill him if they could catch him. We were too hungry to wait, so we sat down to our mollusc meal.

While engaged in picking a shell-fish out of the ashes I felt Ready’s nose poked under my arm. “You want to share our meal, and you shall, old fellow,” I said, putting a full juicy mollusc into his mouth, which was, I felt, cool and moist, so that I had no doubt he had discovered some water, and taken care to avoid the villains who would not let us enjoy it. I suspected that they were either searching for food, or had fallen asleep, and that he had sagaciously taken the opportunity of approaching the spring. Supposing the latter idea to be correct, I allowed Peter to set off with Ready to try and find it, while I kept up the fire, which when they awoke was likely to attract the two men towards me and thus draw them away from the spring. Ready at once understood our wishes, and as soon as Peter got up he ran on before him as if to show the way.

I had on a Panama straw hat, which having been secured by a lanyard had been preserved. From its thick texture, it held water completely, and so I gave it to Peter to bring it back with as much as it could hold. I told him to cry out lustily should he be attacked that I might go to his assistance. I followed him a short distance till I could survey the greater part of the island through the grove of trees, but I could see nothing of the two men. Having made up the fire I took my post behind a tree, that I might watch for the two men. As the rock which formed the island was very unequal, Peter and Ready were soon lost to sight. I waited anxiously for their return. However, as the men did not appear, I hoped that they might, as we had supposed, be fast asleep in some cave, or under the shade of some rock, and that they would not interfere with us for the present. From the spot where I stood I could command a wide extent of the ocean’s surface, and I eagerly scanned it in the possibility that a sail might appear in the horizon, when I intended, should she approach the island, to signalise her, and endeavour to escape from it.

My mind was greatly relieved when Ready appeared with that jaunty, active air which a dog assumes when he is well satisfied, and he was followed closely by Peter carrying my hat brimful of water. In an instant I had my head into it almost, and had drunk up a large portion before I asked any questions. Peter had found a stream of pure water bubbling up from a deft in a rock, not thirty yards from the sea, into which it ran in a clear rivulet, in sufficient quantity to fill any number of ship’s casks. The landing on the beach, as far as I could judge from the lad’s description, was very good. As he had also observed the staves and hoops of some casks lying about, I had no doubt that it was a spot frequented by vessels in those seas to obtain a supply of water, when kept out by baffling winds. Had it not therefore been for the presence of the mulatto mate and his associate, we should have had no great cause for anxiety, as we might hope in a short time to be rescued by some vessel visiting the spot. I must confess, however, that I dreaded what might occur before we could get away. A savage villain is the most difficult being in creation to deal with. A lion or a tiger may be seen approaching, and be destroyed, so may a bear, or even a mad dog, a snake may be avoided; but however strongly we may suspect that a fellow man is plotting against our life, we may not defend ourselves until some overt act is committed, or take his life, unless we would have the guilt of homicide or murder on our heads, till he attempts openly to take ours.

Such was the position in which I felt that I was placed with regard to Snag and his companion. All we could do was to be on our guard, for I felt sure that if they fancied it was to their interest to kill us they would do so without the slightest scruple. We had, however, an advantage over them in having Ready on our side, as we might sleep securely, depending on his awakening us on the approach of danger. Then again I felt certain they would try to kill him first if they wished to destroy us.

We had discovered some cocoa-nut shells, the produce of the last year, and though the fruit was dried up they were split in a way which enabled them to hold water. These we filled with the remainder of the contents of my hat, which afforded us a sufficient supply for some hours. We spent the remainder of the day in erecting a hut in which we could shelter ourselves during the night. We passed it, contrary to my expectations, undisturbed. The next day we several times saw our shipmates on the shore, but they did not come near us, and as before, Peter, accompanied by Ready, accomplished the journey to the spring without being seen by them. He told me that he was sure that from the marks he had before observed on the sand not being increased, that they had not been to the spring since his last visit. This, coupled with their quietness, made me suspect that they also had got hold of a cask of wine, and that as long as that lasted we might hope to escape any annoyance from them.

Several days thus passed, and each day I was more confirmed in my suspicious. At length, one day after we had seen them in the morning on the beach, Peter proposed that he should try and discover what they were about.

“I can creep, creep along, Master Skipwith, for all the world like a snail; do, Mr Skipwith, do let me go.”

With my permission he stole off, and Ready seemed to understand that this time he was not wanted. The sun had nearly reached the horizon, so the men would probably have taken up their quarters for the night. As before, I sat down in a sheltered spot, where, should the men by chance be wandering about, they would not be likely to discover me. I waited for some time till I calculated that Peter ought to have returned. Then the stars came out in the dark sky, bright and clear like drops of liquid fire, but still my young follower did not make his appearance. However, Ready remained perfectly quiet, and I was sure that had he fancied anything was wrong he would have shown signs of uneasiness. At length, despairing of seeing Peter, though I hoped he might have gone round some other way, I returned to our hut. It was empty, and I began seriously to fear that the lad had fallen into the wretches’ hands, and I regretted having let him make the expedition.

I knew so little of the island that I could not venture to go in search of him, and all I could do, therefore, was to sit down and await his coming. I had fallen into an uneasy slumber when I was awoke by the sound of a voice in my ear, which I recognised as that of Peter.

“Oh sir, isn’t it just lucky I went, or we’d all have been murdered and eaten by this time to-morrow evening,” he said, still trembling with fear. “I heard them from beginning to end, but I’d like to make a long story short. They said one to the other as how they’d had no food, and that starve they wouldn’t, and that they’d have the dog to eat, and after him they’d have one of us; that would have been me, but that wouldn’t have so much mattered, may be, but they said they’d kill you too—indeed they did—and eat you too—yes—eat you! Oh, I felt my hair stand on end when I heard it, and was near crying out, but I didn’t, and waiting till they were talking again to each other loudly, I crept away as I came.”

I should have been inclined to doubt the truth of Peter’s tale, but it was so circumstantial that I was compelled to believe that his fancy had not deceived him. I cross-questioned him, and found that he had heard the voices of the two men, and had crawled on hands and feet towards them, when he discovered them seated in a cave, which it was evident they had made their present abode. Unfortunately he had not heard them speak of the hour they proposed to attack us. We were thus compelled to be constantly on the watch, and to be prepared for a struggle at any moment. I can answer for it from experience that it is excessively trying to the nerves to be sitting all night long in the dark, with the expectation of being attacked by a couple of villains with heavy clubs who intend to knock out one’s brains. I fully believed that Ready would prove faithful and watchful, but considering that my life and that of Peter were at stake, I could not bring myself to trust altogether to his sagacity. Sleep, of course, I could not, at least so I thought. The hours passed slowly by, the soft sighing of the wind in the trees over head, mingled with the low murmur of the ocean as it beat on the rocks, sounded in my ears, and then there came strange noises, and shrieks, and cries, and unearthly voices in the far distance, away out over the sea, and in spite of all my anxiety and intention of keeping awake till daylight, I was fast asleep. I must have slept soundly, and during more hours than I had supposed it wanted to daylight, when I was effectually aroused by a sharp bark from Ready, and a loud cry from Peter, and starting up I seized my staff and stood ready for action.

Chapter Eleven.

A Skrimmage for Life—A Truce—A Sail, a Sail appears—Marcus to the Rescue—The Pirate takes us off—Sam Snag’s fearful End.

The grey dawn had just broken. It was the hour when even vigilant watchers are apt to doze, and deepen to sleep most soundly. I sprang out of our hut, in front of which I found Peter with his staff lifted ready to guard his head, at which the mulatto mate, Sam Snag, who had at that moment come up, was aiming a fierce blow, while his companion, who was a little behind, had also his stick uplifted, prepared to follow up the blow, or to inflict another on the dog, or on me. It was very evident that they had expected to find us both asleep, and to have murdered us without difficulty. So suddenly, indeed, did I appear, that I was able to turn aside the blow Snag was aiming at the lad, and to give him in return so severe a one on the right arm, that he dropped his stick; and this left me at liberty to defend myself against the other ruffian, who might have given me a great deal of trouble had not Ready, watching the moment that he was about to strike, seized him by the leg, which he tore away at with a fury which enabled me to gain an easy victory. Peter, also, while Snag, unwisely despising his young antagonist, stopped to pick up his stick, dealt him so heavy a blow on his head, that he sent him rolling over, and before he could recover himself I gave him another blow, which very nearly finished him. I had, however, to turn my attention to his companion, who, in spite of Ready’s jaws, was about to hit me, and while I warded off the blow Snag picked himself up and retreated, calling upon the other to follow his example. This he could not have done had not Ready at that moment opened his mouth to get a better grip, I fancy, when he sprang away with an agility I had not expected.

Had we followed them they would have had the advantage, for there were plenty of heavy pieces of coral about with which they could have settled Ready. Then, too, they were better prepared, for having only Peter to back me, who, though he had plenty of pluck, was but a boy in strength, I thought it prudent not to push matters to extremities. There we stood, the only four human beings on that desolate island, ready to take each others’ lives, and I may say, literally, that our opponents were thirsting for our blood. After all, we were only doing, on a small scale, what nations are often doing on a large one. Perhaps we had more to fight about, namely, our opponents wanted to eat us, and we did not wish to be eaten. I moralised much in this strain as I waited to see what Snag and his companion would next do. They probably were considering how they could execute their purpose with least risk to themselves. Their eyes glared fiercely as they looked at us. They were evidently very hungry. I determined to try what pacific measures would effect. I shouted to them, and told them that we had found an abundance of shell-fish on our side of the island, and that we would not molest them if they wished to collect it. I told them, also, that they might take some fire from ours. The mate looked at me for some minutes without speaking, as if he did not exactly comprehend what I was saying.

“There isn’t much to thank you for that,” he at length answered. “However, if you don’t wish to do us harm we’ll let you alone, and so that’s settled.”

The reply was ungracious, but I only said, “Very well, it is so understood between us.”

I did not, however, intend to trust the villains, for I was sure that, should they discover that we had the wine, they would make an attempt to possess themselves of it, and might, besides, very likely attack us again.

The excitement of the fight had not taken away our appetites, and so Peter and I set to work to collect shell-fish till the sun was high enough to allow of the use of the burning-glass. The two men, seeing how we were employed, followed our example; but even then, the way I saw them talking together and glancing towards us when they thought that they were not observed, convinced me that they would set upon us should they find a favourable opportunity. I had told Peter to keep near me, but he did not hear me, for, looking up, I saw that he had gone in the direction of the men, who at that moment were springing towards him with their clubs uplifted. I shouted out to him to avoid the danger, and just then, as I glanced seaward, my eyes fell on a vessel standing in under full sail towards the watering-place. I pointed her out to the men, and their attention being thus distracted, the lad escaped and got behind me, while they set off towards the watering-place, to be the first, I concluded, to welcome the strangers, and tell their own tale.

This mattered very little to me. If the strangers were honest, I felt sure that I could make my story good, and if not, I could scarcely be worse off than at present, and might, at all events, get rid of my unpleasant neighbours, waiting patiently till Peter and I could make our escape. Therefore, with some degree of tranquillity, I watched from a rock what was taking place. The schooner stood on like a vessel well accustomed to the place, and when close in brought up and furled all sails. Her crew were of a motley description; and as they approached in their boats, I was convinced of what I had before suspected—that the schooner was the very piratical vessel which had captured the Shaddock, and on board which I had found Marcus, the black. Though I could have wished him now, for his own sake, to have been in better company, I was anxious to ascertain if he was still with the pirates, as in that case I had no fear as to our safety. Peter also understood the state of the case.

“Yes, there he is; that’s him standing up in the first boat,” cried the lad. “He seems in an awful rage, though. If I thought he was a-threatening of me, I’d like to run away and hide myself.”

Sure enough, there was Marcus; but what could have excited his anger? I soon learned, for, looking higher up the rock, I saw the huge mulatto mate, Sam Snag, and his companion, on their knees with uplifted hands, in the most abject state of terror, imploring mercy, while Marcus, as the boat approached, stood ready with a pistol in his hand to shoot, it appeared, one or the other of them.

As the boat’s keel grated on the sand, he sprang on shore, gnashing his teeth like a wild beast, and I thought would have shot Snag dead at that moment, but seeing that he was really totally unarmed, he contented himself with hitting him in the face, and then kicking him over.

“Wretched slave-driver—overseer of your fellow-men—have I found you once again?” he exclaimed, literally foaming at the mouth, and striking him each time that he spoke. “Death is too good for a wretch like you. No fear, I’ll not kill you,” and seizing, as he spoke, the huge powerful man by the hair, he dragged him along over the sand. I never saw a man so completely prostrated by abject fear as was this would-be murderer and bully, Snag. Meantime some of the pirates had espied Peter and me, and with no very friendly gestures, thinking that we were of Silas Snag’s gang, were hurrying towards us. I thought it was now time to claim the protection of Marcus. The moment he heard my voice his whole manner changed. He almost took me in his arms in the excess of his affectionate feelings, as he inquired by what wonderful circumstance I had come there. I told him of the shipwreck and the cause of it.

“Ah, and that villain unhung was at the bottom of the mischief! However, we shall settle accounts ere long. I would have killed him to-day but that death would be too happy a fate for a wretch like him.”

I entreated Marcus not to stain his hands with the blood of the man, though I acknowledged that I had little reason for wishing to save him from punishment, as he had just before attempted to take my life and that of my companion.

“Well, I will promise to let him live on as long as he can on this islet,” said Marcus, casting a glance of hatred and contempt at the mulatto mate, who stood literally trembling before him. “He knows that it’s out of the track of most vessels, and that only those who are engaged as we are come off here occasionally for water, when they cannot venture elsewhere, so that his chance of escape is very small. If he wishes to prolong his life he must kill his companion, or his companion will kill him. Such things have been done on this island before now, and that is one of the reasons why it is so generally avoided.”

To this mode of treating Snag I had no objection to make. I could scarcely propose that he should be taken away in the pirate vessel, and he certainly had brought his fate upon himself. I was glad to get away from him and from a spot of such ill-repute; at the same time I doubted whether I should not be leaping out of the frying-pan into the fire. How might I be treated should the pirate be captured by a man-of-war, either English or American, and I be found on board? I could not say that I did not know her character before I went on board, and it was a question whether the plea would hold good that I did so in preference to remaining on a desert island. Still I saw that I had no choice. If I remained with Snag and did not kill him, he would if he had the opportunity kill me, and Peter and Ready into the bargain; whereas if I embarked I might very possibly get safe on shore, and if we were captured I felt very sure that Marcus would give evidence in my favour, and I hoped that the other pirates would do so likewise.

I told Marcus, therefore, that I accepted his offer, hinting, however, at the predicament in which I should be placed should the schooner be captured.

“She will never be captured,” he answered fiercely. “Sooner than that I would blow up the vessel, and all on board.”

A pleasant prospect for me, I thought to myself; however, as I said, I had no choice. Accordingly, I and Peter and Ready embarked with Marcus in the first boat returning with water to the schooner. The crew received us without any questions, and we were soon discussing in the cabin such a meal as we had not eaten for many a day. I said nothing about the wine we had left on shore, as I thought that it would do the pirates no good, and might do harm. Great despatch was made in getting water aboard, and in a short time all that was required was obtained. Marcus did not return to the shore, but I heard him giving directions to the officer of one of the boats which went back for water. Meantime I was watching what was taking place on the beach. Snag, who had concealed himself from Marcus, now made his appearance, and was evidently exerting his powers of persuasion on the crew of the remaining boat, probably forgetting that though his words could not reach the schooner his gestures could be seen from her. Judging from his and his companion’s manner, he appeared to have been successful; some flasks were produced from the boat, and they and the crew were seen to sit down, and to smoke and drink in a friendly manner.

The officer sent by Marcus, and several of his men, went heavily armed. On their reaching the beach the crew of the other boat were ordered into her, and then seizing the white man they carried him into their boat. Snag rushed after him but was driven back by the officer, who held a pistol towards his head as he approached the boat. In vain he pleaded with the very men with whom he had so lately been on friendly terms. The horror of his position burst upon him. He was to be left on the desert islet to die alone, without even the companionship of his former shipmate and associate in crime. In vain he pleaded. The pirates laughed at his terror and rage. He stamped—he gnashed with his teeth—he shook his clenched fist. He was unarmed and helpless. The boats pushed off and were already some distance from the beach. He waved and shouted to them. For a minute he stood irresolute, apparently hoping that those he had seemed to gain over would take him on board. Again he waved; some signal was made from the boat. He plunged headlong into the sea, and swam towards her. Still she pulled slowly towards the schooner, though, it seemed, he thought that he could overtake her. Too late he discovered that a barbarous trick had been played him, worthy of the wretches who were guilty of it. He might still have returned to the shore, but just then a dark fin, which had been hovering about the schooner, was seen to dash off in the direction of the boats. An instant after the mulatto mate threw up his arms—a fearful shriek was heard, and he disappeared beneath the water, an ensanguined circle on the surface marking the spot where he had gone down. Directly after the boats were hoisted in, the breeze sprang up, and the schooner made sail to the northward.

“Now, my friend, at which port do you wish to be landed?” asked Marcus.

“I was bound to New Orleans, and still wish to return there,” I answered.

“It is not the place I would counsel you to go to,” he observed. “Some of the people there have long memories, and they would treat you with Lynch law, and a scant allowance of that, if they caught you.”

I told him that I was aware that there was some danger, but that I had resolved to push north up the Mississippi; besides which, as I had letters of credit on a mercantile house at New Orleans, I must go there for the sake of replenishing my purse and wardrobe. He replied that he must consult with the captain about it, as he had strong doubts as to the policy of the proceeding. Some hours afterwards Marcus told me that it was impossible to land me at New Orleans, but that they would put me on shore at Havanna, from whence I could easily get across to that city if I still desired to go.

“But can you venture into the Havanna? will not your schooner run a great risk of being recognised?” I asked.

“Oh no, our papers are all correct. We have powerful friends there who would get us out of trouble, if we got into it, and we depend much on our boldness to escape suspicions,” he answered. “You shall see. With regard to you we shall only have the truth to tell. We found you cast away on an island, took you off, and wish to land you. We must depend on your discretion for the rest. For anything you know to the contrary, as far as you have seen, this vessel is perfectly honest. You understand me.”

Chapter Twelve.

The Pirate and the Man-of-war—The Chase—A Calm—Fatal Security—The Pirate blown up—We are captured—In Lieutenant Trevor of the Spitfire I find a dear old Friend, and a way of serving Marcus, who regains his liberty—We arrive at Havannah.

Poor Peter was very unhappy when he found that we were to go to an island, instead of to the mainland.

“Oh dear, oh dear, or, when shall we ever go to a country where we can get along on our feet away from the sight of this ugly sea?” he exclaimed, wringing his hands, and well-nigh blabbering outright.

My chief anxiety was to get away from the schooner as soon as possible, as I feared that the pirates might be tempted to attack some other vessel, and that Peter and I might be brought in as participators in the crime. I had no doubt that our innocence would ultimately be triumphantly established, but that might be only after we had been hung, in which there would not be much satisfaction to ourselves.

A very unattractive recollection of the picture of a row of pirates hanging in chains on the banks of the Thames, which I had seen in my boyhood, would intrude itself on my memory, as I walked the deck in solitude, thinking it wise to speak as little as possible to any one, when the look-out man from aloft hailed to say that a sail was in sight to windward. To my concern, I found that the schooner’s course was altered to meet her. We stood on, nearing her fast, when an officer who had gone aloft hailed that she was a large vessel with a wide spread of very white canvas. On this there was a consultation, glasses were directed towards the stranger, the schooner’s head once more put before the wind, while all sail that could be packed on her was set, and away we went, with the stranger, which was pronounced to be either a British or American man-of-war, in full chase after us.

I must own that I felt very uncomfortable. My worst fears were about to be realised. This termination to my career was one I had not anticipated when I left home. Kind aunt Becky! how horrified she would be to hear that her favourite nephew had been hung as a pirate by mistake. It would be enough to break the good old creature’s heart. From what I had seen and heard of the miscreants with whom I was at present associated, I felt that they would be a good riddance if captured and hung, with the exception of Marcus, who was, I was sure, fitted for a far different life to that into which circumstances had plunged him. I watched the countenances of the pirates to judge what they thought of the prospect of their escape. They had been so accustomed, it seemed, however, to consider their craft the fastest in those seas that they had no fears about the matter, but laughed and joked as if there was not an enemy who could sink their craft with a broadside close at their heels. The schooner sailed well, but so did the man of war, and as it appeared in the course of time, even better. As her courses rose gradually out of the water, the pirates became less and less loquacious, and finally many of them began to make very long faces. The officers held earnest consultations, they looked anxiously round at the sky, they carefully examined the compass, and then trimmed and re-trimmed the sails. Still the big ship was gaining on us. At length there appeared to be little doubt that we should be overtaken if the wind held as it then was. Marcus was as cool and undaunted as ever, indeed from the unconcerned manner in which he paced the deck, it was difficult to believe that he apprehended the slightest danger. I asked him at last what he thought of the state of things.

“That we shall be taken, and if taken, unless we can effect our escape, or die beforehand, we shall be hung,” he answered calmly. “I had heard that a very fast English man-of-war was expected out here expressly to look after us. That must be her.”

I did not like to ask more, still I had a strong wish to entreat him not to blow up the vessel, as he had threatened to do, should her capture be inevitable. He seemed to divine my thoughts.

“You know what I would do if we are hard pressed rather than be taken and hung,” he said to me. “Should the vessel in chase of us prove to be an American, my fate is sealed if we are taken. Still, I will do nothing to destroy your life if I can help it; but for my companions I cannot be answerable.”

“Should she be American my chance of escape will, I suspect, too, be very small, especially if I am accused of having assisted at your escape,” said I. “However, we will hope for the best.”

I must confess, that though I endeavoured to appear calm and unconcerned, I began to feel most uncomfortable as the stranger drew nearer and nearer, and wished more than once that I had remained on the desert island, even with Snag as a companion. Still, a stern chase is a long chase.

The day was drawing to a close, and, should the night prove dark, we might have a chance of escaping. As the sun sunk towards the horizon the wind fell, and by night there was a perfect calm. The stranger, supposed to be a frigate, lay about eight or nine miles off, also, when last seen, perfectly becalmed. Our escape depended on our getting the breeze first. If the frigate got the wind before us, our capture was inevitable. The pirates, I observed, as sailors often do when expecting to be shipwrecked, went below and put on two suits of their best clothes, and stowed away round their waists and in their pockets as much money as they could carry. I have known instances of men being drowned who might, had they not have been thus overloaded, have been able to swim on shore. Had it not been for this circumstance I should not have supposed that the men had any great apprehension of being captured. Among the officers, however, there were earnest consultations, and it was even suggested by some that they should take to the boats and desert the vessel; but this proposal was overruled by the majority. The opinion seemed to be that the calm would last for some time, and that, as we were as likely as the frigate to get the breeze first, we had a good chance of escaping. Most of the crew, indeed, were so satisfied with the state of affairs, that they turned into their berths and went to sleep, the usual watch only being left on deck.

Though Marcus had provided a berth for me, it was so hot below that I preferred remaining on deck with Peter and Ready by my side, under a boat’s sail, between two guns. After walking the deck till I was weary, admiring the bright constellations overhead, the calm, star-lit ocean, and enjoying the air so cool and refreshing after the heat of the day, I lay down, and was soon fast asleep, as was Peter too, and as Ready appeared to be, but the faithful fellow always slept with one eye open. I had slept for some time, when I heard him give a low warning bark close to my ear. I jumped up and looked about me, though still only half awake. A thick mist so closely surrounded the vessel that I could not see beyond the heel of the bowsprit, and could only just distinguish the calm silvery water alongside, though, at the same time, overhead I could still make out a few stars shining down out of the heavens on this ill-disposed world. Once more Ready gave a low bark, and stretched his neck out through a port over the water, but the watch took no notice. They were either asleep or drowsy and stupid. I felt sure from Ready’s behaviour that something was approaching. I listened very attentively. The sound of a boat’s keel gliding through the water and that of muffled oars pulled rapidly reached my ears. It was not for me to warn the pirates of the approach of danger, nor did I wish Ready to warn them, so I patted him on the head and put my hand on his mouth, to show him that I had understood his previous bark, and that I wished him to be quiet.

Meantime I was considering how I should act if the approaching boats, for there were several I was sure, proved to be, as I suspected they were, belonging to the man-of-war. I was not kept long in suspense. On a sudden, the watch on deck, at length hearing the sound of the boats, shouted out, “Keep off! keep off! or we’ll fire.” The pirates below jumped out of their berths, but before they could get their heads above the coamings several boats dashed alongside. Dark forms were seen climbing over the bulwarks, and a loud voice shouted out, “Yield, whoever you are, to her Britannic Majesty’s frigate, Spitfire.”

Before the words were well out of the mouth of the officer who uttered them, the pirates had rushed to their guns or seized their arms, and, instead of yielding, were desperately attempting to defend themselves and their vessel, the character of which it was very clear the assailants knew before they made the attack. On every side, instead of the silence which had before reigned, pistols were flashing, cutlasses were clashing, men were shouting and cursing, and thrusting boarding-pikes at each other, and big guns and muskets were going off as in the confusion they could be loaded. Though constitutionally fearless, I had no fancy to have my travels stopped by a stray bullet, or by a slash from a cutlass, so when the English seamen climbed up out of one of the boats, calling to Peter and Ready, who followed me, I tumbled into her, when without more ado we stowed ourselves away under the thwarts, where bullets were not likely to reach us.

So completely had the Spitfire’s crew taken the pirates by surprise that they gained an easy victory. Some were driven overboard, others below, and many more were cut down even before I had made my escape out of the schooner. I saw Marcus defending himself bravely, and would gladly have gone to his assistance had I had the power. I had not long taken up my quarters in the boat, when I heard a loud shout of, “Back! back! all of you.” And men came leaping into the boat—combatants of both sides—tumbling over and almost suffocating me; and there was a loud roar, then a bright glare, and shrieks and groans, and fearful cries, and the boat rocked to and fro, and, I thought, was sinking. Human beings, and burning fragments of wood, and rope, and canvas rained thickly down over us; and when I managed to scramble up and look around me the schooner was not to be seen, and the British crew were throwing the burning wood and the mangled bodies of the dead pirates overboard, and securing the living ones.

“Light a lantern,” I heard an officer sing out. “We shall better see what we are about.”

Peter and I were very soon afterwards seized on, when Ready set up a true English bark of indignation, and had I not calmed him would have bitten right and left at our captors, and probably have been knocked on the head and thrown overboard for his pains.

“Halloo, who have we here?” exclaimed the officer, holding the lantern to my face. “A renegade Englishman, a perfect villain by his countenance.”

“Thank you for the compliment, though concealed under a somewhat dubious turn of expression,” I answered ironically. “I am an Englishman, but one who had no wish to be on board the vessel out of which I have just escaped. I will explain matters when we get on board the frigate.”

“Very likely, my fine fellow,” observed the officer, an old salt who had seen much service, and had been disappointed in not obtaining his promotion. “And who are you, friend?” he asked next, coming to Peter.

“A true Englishman, like my master; and, sir, I’d just advise you to be treating Mister Skipwith here civilly, for he’s an Englishman, and a gentleman born and bred into the bargain,” he answered; boldly adding, “And I’ll tell you what, sir,—he’s not the man to tell a lie to you, nor to any man.”

Peter’s remarks had considerable effect on the officer, who immediately addressed me in a more civil tone, and desired the men to let me come aft and sit in the stern sheets, where I should be more comfortable. As I was about to move I heard a groan, and just then the light of the lantern fell on the countenance of poor Marcus, who lay near me badly wounded. I entreated that I might be allowed to attend to him, explaining that by his means my life, and that of my attendant, had been preserved. The officer, who was naturally humane, not only permitted this but gave every assistance in his power.

The other boats had been rowing about picking up the survivors of the pirates, and looking for some of the English seamen who were missing. I was glad to hear that the greater number of the latter had escaped in time to the boats, a small warning explosion having taken place before the magazine itself blew up. The order was now given to return to the frigate, the commanding officer’s boat leading the way. As he passed the boat in which I was, he asked the old officer in ours how many prisoners he had got. The reply was “Six; but one of them says he is a gentleman, and the other is his servant, captured by the pirates, and that their lives have been saved by a black man whom we have also on board.”

“A likely story indeed,” observed the officer in command of the expedition. “However, look to them, Mr Mudge, and ‘treat them as men should men, and not as Rome treats Britain.’”

“That’s my old friend, Dick Trevor, to the life,” I exclaimed. “I am right, am I not?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I thought I must be!” said I. “Oh! Dick, Dick! Is that the way you would treat your friends when you find them out all desolate and alone on the wide ocean?”

“Who can that be?” I heard him exclaim. “‘Speak, I charge thee, speak!’”

“Still stage-struck as of yore,” I answered. “Is my voice so strangely changed then?”

“Yes! it must be Harry Skipwith, turned up out here in the Gulf of Mexico,” he exclaimed. “Come on board my boat, Harry, and tell me all about it as we pull back to our ocean-home on the briny wave. That’s not the right quotation, but never mind.”

The next instant I was shaking hands with my old school-fellow, the eccentric but gallant second lieutenant of H.M.S. Spitfire. I need hardly say that I was most hospitably and kindly received on board the frigate, which was going to put into the Havanna to gain further evidence for the conviction of the pirates; and, what was of no little importance to me, the captain offered to endorse any bill I might wish to draw at that city for the replenishment of my wardrobe.

I enjoyed the luxury of a wash and shave in Trevor’s cabin, and a clean shirt, which I had not obtained on board the pirate, and more than all, the pleasant conversation of men of my own rank and education, of which I had been deprived for many a long day. I got the surgeon of the ship to look to Marcus, who rapidly recovered from his wounds, and when I told the captain his history, he declared that it would be a shame to let him be hung as a pirate, which it was plain that he was not of his own free will.

“You must arrange some plan to allow him to escape, only take care that he does not join any fresh band of pirates.”

I thanked the captain for his kind feeling towards my brave preserver, and promised that he should not be found on board another pirate vessel.

A week after the scenes I have described we entered the picturesque harbour of Havanna. While the frigate remained there I lived on board her, because I had many friends who pressed me to do so, and because the sleeping accommodations in the hotels in that capital of Cuba are far from satisfactory. At length the time arrived for the frigate to proceed to Jamaica, where the pirates were to be tried. I was thankful to find that all the evidence procured against them related to a period anterior to the time that Marcus had joined them, when I could prove that I had met him in the character of a slave in the United States. I bade farewell to Trevor and my other friends, and took up my quarters at one of the hotels. Though the best in the place it was far from comfortable; for though the provisions and public rooms were tolerable, the bed-rooms were much the contrary. In mine there were five beds; one occupied by a man who walked in his sleep, and who if he had not committed a murder, by his gestures looked as if he would. In another, the sleeper snored like a rhinoceros; and in the third lay an Irishman, who would talk, awake or asleep, generally to me and at the rest of the party. Nothing could make him keep silent; a boot-jack flung at his head had no effect; he seemed to know what was coming and bobbed under the bed-clothes. The fourth was occupied by a Portuguese dying of consumption, far away from his kindred and friends. Nothing could be done for him.

I have but a word or two to say of Havanna as a city. The streets are numerous, but narrow and dirty; there is a tolerably large palace for the governor, a good opera-house for the people on the evenings of most days in the week, and a very ugly big cathedral for the Sunday mornings, and a paseo, or public drive, for the afternoons. On this paseo are seen various antique vehicles, called volantes, each carrying two or three dames in full dress. A volante is built like a cabriolet on two wheels, with very long shafts, the points resting in a sort of saddle on a horse’s back,—which horse is ridden by a huge negro in vast leather leg coverings reaching, as he sits, almost up to his ears, and no feet to them, though with silver spurs, white breeches, a gold-laced red jacket, and a broad-brimmed straw hat. Everybody knows that cigars are manufactured in Havanna, that the slave trade is winked at, if not encouraged, by the authorities, who find it not altogether unprofitable to their own pockets, and that piracy, for the same reason, is not held in absolute disrepute by the same respectable gentlemen.

I had gone down to see the last of the frigate as she sailed out of the harbour, when, as I was about to return hotel-wards, I saw a black head rise slowly out of the fore-peak of a Spanish brig lying near, and soon the whole figure of Marcus appeared in view. He saw me, and as the vessels in that harbour are moored stem on to the quays, side by side, he came along over the bowsprit and swung himself down close to me. He congratulated himself on being once more at liberty, though he thought it best not to tell me how he had obtained his freedom. I told him that I was very glad to see him at liberty, and offered to supply him with funds, slender as mine were, to enable him to undertake some honest calling. He replied that he had ample means for his support, a thick roll of gold round his waist, besides a purse full of coin. “Indeed,” he added, “I hope that I shall not offend you, sir, when I tell you that I purposed offering you money, to enable you to proceed on your travels till you could reach some place where you may replenish your purse.” I thanked Marcus for his generous offer, but I felt doubly obliged to my friend the captain, who had enabled me to supply myself with funds, lest I should have been tempted to accept it; for I could not help reflecting how that money must have been obtained.

“We may, I hope,” said Marcus, “meet again, though in what part of the world I know not; but I have one favour to ask,—it is that you will give me your address in England, and that should I ever again reach that country of true freedom, I may be allowed to visit you.”

I need scarcely say that I agreed to what Marcus proposed. There was something about him which strangely attracted me, and with regret I bid him farewell, scarcely expecting ever to see him again.

Havanna had no charms for me, and I was therefore glad once more to embark on the fickle ocean in an attempt to reach New Orleans.

Chapter Thirteen.

From Cuba to New Orleans, and hence up the Mississippi on to St. Louis—Our Voyage up the Ohio—Kentucky Shots—Cincinnati—Away to Toronto—The Hudson’s Bay Company’s Territory described.

After we had lost sight of Cuba I could scarcely help expecting to see some rakish-looking craft hearing down on us, and I must own that it was with inward satisfaction that I remembered the fact that the black schooner and most of the scoundrels on board her were blown up, and unable any more to trouble voyagers over the deep sea. Poor Peter was continually on the look-out for an enemy, and if he saw a sail in the horizon he would come up to me and ask if we hadn’t better get ready to fight, lest it should be “another on them cut-throat gentlemen a-coming to look for us.”

Notwithstanding all the lad’s prognostications of evil, we reached, without any misadventure, the Crescent City, as New Orleans is not inappropriately called, on account of the shape it presents, built along the curving shore of the river. I hastened at once on landing, followed by Peter and Ready, to the office of the merchant on whom I had letters of credit, fortunately forwarded originally in duplicate by post, and having obtained a supply of cash, and such necessaries as I required, I was in a few hours on my way up the Mississippi, earnestly hoping that on this voyage I should escape being snagged, and not be blown up, as Aunt Becky had predicted would be my fate.

I have not been complimentary to New Orleans, but I must say that it is a very grand city. It is divided into two parts by Canal Street—the Old and the New—the Old, built by original French and Spanish founders, contains narrow and dirty streets and the worst class of the population, while in the New are numerous fine buildings, broad streets, and wealthy and respectable inhabitants. It is not nearly so unhealthy as is supposed when once a person is acclimatised,—but to be sure a good many die in the process. And so I make my bow to New Orlieens, as the natives call it. Although I had not many fears on the subject, I was glad to get away without being recognised, nor did anyone on board the steamer take especial notice of me, that I could discover. It was curious to go paddling on day after day, and night after night, and still to find oneself floating on the same broad stream, sometimes with rich level land on either side, and at others with light bluffs, or towns, or villages; also to pass the mouths of large rivers, and to be told that one was navigable eight hundred or a thousand miles up, and that five or six tributaries, each also navigable for six hundred miles or so, while others fell into it. Truly the eastern, southern, and northern parts of North America present a wonderful river system, suited for internal navigation.

We had a curious collection of passengers on board—five hundred at least in the main cabin—some of them, I judged by their physiognomies, not the most respectable portion of the human race. A party of them got round me, and in the most insinuating manner invited me to join them in a friendly game of cards, or dice, or dominoes, indeed they were not particular, anything that would enable me to pass the time agreeably. In spite of all their arguments I persevered in declining their polite invitations, and at length, in reply to no very polite remarks on my manners and appearance, and a strong expression of doubt as to whether I had anything to lose—

“You’ve hit it, gentlemen,” I remarked, quietly looking up at them. “It’s dull work to skin a flint, and I did not wish to give you the trouble.”

“You did well to keep clear of those fellows,” observed a gentleman to me shortly afterwards. “If they could catch you on a dark night near the side of the vessel, they wouldn’t scruple to rob you and heave you overboard.”

In many places the banks of the Mississippi exhibit high bluffs of an earthy nature, sometimes broken into the most fantastic forms, representing castles, towers, church steeples, and ruins of every description.

On the morning of the sixth day we were off the mouth of the Ohio, which river can be ascended for nine hundred miles to Pittsburg, and it must be remembered that I had already come upwards of a thousand miles from New Orleans. The next day, after paddling against stream two hundred miles farther, I landed at St. Louis, in the State of Missouri. It is a handsome city, built on ground sloping up from the Mississippi, about twenty miles distant from the mouths of the two mighty streams of the Missouri and Illinois, while the Mississippi itself has there already pursued a course of nearly seventeen hundred miles. It is a very busy place, and vessels of every description crowd its quays. Proceeding up the Ohio, I landed at Louisville, the chief town in Kentucky. Everyone has heard what Kentucky riflemen can do with their weapons. Understanding that a match was going forward outside the town I went to see it. To my disappointment it was over, but I saw two men shooting away as fast as they could load, at two cocks in a sort of enclosure, with an open space towards us, through which they kept constantly coming into view. Nearly a dozen shots had been tired, and the birds ran about as lively as at first. “Well, sir, I think with uncle’s old fowling-piece I could knock over them barn-doors a precious sight faster than that,” observed Peter, eyeing the marksmen with a glance of contempt.

“Now I guess, stranger, if you was to look closer you wouldn’t be quite so ready to boast of what you could do,” observed a stout, good-natured looking man near us. “Understand, just what you say you could do, they don’t want to do. Their business is to knock the feathers out of them birds’ tails, and do them no mortal injury. There’s a chalked line on their tails, inside of which a shot mustn’t go, or the man who fires it loses the match. Each man, too, has his bird and it requires a sharp eye to know which is which.”

Such I found to be the case. One man had shot all but one short feather away, and he was afraid of killing his bird; the other had shot all but two very long thin ones away, and his bullets constantly flew between them.

The next day we stopped at Cincinnati, a very handsome, civilised-looking city, and one of the most important west of the Alleganies. Here we embarked on board a much smaller steamer than any which had before carried us, though we had still four hundred miles farther to go up the stream to Pittsburg, from whence it was my intention to proceed to Toronto, and so find my way into the Hudson’s Bay Territory, in the best way I could. The boat drew very little water, for we had rapids and shallows to pass over; not so little, however, as a builder on board boasted was the case with one he had constructed—“Six inches, sir! why you know well enough, I guess, that if you was to attempt to send a craft drawing six inches of water up some of our streams, she’d be grounding every day in the week, and ten times in the day,” I heard him exclaim, in a tone of contempt, to a fellow-passenger. “Talk of inches, sir—what do you say to one I built, sir—why, she’d go along right slick across the prairie, provided the dew was thick enough on the grass in the morning. Why, sir, nothing could stop that craft if she could but get a taste of water.” Whether or not his assertion was believed I do not know, but as he was a big strapping fellow, and carried a formidable-looking bowie-knife in his waistcoat pocket, with which he used to pick his teeth and carve his meat, or indeed, what was not so pleasant, any dish intended for the public before him, nobody chose to call his assertion in question.

The country in which I was now about to seek for adventures, is a region which must before long become of importance on account of the great highway between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans passing over it. Through that region indeed will be found the true and only practicable North-west passage, but it will be across the rolling prairie instead of the rolling ocean, and over rocky mountains instead of mountainous billows. The land I speak of is Central British America, also known as “Rupert’s Land,” “the North West Territory,” and the “Hudson’s Bay Company’s Territory.”

The earlier French settlers in Canada believed, and not without reason, that the high road to China would be found along the course of the mighty river on the banks of which they had located themselves. Their idea was ridiculed, and the name of La Chine was given to a village to the west of Montreal by those who believed that the explorers would never get farther in that direction, little supposing that ere long a rich province, full of wealthy cities, would have its eastern limits beyond the point in question; while only of late years the truth has dawned on a few far-sighted individuals that in that direction will be found the shortest and safest high road not only to China, but to provinces fast rising into importance, to British Columbia and Vancouver’s Island, to the wide-spreading shores of the Pacific, and to the numberless islands which stud its bosom; that it will afford a western outlet to the commercial enterprise of the British North American Confederation, which will raise it to a position of great wealth and power.

Let me try and map-down this great country. Following up the course of the St. Lawrence across Lake Ontario, and passing over a broad isthmus, where a deep canal is to be formed, we reach lake Huron. Still going west some two thousand miles distant from the month of the St. Lawrence, we arrive at the Saulte St. Marie, where the waters of the great Lake Superior fall into that of Huron. Here is a free port, and a free settlement has been formed; but we have yet Lake Superior to cross, when we shall reach Fort William, in Thunder Bay, where the most western British American settlement has lately been established. From Thunder Bay, a spot of great picturesque beauty, a good map will show us a succession of lakes, joined by rivers, and known as Dog Lake, Lac des Milles Lacs, Rainy Lake, and Lake of the Woods, the chain, extending till the extensive Lake Winnipeg is reached, having again numberless other lakes and rivers farther west. A journey of about eighty miles beyond the extreme west of the lovely Lake of the Woods carries us to a settlement of British people; not of people who have cast off their allegiance to the British crown, but true subjects, who desire to live under British laws and institutions, and to enjoy all the privileges which Britons justly value as their birthright; yet it is not too much to say that no community of the British race is more completely debarred from the advantages possessed by Englishmen at large than are the inhabitants of the settlement in question.

A glance at our map will show us a river rising in the State of Minnesota, and running nearly due north, entering the British territory at the forty-ninth parallel of latitude, and finally falling into Lake Winnipeg. This is the Red River, and the British settlements on its banks are known as the Selkirk, or Red River settlements. Here are located about six thousand white inhabitants. The spiritual wants of the people have not been neglected, and a bishop, called the Bishop of Rupert’s Land, and about eight Protestant clergymen are placed there, besides a Roman Catholic bishop and several priests. The productions of the district are valuable and numerous, and the climate, though cold enough in winter to ensure a supply of snow, and very warm in summer, is healthy in the extreme, and admirably adapted to British constitutions. The Red River is navigable from the States to the settlements, and again thence to Lake Winnipeg, from which there is a ramification of water communication by lakes and rivers, navigable for steamers for many hundred miles.

The Hudson’s Bay Company have a strongly-fortified post at the junction of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers, called Fort Garry, which serves as the citadel or capital of the settlements, for town or village there is not. The general aspect of the country here is that of a rich level prairie, with the river cutting its way tortuously through it towards Lake Winnipeg, forming steep or cliff-like banks. Belts of trees, however, are to be seen near the river, and woods scattered about, and to the east ranges of hills, while along the sides of both rivers are homesteads, substantial farm-houses, mills, stores, churches, parsonages, and school buildings. These settlements are about four hundred miles west of Thunder Bay, in Lake Superior, and the country for this distance must be the first opened up, and about three hundred miles of it is by far the most difficult part of the undertaking; yet the engineering difficulties for forming such a road as is required are trifling compared to those which have been overcome in numerous works in Canada.

It is a country peculiarly of lakes, and rivers, and forests, the timber being very fine. The timber, by means of the lakes and rivers, can be carried to the settlements, while it is most valuable for the formation of the roads, dams, canals, and villages about to be constructed. I am speaking of the first three hundred miles of road to be formed, whether that road is by lake, river, canal, or on the firm earth. The great object is to get a way opened up with the greatest expedition and at the least expense. Now let us turn our eyes west of the settlements, and we shall see a belt of fertile land, in some places one hundred, in others fifty miles wide, extending for eight hundred miles, to the very base of the Rocky Mountains. This magnificent belt of land has already been traversed from one end to the other by exploring expeditions, and emigrant parties with carts, dragged by oxen travelling at the rate of twenty miles a day. It is intersected by many rivers. The carts were unladen, formed into rafts, and towed across; the cattle swam or waded. The once declared impassable Rocky Mountains were passed with perfect ease, in several places, and British Columbia entered.

To understand clearly the nature of the country, let us suppose ourselves standing on the banks of the Red River, looking west. In front we have the fertile belt stretching out before, us, consisting chiefly of rich level prairie land, ascending gradually towards the Rocky Mountains. Rivers and streams run directly across it at intervals, invariably lined with trees, and here and there are forests of considerable extent, though generally trees are found in small clumps or copses, covering a few acres, having escaped the ravages of the fires which destroyed the primeval forests.

On the left, running from west to east, there is the Assiniboine River, connected by the Calling River with the south branch of the Saskatchewan. On the right, extending in a north-easterly direction, is a range of wood-covered mountains known as the Riding, Duck, and Porcupine Mountains, and on the other side of these are three large lakes, the Winnipeg, Manitobah, and Winnepegosis. Into the northern end of the first falls the important river Saskatchewan, navigable by steamers for two or more hundred miles, and, with certain breaks, up to the very; foot of the Rocky Mountains. The Saskatchewan gives its name to the greater portion of the fertile territory, which is known as the valley of the Saskatchewan. This wonderful chain of rivers and lakes abounds in a great variety of excellent fish, on which once numerous tribes of natives entirely subsisted—so that they thus afford a never-failing supply of food, abundant irrigation, and extensive water inter-communication.

Compared with the latitude of the British North American Provinces, the climate may be supposed to be severe, but it should be understood that as the west is approached the climate improves, and the fact is that near the Rocky Mountains, farther north, and at a far greater elevation, the climate is not more severe than at the Red River. Thus there is uniformity of temperature and natural productions throughout the territory. The cold is great, but not greater than in Lower Canada, and sometimes the winters are so mild that, as Mr Ross, an old settler, states, he has known ploughs at work at Christmas. When spring begins, the heat becomes considerable; thus all the productions of the earth ripen with wonderful rapidity, and from sowing to harvest time is often but three months.

Professor Hind, of the University of Toronto, stated some years ago that the valley of the Saskatchewan, or rather the basin of Lake Winnipeg, contains an area available for cultivation of eighty thousand square miles—a territory very nearly as large as England—and that it is capable of supporting an agricultural population exceeding fifteen millions of souls. “The outlying patches of fertile land lying within the limits of the great plains, together with the deep, narrow valleys of the rivers which run through those arid regions (that is, to the south of the fertile belt), the east flanks of the Rocky Mountains, and the low lands in the region of the great lakes, might support another ten millions, so that the present available area of arable soil—the greater portion of which is susceptible of being at once turned up by the plough—would sustain an agricultural population equal to that of Prussia.” Indeed, vast as is Canada, the professor’s calculations show an excess of land fitted for the permanent abode of man, in favour of the basin of Lake Winnipeg over Prussia, before its recent accessions of territory, of five million five hundred thousand acres. If the whole quantity of land fit for cultivation in Canada were occupied, it would sustain a population of eighteen millions, while in the same proportion the territory under discussion would sustain nineteen millions of people. Including the Red-men, who slaughter the buffaloes which roam over its rich pastures for the sake of their skins alone, it scarcely now supports twenty thousand souls.

As to the natural productions of this region, it may briefly be stated to contain abundance of wood, stone, and clay for building; lignite in many districts, and coal in others; iron of excellent quality, in the neighbourhood of coal; salt, which has long been in use, the springs being easy of access; and grasses, which afford rich fodder in abundance throughout the winter season to large numbers of horses, and to many cattle. “Within the limits of the fertile belt vast herds of buffalo come in winter to feed and fatten on the rich natural grasses, which the early frosts in autumn convert into nutritious hay.” To sum up the capabilities of the territory: It is an admirable grazing country, and cattle and horses can remain out all the winter. Sheep thrive and multiply. Pigs, where there are oak woods, if turned out, require no looking after.

It must be understood that agricultural operations have for many years been carried on at the Red River, and round the mission-stations and trading-posts, and that the statements made are the results of actual experience. Wheat is the staple produce. The ordinary yield is thirty bushels to the acre, and oftentimes forty bushels. It is cut three months from the date of sowing. Indian corn is very fine, and never fails on dry lands. Root crops, especially potatoes, turnips, and beet, yield abundantly, and attain large dimensions. The potato disease is unknown. Garden vegetables grow luxuriantly, and equal those of Canada. Barley and oats, when cultivated with care, yield as abundantly as wheat. Of hay from the natural grasses an abundance can be made. Tobacco is successfully cultivated. Hops, in great luxuriance, grow wild. Ale is brewed with them at Red River. Hemp and flax have also been successfully cultivated. A variety of fruits grow wild, such as strawberries, raspberries, currants, and gooseberries; so does rice. Melons grown in the open air are very fine, and sugar, as in Canada, is abundantly obtained from the maple-tree.

Again, considering the abundant supply of fish, and the various sorts of game, large and small, from the buffalo and deer to the hare and rabbit, it will be understood how amply the territory is provided by nature for the support of a large population.

Of the Indians, there are scarcely forty thousand in the fertile belt and wood and lake regions together, who chiefly subsist on buffalo flesh and fish, and live in skin or birch-bark tents. The Prairie Indians have large numbers of hones, while only some tribes of the Wood Indians possess those animals. Some few have been converted to Christianity, but the larger proportion retain all their heathen customs, though generally they do not show any hostility to the whites. The Sioux Indians, however, across the boundary line, from the treatment they have received from the people of the United States, are determined enemies of the white men and half-breeds.

But how, it may be asked, can this vast territory be peopled? By a simple and easily carried out system. The object, in the first place, is to establish a direct communication across it. A railroad is out of the question for many years to come, and even a regular macadamised road can scarcely be expected for some time, but we may well be content if we can obtain a road over which a wheeled vehicle may travel some forty miles in the day, and horsemen at still greater speed. In the first instance, there must be settlements, and it is proposed to establish them at about twenty-five miles apart, in a direct line from Lake Superior to the Rocky Mountains. Grants of land with freedom from taxation, and the certainty of obtaining ample employment, will quickly attract settlers. In the first place, in each settlement a wheelwright and cart-builder, a blacksmith, two or more carpenters, a painter and glazier, a baker, a butcher, an innkeeper, and other artisans obviously required on a great highway, would find employment. Several farmers and agricultural labourers, and a market-gardener, would be wanted to supply food. Stable-keepers, and grooms, and postilions may be named, and all these would, of course, attract storekeepers, tailors, and shoemakers. A police force, with small bodies of military pensioners, and perhaps a few troops, might be stationed at intervals in the settlements along the line. To these communities, with the aid of some navvies, might be confided the duty of improving the road at first roughly marked out. Bridges might be required over small streams, and ferries would certainly be required over broad ones, and here boat-builders and ferrymen would be called for.

It will thus be seen in what way the settlements can first be formed; but before they are placed along the whole line, the more difficult part of the country between Lake Superior and the Lake of the Woods must be pierced through. Trees have to be cut down, rough places smoothed, and bridges erected; and where the line is by water, dams have to be constructed, landing-places formed, and steamers launched. Scarcely one summer, however, would be required for the work; and it must be remembered that the route in question has been traversed for years back, and that, although heavy luggage cannot at present be carried that way, passengers and light goods may be transported by canoes through the lakes and rivers which have been described. The first settlement has already been formed by the colonial government at Fort William, on Thunder Bay. About forty miles to the west is the boundary line between the British North American Confederation, which is destined ere long to include the whole of British North America, and the Hudson’s Bay Company’s territory.

Chapter Fourteen.

From Toronto to the Pacific—Jack Trevor, an old Chum, for Fellow-traveller—From Collingwood by Steamer—Birch-bark Canoes—Lake Superior and Thunder Bay—Fort William to Lake Winnipeg—The Kaministiquia—Swiftfoot, our Indian Guide, and Half-caste Crew—A Portage—Our Camp and Progress—Missionaries and Settlers—Fort Garry and Selkirk Settlements.

There is nothing that I need relate excepting that after my arrival at Toronto I immediately set to work in right earnest about preparations for a journey of fifteen hundred miles or so across the continent to the Pacific. I had become intensely British during my stay in the States, and resolved that my journey should he, if possible, entirely through British territory, and remote as possible from the United States boundary. Some of my friends advised me to go by railway to La Cross, and from thence up the upper waters of the Mississippi to St. Paul, in Minnesota, then, by a stage to Georgetown, on the Red River, down which stream I could proceed by a steamer to the Selkirk Settlement, in the centre of which Fort Garry is situated, at the point where the Assiniboine and Red River meet.

When travelling I seldom fail to find a companion, and my disposition being somewhat of a malleable nature, I generally manage so to work his and mine together that we are able to rub on socially till called upon to separate. In the present instance I was more fortunate than usual, for, while I was in the midst of my preparations, who should turn up one day—or rather roll into the office of my cousin, John Brown—but my old school-fellow, and strong-fisted, stout-hearted friend, Jack Trevor, brother of Lieutenant Trevor of the Spitfire! He was a capital shot, could handle oar and scull right well, throw a fly skilfully, run like a deer, walk thirty miles on a stretch without fatigue, and woe betide the man who felt the strength of his arm! I told Jack what I was about to undertake.

“Just suit me,” he exclaimed. “I was wondering what I should do. I’ve a year or so to spare, some cash to throw away, am in good training, and should amazingly like to have a scamper after buffalo.”

The ice of winter having sufficiently disappeared from the upper lakes to render navigation possible we started by the northern railway, passing Lake Simcoe to Collingwood, on the shores of the Georgian Bay, and then embarked on board a steamer named after the same heroic admiral. Paddling away north, we were soon out of sight of the generally low shore, and then the wind began to blow and the waves to roll furiously, making the big vessel tumble about in a most uncomfortable manner, till I thought it more than possible that she would go down then and there to the bottom of the lake. Peter looked at me reproachfully, remarking—

“I thought when we got into this country we were to have no more tossing about on the salt ocean?”

“Nor have we. This is but a pool, Peter; the water is fresh, and the land is on every side of us, only we don’t see it,” I answered, but I doubt if he was satisfied.

We managed, however, to tumble on till we got under the lee of a wooded island, where we remained as quietly as in a mill-pond till the next morning, when we continued our voyage between the Manitoulin islands and the north shore of Lake Huron till we came to the Bruce mines.

Along this north shore a road has been surveyed and settlements laid out. Proceeding up the St. Mary River, we reached the villages of that name—one on the British, the other on the States’ side. Between the two Lake Superior sends its waters in a fierce rapid into the river on their course to the ocean. We avoided them by stealing through a canal on the American side. On our way we took on board two birch-bark canoes which my indefatigable cousin, John Brown, had caused to be provided, as, also, a supply of gum to stick over the seams, wattap, which is the root of the tamarack, used to sew the pieces of birch-bark together, cod-lines, and other indispensables for canoe navigation. Here, also, an Indian guide and a crew joined us—dark-skinned individuals descended from French Canadians and Indians, a class which is employed by the Hudson’s Bay Company—in their canoes. I will describe them as we go on. We purposed picking up, afterwards, a few Indians to increase our strength.

Away we steamed along the northern shore of Lake Superior, occasionally sighting some lofty bluff, said to contain a vast supply of iron, copper, and other mineral wealth, till we neared the fine headland of Thunder Cape and found ourselves amid the magnificent scenery of Thunder Bay. Here the steamer anchored; and we, launching our canoes, went on shore at Fort William, an important port standing at the mouth of the river Kaministiquia. We found that surveyors had already laid out a settlement on the banks of this stream, which is navigable for large vessels for a good many miles from its mouth.

While preparing for our long inland voyage of something not much under five hundred miles to the Red River, we were entertained by the surveyor, who showed us the plans proposed for opening up the country for general traffic. Trevor had become very eager on the subject, and declared that he should be ready to devote his life to the undertaking. We therefore agreed to follow the same route. Sending our canoes with the voyageurs up the Kaministiquia River, we were to proceed north along the shore of Thunder Bay till we reached a harbour abreast of Dog Lake, where we were to land and push our way for twenty-eight miles across the country, along the line where a good road was soon to be formed to Dog Lake. Here we were to embark in our canoes, as we should have a clear navigation of thirty-five miles across the lake and up Dog River till it became shoal; then, landing, we were to ascend to the height of land forming the boundary between Canada and the North West Territory, and make a portage of five miles to the Savanna River. A portage is literally a carrying. The canoes and cargo are carried on men’s shoulders over the land, either to avoid a rapid, or from one lake or stream to another; thus, these intervening spaces of land come to be called also portages. After launching our canoes in the Savanna River we were to obtain a free navigation of sixty-five miles, the Lake des Mille Lacs, and the river Seine to the Little Falls. We were, from this place, to be prepared for numerous portages, amounting altogether to seven miles, and fifty-nine and a half of navigation. After the last of these portages we were to get a run of two hundred and eight miles down the river Seine into Rainy Lake, and from thence into the Lake of the Woods, which we were to cross at its western extremity either to a small lake known as Lac Flat, ninety-one and a half miles across an easy country to Fort Garry, or to descend the Winnipeg River into Lake Winnipeg, and along its northern shore to the mouth of the Red River.

We decided on the latter route for ourselves, as we wished for our canoes to navigate the lakes and rivers to the westward, and, not being expected, we should have had no horses sent over by the Selkirk people to meet us. It must be remembered that the Selkirk settlement and the Red River settlement are different names for the same district, and that Fort Garry is in the midst of it. Trevor, who had an especial taste for engineering projects, was delighted with the account, and made out that by means of good steamers, short railroads, or even roads for coaches, and tramways over which loaded boats could be drawn, the distance between Fort William and Fort Garry might be accomplished in six days.

“You see,” he observed, “the greater portion of the distance would be performed by steamers; though, on the sixty miles of broken navigation on the river Seine, large boats to be dragged up inclined planes and along tramways over the portages would be more suitable. Then the Red River people would make the short road necessary between this place and Lac Plat, and supply the conveyances, greatly to their profit. Why, the whole route, if people had energy, might be open by next summer, and as we all know that the distance between the Red River and the top of the Rocky Mountains offers no impediments, if the inhabitants of British Columbia would open up a communication on this side, we should, in a year or two, be sending our letters across the continent from the Atlantic to the Pacific in a couple of weeks or so; and fellows like you or me, Harry, would be able to accomplish it by railway, steam-boat, and on horseback, in about the same time.”

Having sent the canoes on two days before, we supplied ourselves with packs, blankets, and provisions for a couple of days, and engaged an Indian guide, and landing at the mouth of Current River, on the northern shore of Thunder Bay, we worked our way along the line of the proposed road to Dog Lake. We just saved our daylight to the shore of the lake, where we prepared to camp. Our guide first cut off a quantity of the young shoots of the spruce-fir, which he strewed on a dry spot to form our beds, while, at his suggestion, we collected a large supply of dry wood for a fire. Our kettle for tea was soon boiling, and by the aid of our frying-pan, the most useful of all cooking utensils, the dried provisions we had brought with us were converted into a savoury stew, seasoned with garlic, salt, and pepper, and thoroughly enjoyed by us. Trevor pronounced it jolly fun, and declared that he should never grow tired of living as we then were doing. Never go across wild countries without a portable frying-pan, you can boil water in it, cool, boil, stew, fry, and even bake, without any other appliance than a frying-pan and a little fire and water. Our Indian guide, whose name was Swiftfoot, was so pleased with the way we treated him that he begged he might accompany us, and as he bore a good character for honesty and good temper and for being an expert and daring hunter and canoe paddler, we accepted his services. As he understood English fairly, and had already been a considerable distance up the Saskatchewan, we considered him a valuable acquisition to our party.

The next morning the canoes appeared. Having camped at no great distance from where we were, and having taken a hurried breakfast, we embarked.

“Take care,” cried Swiftfoot, as we stepped on board; and not without reason, for though accustomed to University eight-oars, we as nearly as possible pitched head foremost out on the other side of our frail barks, to the great risk of capsizing them and spoiling our goods.

Trevor and Swiftfoot went in one canoe, I with Peter and Ready in the other; and the crews, with stores and provisions, were evenly divided between us. Away we paddled across the lake, our Indians striking up a song of the character of “Row, brothers! row!” but not so melodious. All day we paddled, and camped at night. When we came to a portage we jumped out. Two men carried each canoe; the rest loaded themselves with her cargo and bore it on their shoulders half a mile, or perhaps two or three, or more, till smooth water was again reached.

On those occasions we sighed for tramways over which we could run swiftly with cargo and canoes. Every portage has its name, and so, indeed, has every point, stream, and isle, for ages the fur traders’ canoes have been traversing this country, and to these people every mile is known. We indulged in small tents for sleeping; but our beds were the hard rocks sprinkled with spruce-fir-tops and covered with rugs.

I have not described our canoes. They were formed of the bark of the white birch-tree, peeled off in large sheets and bent over a slender frame of cedar ribs confined by gunwales, which are kept apart by slender bars of the same wood. A thread called called wattap, made out of the flexible roots of the young larch-tree, is used to sew the sheets of bark together and to secure them to the gunwales, which have thus the appearance of an Indian basket. The joinings are made water-tight by a coating of tamarack gum put on hot, or by the pitch of the yellow pine. The seats are suspended from the gunwales so as not to press against the sides. The stem and stern are alike, the sheets of bark being cut into a graceful curve, and are frequently ornamented with beads or coloured moose hair. Ours carried six men each, and our baggage and provisions, and were so light that a couple of men lifted them out of the water and ran along with them over the roughest ground with the greatest ease. They are urged on by light paddles with broad blades, and are steered by another of the same shape. For several days we paddled on—making no great speed, however, for across lakes in calm weather we seldom did more than four miles an hour—when Trevor used to sing out, “Oh, for an eight-oar; oh, for an eight-oar! how we would make her spin along.” However, I persuaded him that we were better as we were—because, in case of being snagged, not having a boat-builder at hand, we should have been puzzled to repair her.

For several days we paddled on without meeting with any actual adventure, although objects of interest were not wanting during every hour of the day. We passed through the Lake of the Thousand Lakes and camped on its shores before beginning our descent of the river Seine. The night passed calmly. I awoke early: the stars were slightly paling, a cold yellow light had begun to show itself in the east, on the lake rested a screen of dense fog, through which a host of Indians bent on our destruction might have been approaching without my being able to discover them; landward was a forest equally impenetrable. Walking a step or two from the camp I heard a sudden rush. I started, and cocked my smooth-bore, but nothing appeared, and I guessed that it was a fox, minx, or marten, prowling close by, attracted by the remains of last night’s supper. From the expiring camp-fires a thin volume of smoke rose up above the trees and then spread lakewards, to join the damp misty veil which hid the quiet waters from view. Round the fires were the silent forms of the Indians lying motionless on their backs, wrapped in their blankets, like shrouded corpses stretched at full length. Two or three were under the canoes, and Swiftfoot had taken post in front of Trevor’s tent. As dawn advanced an Indian awoke, uncovered his face, and sitting upon his haunches, looked round from beneath the folds of his blanket, which he had drawn over his head. After a few minutes a low “waugh” from his throat made some of the others unroll themselves and begin blowing at the fire and adding fresh fuel. A few minutes were spent by the French voyageurs in prayer, and then the rest of the party being roused, the tents were struck, and our early meal, consisting of fried dampers and fish, biscuits, with hot coffee and tea, sweetened, but without milk, enjoyed. The canoes were then launched.

“No frying-pans, hatchets, or other valuables left behind?” sang out Trevor, who acted as commander-in-chief.

Each man examined the property committed to his charge, and all being found right, we paddled down the stream as usual.

Here let me advise those engaged in similar expeditions to be careful about such trifles, for a party may be brought to a standstill, and lives endangered, by the loss of articles which may appear, at the moment, of little value.

Now and then we came to rapids which it was deemed tolerably safe to shoot. We had performed this feat twice when we came to another. We had got through the greater part when, as we were dashing on amid the foam, the stern swiftly turning round, we grazed a rock.

“A narrow shave!” I exclaimed, thinking we were safe, but Peter’s cry of—

“Oh, sir! oh, sir! the water is a running in, and we shall all be drowned!”

“Stick your thumb into it,” cried Trevor, from the other canoe, which was just ahead, and had escaped all danger. This the lad did literally, but the water spouted up all round his arm.

“Never mind,” exclaimed “Longshot,” the chief of my canoe, “we shall go on till the next portage.”

But the water kept rising and rising till we had three inches of it inside the canoe. This was more than I bargained for, and as the cargo would be injured even if we did not sink, I insisted on landing. The chief trouble was unlading the canoe; for a piece of bark sewed on with wattap, and covered over with gum melted with a burning stick, soon repaired the damage.

Thus we made good three hundred and eighty-one miles, counting the sinuosities of the course, and found ourselves encamped on the north-west corner of the beautiful Lake of the Woods. I say beautiful, for no part of North America presents more lovely and picturesque lake scenery—here bare precipitous rocks, there abrupt timbered hills of every form, and gentle wooded slopes and open grassy areas, while islands of every variety of form and size dot the blue expanse.

There was the usual fog resting on the surface of the lake as I turned out in the morning before the rest of the party, whom I was about to rouse up, when my ear caught the sound of paddles approaching the camp. That they were Indians there could be no doubt, and I thought that they were probably on a journey and would pass by without observing us. Swiftfoot had not given the Wood Indians of this district the best of characters, yet, as they had always shown a friendly disposition towards the English, we heard, we had no cause to apprehend danger from them. Still, I knew that it was necessary when travelling in those regions to be on our guard, and I therefore stood still, expecting to hear the sound of the paddles gradually decrease as they passed by. Suddenly, however, a light puff of wind lifted the veil of mist, and exposed to view nearly a dozen large canoes filled with painted and feather-bedecked Indians, evidently a war-party, and coming directly for our camp.

“Indians! Quick, to your feet!” I shouted out, having no fancy to be murdered through too much ceremony, or by putting over-confidence in a band of savages.

In an instant Trevor stood with his revolver in one hand and his fowling-piece in the other, ready to do battle. Peter, with his fists doubled, and the rest with their different weapons prepared for use, while Ready showed his teeth and barked furiously to make amends for his previous carelessness.

On seeing our preparations a young chief stood up in the bow of the leading canoe, and waving his hand, stated that he was coming on a peaceable errand.

“My father, the chief, will be here anon—he sent me on to announce his coming.”

Finding that resistance would be almost hopeless if they meant evil, putting the best face we could on matters, we begged the young chief to land and sit down and smoke the calumet of peace, or, as Trevor expressed it, “take his pipe and make himself at home.” He was a talkative youngster, and seemed very proud of having killed two or three men in a war expedition against the Sioux, from which he had just returned, exhibiting to our unpleased eyes the fresh scalps he had taken. We found that he had brought them all down at long shots. Indeed, Red-men, notwithstanding all that has been said in their praise by novel writers, have a very unheroic notion of fighting. Trevor called it an “unsportsmanlike way of bagging their game.”

Our blood-thirsty young acquaintance smoked several pipes, drank a quart of tea, and talked of affairs in general, but left us as much in the dark as ever as to the reason of his coming, though he informed us that our fire had been seen in the evening; but that, unwilling to disturb us, he had postponed his visit till daylight. His followers had, meantime, landed and squatted round us in the most amicable manner—my dog Ready being the only one of the party who exhibited any hostile feeling, and he was in no way satisfied with the appearance of the ill-looking war-begrimed strangers. Our principal annoyance arose from being unable to proceed, which we could not venture to do till the appearance of the chief. At length his fleet of nearly twenty canoes hove in sight, and he soon landed, and with all the pomp and dignity he could assume, demanded the reason of our passing through his country. We replied, through Swiftfoot, that we were on a journey of pleasure, desiring to pass on to the big sea in the far-west, to hunt the buffalo, and shoot a grizzly if we could; in fact, to inspect the country and kill time.

After listening attentively, he gave a significant “ugh!” observing that we might or might not be speaking the truth, but that certainly we were more likely to meet pain than pleasure, that too many buffalo were hunted already, but that was no business of his, and that as to grizzlies, he knew nothing of them in his part of the country, nor of a big lake in the far-west, and that we could kill time far better at home; but there was one thing he did know, that the white people had deceived the Red-men so often, and had occupied their lands, so that with his will no one should pass through his country, which lay between the Lake of the Woods and the Red River. We took a few minutes to deliberate what to say, and then instructed Swiftfoot to inform the chief that he was a very wise man, but that he was labouring under one slight error, the fact being that the whole country belonged to the Queen of England, that he and his people were her subjects, and that so were we; that she desired all her subjects to be friendly to each other; that she was very angry with those who were not, and made presents to those who were; that we should set a good example by not passing through the country he claimed, though we were afraid she might be very much vexed at hearing of his want of courtesy, still to show him of our friendly disposition we proposed presenting him with some tobacco, hatchets, and blankets, although we had not come provided with presents. He looked completely taken aback on hearing this, and ended by sending two of his young men as guides down the Winnipeg River, the course we had intended to pursue.

We visited an island in the lake, a large portion of which was cultivated, and produced Indian corn, potatoes, squashes, and pumpkins; pigeons and a variety of birds flew over our heads, and fish swarmed in the lakes and streams we passed through. We stopped on our way at two or three Hudson’s Bay Company’s trading-posts. They are generally situated on commanding positions, surrounded by stockades which would serve to keep out a predatory party of Indians. We also visited a missionary station, that of Islington, established by an English lady, Mrs Sandon, of Bath. The missionary, Mr Macdonald, has long laboured among the Red-men, instructing them in the truths of the Gospel, teaching them agriculture, and educating their children in his schools with more success generally than the adults.

It took us nearly three weeks to voyage from Fort William to the mouth of the Red River, which we reached by a traverse across Lake Winnipeg. We ascended that river to a settlement of Christian Indians, presided over by an English clergyman, where we left our canoes and boatmen till we should again require them, and proceeded up, on horseback, to the main settlements, some rapids impeding this part of the navigation of the Red River.

In contrast to the wild scenery through which we had so long been travelling, the Selkirk settlements presented an aspect of civilisation and advancement which we had not expected. There were good roads, houses, churches, schools, mills, stores, large farms and small farms, and a cathedral and nunnery belonging to the Roman Catholics. There is no town in the settlement, but there is a large, tolerably strong fort, that of Fort Garry, on the point of land where the Assiniboine River falls into the Red River, and for twenty miles or so, on the banks of the two streams, the buildings I have described have been raised in groups or knots, forming separate hamlets, with, in most instances, a church and school-house for each. I might give a long and interesting account of the settlement, but such is not my aim. I will merely remark that the farms were well-stocked, and showed a variety and an abundance of produce; that horses and cattle lived out and grew fat on the native grasses throughout the winter, that so too did pigs in the woods on acorns and roots; and that all the inhabitants required to become wealthy and prosperous, was a regular market for their produce.

Chapter Fifteen.

We get up a Buffalo Hunt—We engage Stalker and Garoupe, two Half-caste Hunters—Pemmican—The Hunt—I get Floored by a huge Bison, but am carried to Camp in his Skin—Hostile Sioux, and a Brush with them—We cross the Assiniboine—La Prairie Portage.

Trevor and I now formed our first hunting expedition. Buffalo, or rather bison-hunting, had long been our day-dream, and had formed the chief subject of our conversation as we paddled along in our canoes, or when seated round our camp-fires at night, so now we determined to make a beginning. We engaged a couple of half-breeds as guides and hunters, one was of English, the other of French parentage. One was called John Stalker, the other Pierre Garoupe. They were both bold, active fellows, and each amusingly tenacious of the honour of the country from which his father came. There was no want of good horses in the settlement, courageous, hardy animals, trained to hunt the buffalo, and taught to stand still should their rider be thrown, or any accident happen to him. The carts of the country are built entirely of wood, without a nail, and consequently float across rivers, and if broken, are easily repaired. We bought four of these carts to carry our tent, provisions, ammunition, and clothing. A large body of half-breed hunters, with their wives and children, had gone on before, towards the south-west, where the buffalo were said to have appeared in great numbers, on their way to the northward, and we hoped, by pushing on, to overtake the band in time to see some of the sport.

John Stalker gave us much information about these hunting expeditions. Great regularity is observed. Each man has his own cart or carts and horses. The band is divided into companies, with a chief to each, and constables, and a leader over the whole, whose word is supreme both in camp and on the hunting field. We found ourselves in a new kind of scenery. Here, and there were separate woods, but our course chiefly lay over the open prairie, a boundless expanse of waving grass. The greatest risk in dry weather in such a country is from fire; should it once become ignited no human power can arrest its progress, and Heaven have mercy on the hapless hunter whom it overtakes. The fleetest steed will scarcely escape if flying before it. We found from the fresh tracks that we were near the hunters, and at length we came upon them encamped, the women making pemmican, and the men cleaning their arms, or doing nothing. Pemmican is the staple food of all the hunters and travellers throughout the country. In the Cree tongue Pemmi means meat, and Kon fat. The flesh of the buffalo is cut up in strips and hung on poles to dry. Then it is pounded between two stones till the fibres separate. About fifty pounds of this meat are put into a bag of buffalo skin with forty pounds of hot melted fat, thoroughly mixed with it. A nicer sort contains berries and sugar, and is highly prized. It keeps for years, subject to wet, cold, or damp. One pound is considered equal to three of ordinary meat.

Having introduced ourselves to the leader of the party, and invited him to come and sup with us, we encamped in a position he assigned to us, and made preparations for the next day’s hunt. By early dawn, Trevor and I, followed by Peter, were in the saddle—the latter from his childhood had been accustomed to horses, and was now perfectly at home on horseback. I spoke of the Crees. They inhabit the country to the south and east of Lake Winnipeg, and the half-breeds are chiefly related to them on the mothers’ side.

It was a fine sight to see the band of hunters marshalled in order, advance towards the spot where the buffaloes, as the bisons are here called, were said to be feeding. I could not help thinking, as I watched them, what splendid light cavalry they would make, for the defence of the country against their encroaching neighbours, or mounted police, or irregular cavalry for any purpose. Trevor, too, was much struck with the scene. “We try to civilise the Red-men,” he remarked; “very good, and I don’t see any impossibility; but I do see the bungling manner in which we set about it. We try to make men who have been all their lives on horseback, or, with rifle in hand, have hunted buffaloes, deer, or grizzlies, or been accustomed to the trapping of small game, sit quietly down as farmers, gardeners, or carpenters, and attend school and church, Sundays and week days, without any approach to amusement, or what is still more absurd, without finding them any market for the produce of their industry when they are industrious. Teach them Christianity, and civilise them by all means, but introduce canoe races, horse races, foot races, shooting matches, foot-ball, cricket, all sorts of games,—anything, in fact, suitable to their bodily and mental powers, and open up the country; send people to buy their produce, and employ them as postillions, mail carriers, ostlers, cattle drovers, ferrymen; and at the same time keep them as much as possible separate from white men, under good guidance and instruction, and I have some hope that they will not decrease in numbers, and that they will become civilised in reality as well as nominally.”

Trevor had got thus far when the advanced guard made a signal for silence to be kept. We each of us stood up in our stirrups, and looking out ahead caught sight of numberless dark objects covering the prairie, far as the eye could reach, from north to south.

The wind blew from them, so that we might hope to get near without being perceived. The hunters now examined their saddle-girths, loaded their guns, and looked to their primings or percussion caps, and filled their mouths with bullets that they might drop them into their guns, without wadding, while at full gallop. The elder we heard cautioning the less experienced, and with good reason, not to shoot each other—a contingency I thought very likely to occur. Cautiously at first we approached the herd, clutching our weapons and bending forward eagerly, ready to dash on at a moment’s notice. Before us was a very large herd of buffaloes. On we went still unperceived—even the sagacious horses seemed to tread cautiously. At length some of the nearest animals lifted up their shaggy bearded heads. Our leader gave the signal—we were discovered. No further need now for silence. Our steeds sprang forward—off we dashed, and, scampering along at full speed, were soon in the midst of the more tardy-moving animals, each hunter firing right and left into the animal nearest him on either hand. It was like a naval engagement in days of yore, when a British fleet got among the enemy. In this instance, each hunter was widely separated from his companions, and only now and then the unfortunate chase turned to show fight. Even that was hopeless, for the well-trained horse, wheeling or leaping aside, knew as well as his rider how to avoid the charge of the furious buffalo, which was certain in the course of a few seconds to be brought low.

As each hunter killed an animal he dropped some article of his property to denote his prey, a handkerchief, tobacco box, knife, steel, and then galloped on, slaughtering right and left. I had told Peter to keep near me, lest any accident should happen to the lad; but carried away by the excitement of the chase, he separated from me, and Trevor very quickly disappeared. I was in high glee, for I had rolled over two buffaloes in succession. On I galloped, and brought down a third. I fired at a fourth, a huge bull, but though I hit him he did not fall, and before I could check the speed of my horse to load, the animal put his foot in a badger’s hole, and down he came, throwing me over his head. As I was on my way to the ground it seemed I looked up and beheld the huge buffalo, with his hairy head bent down, dashing towards me. I had no power of defending myself. I saw his red, fiery eyes close to me, felt his hot breath on my cheek, and gave myself up for lost. I remembered nothing more but a most horrible sensation of suffocation. I had remained some time in that condition, when I heard voices near me, and recognised Peter’s tones. “Yes, yes, that is my dear master,” he exclaimed. “Yes, Master Stalker, and he be coming to life again, I do believe. Hurra! hurra!”

On this I felt myself lifted up and carried to a little distance, when I was again put down. In a few minutes I was placed in a litter formed, I afterwards found, of the skin of the very buffalo which had so nearly finished me.

The shots I had put into him, though not instantaneously fatal, had produced his death at the moment he was about to gore me, and his huge body had fallen over, completely above me. Poor Peter, when the hunt was over, and the hunters were returning to camp, had searched about for me in every direction, till he was in perfect despair. At length a buffalo I had killed was discovered, and my course tracked till I was found under the body of my fourth victim. The lad had killed a buffalo, and Trevor boasted of knocking over six, so that he was well content with this result of his first hunt in British North America.

A considerable number of animals had been killed, and now the carts came up to carry off the flesh to be converted forthwith into pemmican, in the manner already described. There was a terrible waste of food even in this instance.

I was for several days unable to mount my horse, but had recovered completely by the time the pemmican was prepared and the camp broken up. It had been arranged that we were to begin the homeward march the next day, when the scouts, always kept actively employed on such occasions, brought in word that they had discovered the trail of a band of Sioux, their hereditary foes, and had followed it up till they found them encamped not more than a day’s journey from where we were—in American territory. A council of war was held immediately. It was agreed by the hunters that if they did not attack the Sioux, the Sioux would follow and attack them and take them unawares.

Trevor and I at once came to the opinion that it was our duty to be non-combatants; and, indeed, we counselled our friends to retreat without attacking the Sioux, and to trust to their own vigilance not to be taken by surprise. This advice was very unpalatable to the tastes of the hunters, and was totally disregarded. As far as the principles of the half-breeds are concerned we found them very little in advance of the Indians, though they pique themselves, as a mark of their civilisation, on not taking scalps. Trevor even offered to visit the camp of the Sioux, and to try and negotiate terms of peace. To this proposal, however, they would not a moment listen, declaring that he would lose his life in the attempt. The council broke up, and a war-party having been arranged, forthwith set out. They advanced with caution, with scouts thrown out to examine any ground which could possibly afford a spot for an ambush.

We rode on with them for some distance, and in vain again urged them to abandon so utterly profitless an expedition—certain as it was also, even should they be victorious in the present instance, to make their enemies retaliate on some future occasion. I believe that the women of the party regarded us with a considerable amount of contempt when we returned to the camp in consequence of our interference. Peter, however, explained to the fair dames that although we refused to attack men who had never injured us, we would fight for them like heroes if they were attacked. This assurance seemed to restore us to their good opinion. Two days passed, and the war-party returned, looking haggard and travel-stained. They boasted of having killed sixteen of the enemy, but as they had certainly lost five of their own men and had no trophies to show, we questioned this statement. There were also, we pointed out to them, as the result of their exploit, three widows in the camp and a dozen fatherless children whom they were bound to support.

We immediately began our return homewards. The camp remained quiet all night, but the next morning several horses were missing, and two scouts, at no great distance, were found killed and scalped. The following day a Cree hunter lost his life, but our friends showed no inclination to turn back on the enemy. They were, I found, so completely down-hearted at the loss they had sustained in consequence of their own folly, that they exhibited none of that courage and daring which they undoubtedly possess. Still I am convinced that, well led, they are men capable of performing the most daring exploits. As we did not wish to return to Fort Garry, while they kept to the right, we crossed the Assiniboine River and went on to La Prairie Portage, a settlement of Christian Indians, presided over by Archdeacon Cochrane, who has devoted the whole of his life to the service of these children of the wilderness. The settlement appeared in a flourishing condition. There are two churches, a number of neat cottages, and many well-cultivated and well-stocked farms.

Chapter Sixteen.

Animals of the Wilderness—The Sioux again—An Encampment of Cree Indians—Buffalo Pounds—To the Red River.

We remained here a couple of days to rest our cattle and put our carts in order, and then pushed on by the back trail due west across the prairie towards Fort Ellis. We encountered wonderfully few difficulties in our progress, though we met with not a few adventures. Everywhere rabbits were plentiful, as were all sorts of wild fowl, so that we fared sumptuously. We noticed hamming birds and locusts or grasshoppers, as they are here called, innumerable. Vast flights passed over our heads, appearing like silvery clouds in the sky. So voracious are they that they destroyed every article of clothing left on the grass. Saddles, girths, leather bags, and clothes were devoured without distinction. Ten minutes sufficed them, as some of our men found to their cost, to destroy several garments which had been carelessly left on the ground. Looking upwards at the sun as near as the light would permit, we saw the sky continually changing colour, according to the numbers in the passing clouds of insects. Opposite the sun the prevailing hue was a silver white, continually flashing. The hum produced by so many millions of wings is indescribable, sounding something like a singing in our ears. These locusts are, as may be supposed, the great enemies to the farmers of these regions—their greatest, even before early and late frosts. Fortunately they do not come every year. We fell in with a few black bears and wolves, and with red deer and elks, buffaloes, and other wild animals, so that we had plenty of fresh meat for the table, besides wild fowl and fish, amongst which is a delicious variety of pike, named by the original French Canadians, from the peculiar formation of its mouth and head, Masque-alonge, Long-face. Beavers have become almost extinct, and so have panthers; but in our fishing expeditions we found that otters were still plentiful. Our plan of encamping was somewhat different from that we adopted when voyaging in canoes. At night, our fires being lit, we assembled round them, to cook our provisions, and to escape the breeze-fly and mosquitoes and other insects which the smoke keeps away. Sending out scouts to ascertain that no Redskins were in the neighbourhood, who would steal our animals if they could, we turned them loose, knowing that they would not stray far. One night, however, one of our scouts reported that he had seen something approach the brow of the hill about two hundred yards off, and that after gazing at the encampment it had disappeared; but whether it was a two-legged or four-legged creature he could not say.

The next night, as I was going my rounds, I distinctly heard a horse neigh. This, when I reported it, with the occurrence of the previous night, made our guides sure that we were watched by Sioux, and that they would attempt to steal our horses. Our camp-fires were therefore put out, the carts placed close together, the animals brought in and tethered, and a watch set. The general opinion was, however, that no attack would be made till near dawn. Still, it would be unwise to trust to that. The horses, after a time, became restless. Ready also showed, by his low growls, that he fancied enemies were in the neighbourhood. Our half-breeds, accordingly, crawling through the grass, arranged themselves in a half-circle about seventy yards from the carts, each with his gun loaded with buck-shot. The night was dark, and not a word was spoken above a whisper. Towards morning a scout came in to report that he had heard a person or animal crossing the river—that it came near him and then passed on near the camp. On this he judged it time to follow—that it had come within thirty yards of the tents, when Ready had growled, and that then turning off it had recrossed the river. On hearing this, we became still more anxious than ever, expecting every moment an attack. When morning dawned we discovered that we had been completely surrounded by Indians; who, however, perceiving that we were on the alert and that the horses were tethered, abandoned the attempt to steal them.

This circumstance taught us the necessity for constant caution, at the same time it showed us that the Redskins could not be very desperate or blood-thirsty characters, or they would have attacked us in a far bolder manner. Some days after this our leading scout galloped in, announcing that he had come upon a large encampment of Crees near which we must pass. We closed up immediately and stood to our arms, not knowing whether the strangers would prove to be friends or foes. In the meantime we sent Stalker forward as an ambassador to announce our arrival, and to express a wish on our part to have an interview with their chief. Our envoy had not been long absent when a band of sixty Cree horsemen appeared in sight, galloping rapidly towards us—wild-looking fellows, many of them naked with the exception of the cloth and belts, and armed with bows and spears, while a few with more garments had firearms. They were headed by a gaily-dressed youth, with a spangled coat, and feathers in his hair, who announced himself as the son of the chief, and stated that he was sent forward to conduct us to their camp.

We accordingly begged him and his followers to dismount, and made them welcome with the never-failing calumet. He informed us that his tribe was engaged in buffalo hunting or rather trapping, and that they were about to construct a new pound, having filled the present one with buffalo, but had been compelled to abandon it on account of the stench which arose from the putrefying bodies; and he expressed a wish that we would watch them filling the new pound. After the young chief, whose name sounded and might I believe have been literally rendered Fistycuff, had sat smoking an hour he proposed setting out for the camp. We accordingly ordered an advance, and rode on talking pleasantly without the slightest fear of treachery. As we neared the Cree camp we saw the women employed in moving their goods, being assisted in this operation by large numbers of dogs, each dog having two poles harnessed to him, on which a load of meat, pemmican, or camp furniture was laid.

Having pitched our camp and enjoyed another official smoke, young Fistycuff invited us to see the old buffalo pound, in which during the past week they had been entrapping buffalo. We accepted the offer, and with as much dignity as if he was about to show us some delightful pleasure-grounds, he led us to a little valley, through a lane of branches of trees which are called “dead men,” to the gate or trap of the pound. The branches are called “dead,” or “silent men” rather, from the office they perform of keeping the buffalo in a straight line as they are driven towards the pound. A most horrible and disgusting sight broke upon us as we ascended the hill overlooking the pound. Within a circular fence of a hundred and twenty feet in diameter, constructed of the trunks of trees laced together with withies, and braced by outside supports, lay, tossed in every conceivable position, upwards of two hundred dead buffaloes. From old bulls to calves, animals of every description were huddled together in all the forced attitudes of a violent death. Some lay on their backs with their eyes starting from their heads, and their tongues thrust out through clotted gore. Others were impaled on the horns of the old and strong bulls, others again which had been tossed were lying with broken backs, two and three deep. The young chief and his people looked upon the dreadful and sickening scene with evident delight, and described how such and such a bull or cow had exhibited feats of wonderful strength in the death-struggle.

The flesh of many of the cows had been taken off, and was drying in the sun on stages near the tents to make pemmican. The odour was almost overpowering, and millions of large blue flesh-flies were humming and buzzing over the putrefying bodies.

After we had refreshed ourselves—as Fistycuff expressed a hope that we had done—with this spectacle, he begged that we would ride on to the new pound. It was formed in the same way. From it two lines of trees were placed, extending to a distance of four miles into the prairie, each tree being about fifty feet from the others, forming a road about two miles wide, all the mouths gradually narrowing towards the pound. Men had concealed themselves behind the trees, and the hunters having succeeded in driving a herd into the road, they rose and shook their robes on any attempt being made to break away from it. Now on came the herd rushing forward at headlong speed. Now an Indian would dart out from behind a tree and shake his robe as an animal showed an inclination to break out of the line, and as quietly again retreat. At the entrance of the pound there was a strong trunk of a tree about a foot from the ground, and on the inner side an excavation sufficiently deep to prevent the buffalo from leaping back when once in the pound. The buffaloes closed in one on the other, the space they occupied narrowing till they became one dense mass, and then, ignorant of the trap prepared for them, they leaped madly over the horizontal trunk. As soon as they had taken the fatal spring, they began to gallop round and round the ring fence, looking for a chance of escape; but with the utmost silence, the men, women, and children who stood close together surrounding the fence, held out their robes before every orifice until the whole herd was brought in. They then climbed to the top of the fence, and joined by the hunters who had closely followed the helpless buffalo, darted their spears or shot with bows or firearms at the bewildered animals, now frantic with rage and terror on finding themselves unable to escape from the narrow limits of the pound.

A great number had thus been driven in and killed, and we were about retiring from the horrid spectacle, at the risk of bringing on ourselves the contempt of our hosts, when one wary old bull espying a narrow crevice which had not been closed by the robes of those on the outside, made a furious dash and broke through the fence. In spite of the frantic efforts of the Indians to close it up again, the half-maddened survivors followed their leader, and before their impetuous career could be stopped they were galloping helter-skelter among the sand hills, with the exception of a dozen or so which were shot down by arrows or bullets as they passed along in their furious course.

In consequence of the wholesale and wanton destruction of the buffalo, an example of which we witnessed, they have greatly diminished. We were not surprised afterwards to hear the old chief say, that he remembered the time when his people were as numerous as the buffalo now are, and the buffalo were as thick as the trees of the forest. We spent two very interesting days with him, and then turned our horses’ heads towards the Red River, that we might prepare for a canoe voyage on the lakes and up the Saskatchewan, which we had resolved to make.

Chapter Seventeen.

High state of Cultivation of Settlements—Rupert’s Land—The Rapids—Lake Winnipeg—Our Bivouac—Peter nearly “drowned and dead”—How we caught Fish—The Swampies, and their mode of Fishing—An Ojibway Missionary Station—The Salt Springs—Pas Mission—Fort à la Carne.

As our object was to see as much as possible of Central British America, we sent John stalker with two of our carts laden with stores and provisions, on to Fort à la Carne, situated near the junction of the two branches of the Saskatchewan River, there to await our arrival, while we travelled back to Red River, there to embark in our canoes, and to voyage in them through Lake Winnipeg and up the North Saskatchewan. Travelling as we did with an abundance of food, and without any fear of knocking up our animals, we made rapid journeys, and were soon again at Red River. I will not stop to describe the really comfortable dwellings, the wheat-producing farms, the herds of fat cattle, and the droves of pigs we met as we approached the settlement. Neither Trevor nor I had any idea that a spot existed, so remote from the Atlantic on one side, and the Pacific on the other, containing a community possessed of so many sources of wealth. All the farmers we spoke to explained to us that they only wanted one thing, and that was a market, or in other words, settlers who would come and buy their produce.

“But if settlers come they will produce food for themselves,” remarked Trevor.

“So a few of them will,” answered the farmer. “But there will also come butchers, and bakers, and carpenters, and masons, and magistrates, and policemen, and soldiers, and numbers of other people who will produce nothing, and they will gladly buy what we have to sell. Just open up the country, sir. Make it easy for people to reach us from Canada; establish settlements from this to the westward to British Columbia, and not only we, but all who come here will be, ere long, on the fair way to wealth and prosperity.”

“Yes, sir, sure of it, certain of it,” cried Trevor. “It must become known before long, and appreciated. At least I should say so, if we were not so terribly slow to move in England. The next generation will accomplish the work if not this, that’s one comfort.”

“Small comfort to us, sir, in the meantime,” answered the farmer. “We shall be stagnating, growing old and rusty; or may be the Yankees will be beforehand and open up communication between the Atlantic and Pacific, while folks in England are only talking about it.”

“I’ll write a book as soon as I get home, and tell them all about it,” cried Trevor. “I’ll make your case known—the case of the country I should say, I’ll tell old and young—the boys of England if the men won’t listen—so that the boys may take it up when they grow older and able to act.”

The farmer shook his head, and thought that Jack was slightly cracked when he talked thus. For my own part I believe that the people of England will, before long, be made to understand the importance of the subject, though it may be said that neither Jack nor I writing about it for the rising generation will do much good, and therefore I will drop the subject and go ahead with our adventures.

We found Swiftfoot, with the rest of our men, eager to be off, and the two canoes in perfect order. I think that I mentioned that the Red River runs for two or three hundred miles, or more, from the United States territory, through Rupert’s Land, into Lake Winnipeg. For the whole of this distance it is navigable, with the exception of a portion near the mouth, where some fierce rapids exist, over which even canoes cannot pass. We consequently had to embark below these rapids. We slept for the last time in a house for many a day at the Indian settlement, and shoving off from the shore, soon passed through one of the reedy bank mouths of the Red River, into the open lake. The wind was contrary, but as there was not much of it, we paddled boldly on through the lake. It was curious to feel ourselves traversing what looked like an arm of the sea, in fabrics of a nature so frail as was that of our birch-bark canoes. What mere specks we must have appeared on the wide waters. The shore was clothed chiefly with aspens, birch and willow, and here and there bare limestone rocks appeared, the scenery having altogether a very wild and uncultivated look. There are many islands. On one of them we landed to rest and dine, intending to paddle on afterwards till it was time to camp for the night. While some of us were lighting fires, and making other preparations for a meal, Swiftfoot and three other men went out to fish, and soon returned with sufficient sturgeon, shad and bass, to feast the whole party.

Whether at home amidst all the comforts of civilisation, or out in the uncultivated wilds still almost untrodden by man, a good dinner is a pleasant and soothing thing, and little do I envy that person whose heart is dead to gratitude to the great Giver for the gift. Here in the wilderness, His oxen covering a thousand hills, and delicious fowl and fish daily furnishing our meal, we never separated from table without sending up thanks to Him in simple words.

Refreshed in mind and body, away we went at a great rate before the breeze, with our square sail of cotton set. The Indians make their sails of the same material that they do their canoes, of birch-bark. It will not stand a heavy gale, neither will their canoes, so they always keep in harbour, or rather hauled up high and dry on such occasions. Lake Winnipeg is like a wasp’s body, very narrow in one port and broad at the ends. It runs north-west and south-east, and is about two hundred and eighty miles long, and fifty-seven broad, at its widest part. Our course was along the centre of the widest part of the southern end. With a bright moon, not to lose the favourable breeze, we ran on all night, eager to reach the mouth of the Saskatchewan, which it is possible to do from Red River in three days, and which will be done regularly when steamers are placed on the lake. What very unromantic and common-place ideas—steamers and Red Indians, and the far-west and cornfields!—the truth is, that romance is disappearing before the march of civilisation; however, no fear but that we should meet with adventures before long. After passing the narrow part of the lake we were paddling on towards evening in the hopes of gaining an island, where it was proposed that we should camp. The sky had been clear but clouds began to appear in the north-east, increasing quickly in numbers till they covered the sky, and a heavy swell rolled in towards us, such as would not be thought much of by those on board the Great Eastern, but which to us, embarked in frail bark canoes, was somewhat formidable; and then foaming waves arose and tossed us about till we expected every moment that the canoes would be upset. We paddled on with all our might against the fast rising gale to reach the shelter of the island, which we saw in the far distance.

The matter was growing serious, for every instant the waves were increasing in height. It seemed scarcely possible that our light canoes could float much longer. The force of the water alone was sufficient to crumple them up. Peter looked very pale, but said nothing, and baled away perseveringly, while our voyageurs paddled bravely on, facing the danger like men. Now we rose on the top of a huge sea foaming and bubbling and curling round us, and then down we sank again in the hollow, and it appeared that the next sea which we saw rolling on fierce and angry must overwhelm us, and so it would had we stayed where we were, but our buoyant canoes rose up the watery hill, and there we were on the top ready to plunge down on the other side. It was an anxious time. An accident to one canoe would have proved the destruction of both, for unless we had deserted our companions, in attempting to save them both would probably have perished. Our only chance would have been to throw all the lading out of the canoes and to cling on to them till we might be washed on shore. All we could feel was that, by dint of great exertions, we were making progress towards the island. We encouraged each other also by guessing how many yards we had made during each ten minutes. More than once I thought that we should go down, and at length a sea higher than its predecessors came rolling on, and I heard Trevor’s voice cry out that the canoe was filling and that they were sinking, urging us to paddle on and not to attempt to save them. I looked round—they had disappeared—my heart sank—we were leading, we could not have turned back without certain destruction—our only chance was to keep working away head to wind. I knew that, yet I longed to make an attempt to rescue my friend and his companions. I dared not look back. I thought that I should see them struggling in the waves, and yet not be able to stretch out a hand to help them. Presently I heard a voice. It was Jack’s—in cheery tones singing out—

“All right, Jolly; we’ve got rid of our ballast and will soon be up with you.”

I was thankful, indeed, to hear him, and little heeded the loss of the lading of which he spoke; though, as it consisted chiefly of our provisions, it was a serious matter. I did look round for an instant, and then he was paddling on as if nothing had been the matter. Still, we had a long way to go and darkness was coming on. My motto has always been “persevere—never give in while life remains.” So we paddled on. I had begun to fear, however, that we should never reach the island, when, on our port bow, as a sailor would say, appeared some low shrubs growing out of, not the water, but a sandbank which the dancing waves had before prevented us seeing. Had we gone on a few minutes longer and been driven on it to windward, though we might, for the moment, have escaped with our lives, our canoes must have been dashed in pieces and all our store and provisions destroyed and lost. I pointed it out to Trevor just in time; and now allowing our canoes to drop astern a little we found ourselves in comparatively smooth water, under the lee of the bank. Rather than risk proceeding further, especially as the channel between the bank and the island was rougher than any part, we agreed to land.

In a strong boat this is an easy matter, but a stone or a branch may drive a hole in an instant through a thin birch canoe. As soon, therefore, as we neared the shore we jumped out and lifted our canoes on to firm ground. I will not call it dry, for the spray completely covered it. Still we had reason to be thankful that we had escaped the great danger to which we had been exposed. We had very little light left us, but we picked out the highest and driest spot among the bushes we could find, though neither very high nor very dry, and there we managed to camp. We had no hopes of keeping our tent standing, and, indeed, before we could light a fire it was necessary to construct a screen to protect it from the wind. This we did with some sticks and birch-bark and shrubs washed on shore, and under it we all crouched down to try and dry our wet garments—when we had, after no little trouble, lighted our fire. The only wood we could get to burn was found under bushes and other sheltered places. Our crews were greatly fatigued with their exertions, and wrapping themselves up in their buffalo robes, they were soon asleep, as was Peter. Trevor and I also being very tired were preparing to follow their example—indeed, in spite of the storm, we could scarcely keep awake. We made up our fire as well as we could, hoping that it would continue burning till somebody awoke to replenish it. We persuaded ourselves that it was useless to keep watch, as no hostile Indians could approach us; nor could any wild beasts; our canoes were secured, and the fire was so placed that it could not injure us.

“Good night, old fellow,” said Trevor, drowsily. “Wake me when the storm is over, for we shall not be able to move till then.”

“Of course,” said I. “But if you wake first rouse me up.”

“Oh, yes. I say, Har—that’s it—just what—”

Trevor’s attempt to speak more failed him—or, at all events, I did not hear him, and we were both asleep. In my sleep, however, I heard the storm raging and the water dashing against the sandbank. Suddenly I was conscious that I was lifted from the ground—there was a hissing noise, and I felt very cold. I sprang to my feet, shouting out to the rest of the party, who were soon spluttering and jumping and crying out, not knowing what had happened or was going to happen. I very quickly guessed; a wave had broken over the bank, and as yet we could not discover who or what it had carried off, as it had completely extinguished the fire. I shouted out, demanding if all hands were there. Trevor, Swiftfoot, Pierre Garoupe, and the other voyageurs answered; but Peter made no reply. Again I shouted—no one answered. We felt for the spot where he had lain, but he was not there.

“Poor fellow, he must be lost!” I exclaimed.

Just then I heard a cry, and Ready, who had disappeared, gave a bark. Guided by the sound, I stumbled on to the spot, and there, caught in a bush and half in the water, I found a human being whom I recognised as Peter, from his exclamation—

“Oh, sir, we shall all be drowned and dead!”

With considerable exertion I managed to drag him up to the top of the bank again; and it was some time before he recovered. Some of the party ran to the canoes—they were safe as yet—but the storm was raging more furiously than ever, and should another wave wash over our bank they might be carried bodily away, when, unless seen by passing Indians, we should be left to starve.

To light another fire was impossible, as by this time all the wood around was thoroughly saturated. So there we sat or stood the livelong night, holding on to bushes or to paddles or other pieces of wood stuck in the ground to enable us to resist any other wave which should be driven over the bank. I have passed several disagreeable nights in my life, but that was one of the most disagreeable. All I can say is that it might have been worse. I would rather have been there than racked with pain on a bed of sickness—or on an iceberg—or in an open boat in the South Pacific, parched with thirst—or in a dungeon, or in many other disagreeable places. So we sat quiet, and tried to amuse ourselves by talking. Wet damps the pipes, I have observed, of the most determined songster or whistler; so that although two or three of us began a tune, it speedily stopped.

The storm raged as furiously as ever, the waves coming one after the other rolling up the bank; and, as we watched them, it appeared as if each successive one must advance beyond its predecessors and sweep us away. Poor Peter, after his former experience, was very much alarmed.

“Here it comes again, sir; here it comes. ’Twill be all over with us!” he cried out, as a huge roller capped with foam, looking vastly higher than it really was, came onwards towards the bank. It struck the solid ground, which it palpably shook. Then on it came, curling over, up, up, up. The water reached us; we sprang to our feet, holding each other’s hands and bending forward to resist its power united to the fury of the wind. It scarcely, however, reached to our ankles. While some of the mass rushed over the bank, the greater part flowed back, to be again hurled forward yet with diminished strength against the opposing barrier.

The dawn will come in spite of the darkness of the longest night; and as this was a short one, we were agreeably surprised to find it breaking, though, in the uncertain light, the waters looked more foaming and agitated than they appeared to be when the day was more advanced.

Gradually, too, the wind fell, the rollers ceased to strike the bank with their former fury, and though after a storm on the ocean days pass before it becomes calm, scarcely had the wind dropped than the surface of the lake became proportionately smooth. The sun came out, and its powerful rays dried our clothes and sticks sufficient to boil our kettle. After a hearty breakfast, we repaired our canoes with fresh gum, and continued our voyage.

As Trevor had been compelled to throw overboard so much of our provisions, we were anxious to secure some more to prevent the necessity of sending back to Red River. Swiftfoot told us of a river near at hand where large quantities of fine fish can always be caught—the Jack-fish River. Towards it we steered, and, after proceeding up a little way, came upon a weir, or “basket,” as it is called, erected across it by the Indians. It was much broken; but a number of Turkey buzzards hovered around, ready to pounce on any fish which might get into it. Our Indians immediately set to work to repair it. Indians, like other savages, are very industrious when hungry, and idle in the extreme when their appetites are satisfied. Our fellows were, fortunately for us, hungry, and so they worked with a will. The weir consisted of a fence of poles stretching completely across the river and doping in the direction of the current, so that the water could pass freely through. On one side there was an opening in this palisade, near the bank, about a yard in width, leading into a rectangular box with a grated bottom sloping upwards, through which the water flowed with perfect ease. The fish in the day-time see the weir, and either swim back or jump over it; but at night, hoping to avoid it, they dart through the opening, not observing the impediment beyond. Swimming on, they at length find themselves high and dry on the upper part of the grated trap or pound. The fisherman sits by the side of it with a wooden mallet in his hand, with which he knocks the larger fish on the head as they appear, and then pitches them out on the bank to be in readiness for his squaw, who appears in the morning to clean and cut them up.

We repaired the weir before dark, and, camping near it, after supper set to work to catch fish in this, to us, novel manner. We divided the party into watches, so that fish-catching and cleaning went on all night. I began, with Swiftfoot to assist me. I knocked the fish on the head, and he threw them out, while a whole gang were employed in splitting and cleaning them. No sooner were the shades of evening cast over the river than the hapless fish began to dash into our trap. The masque-alonge, a huge pike, first made his appearance, his further progress being effectually stopped; and he was soon on the grass in the hands of the cleaners. Five or six gold-eyes next appeared, and then a sucking-carp and three perch, or, more correctly, well-eyed pike. The voyageurs had lighted a fire, and those not engaged in fishing sat up to eat the fish caught by their companions as fast as they could cook them. Ready, who had been on short commons lately, especially relished his share. As we had formed two pounds, one on each bank of the river, and had relays of fish-catchers, we entrapped between three and four hundred fish of the sorts I have mentioned. Had we possessed a sufficient supply of salt, we might have effectually preserved them. We pickled all we could, and dried in the sun and with smoke those we did not immediately eat.

The lake being calm, the following day we continued our voyage to the mouth of the Little Saskatchewan River, which, it will be seen, communicates with Lake Manitobah, close to which there are some valuable salt works. The wind was fair up the river, but foul for proceeding to the works by the lake. Setting sail, we ran merrily along under sail, overtaking a fleet of Indian canoes belonging to a tribe of Swampies, each with a birch-bark sail. At night we camped, and our Swampy friends coming up with us, did the same near a rapid, where they immediately began to fish. This they did from their canoes. One man paddled and another stood in the bow of the canoe with a net like a landing net at the end of a long pole. As his quick eye detected a fish he dipped his net as a scoop or ladle is used, and each time brought up a fish three or four pounds weight. I may safely say that I saw an Indian, in the course of a few minutes, catch twenty-five white fish. If these people better knew the method of preserving their fish they need never suffer, as they often do, from hunger.

That morning, the wind being foul, the poor squaws were employed in tracking the canoes along the banks of the river. After watching them for some time as they came up towards our camp Peter went forward, and in dumb show, offered to help them, whereat he was treated by the ladies with silent contempt, while his companions saluted him with shouts of hearty laughter. I cannot describe the scenery fully of this curious mixture of lake and stream through which we passed. The banks are generally low—now the water rushed through a narrow passage formed of huge boulders of rocks—now it expanded into a fine lake. Once we forced our way through a vast natural rice field extending for miles, affording food for birds innumerable, and to as many Indians as took the trouble to collect it. They run their canoes into the midst of a spot where the rice is the thickest, and bending down the tall stalks, shake them till they have a full cargo. At length we reached, what we little expected to find in that remote region, a large comfortable cottage in the midst of a well-cultivated and productive farm, surrounded by a number of smaller but neat dwellings. This was an Indian missionary station, where upwards of a hundred and fifty Indian men, women, and children, permanently reside under the superintendence of a devoted English missionary and his wife, assisted by a highly-educated young lady who had lately come out from England to join them. She has learned the Ojibway language, so as to devote her attention most profitably to the education of the children. We visited the school, and it was interesting to see the way in which the little dark-skinned creatures listened to the words which came from the young lady’s lips, and the intelligent answers they gave, as our interpreters translated them, to the questions she put.

There was a service in Ojibway, consisting of prayers, a chapter in the Bible, singing, and a short address, which we attended. The congregation was most attentive, and a considerable number of heathen Indians came in to listen. The service was rather short, but I have no doubt that the excellent missionary considered it wiser to send his hearers away wishing for more, and resolved to come again to listen, than with a feeling of weariness, and declaring that it should be the last time they would set foot within those walls. The missionary’s own cottage was excessively neat and pretty, both inside and out, he feeling, evidently, that it must serve as a model, as he himself, in a degree, was to his converts. Their abodes were, indeed, very superior to those of heathen Indians, while their fields, cultivated in a much better manner than are those found generally among the Indian tribes, are made to produce Indian corn, potatoes, and a variety of other vegetables. There was nothing very curious or romantic in the short visit we paid to this missionary station in the wilderness, yet it was truly one of the most really interesting, thus to find a church in the wilderness performing its duty effectually of converting the heathen from their gross ignorance and sin to a knowledge and practice of the truth. Not far off was a Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, and, like some previous travellers we afterwards met, we had to complain of the scenes of drunkenness and vice which took place among the heathen Indians encamped outside it. The Company prohibits the sale of liquor to Indians; but notwithstanding this large quantities are given away to induce them to sell their peltries cheap, and to gamble away their property, so that they must go forth again to hunt. Thus the missionaries are unable to obtain an influence over them, and the unhappy race are dying from three causes—from drunkenness, from hardships, and from scarcity of food, which, as hunters for fur-bearing animals, they are unable to provide for themselves and families. In my opinion, by means of missionaries who can impart Christian knowledge, and instruction in agricultural and other useful arts, with the opening up of markets for the result of their industry, can alone the rapid decrease of the Indian race be arrested.

After a pleasant stay of a couple of days at this promising station, we proceeded on our voyage to the Salt Springs. After passing into Lake Winnepegosis, we reached the springs, which are situated about four hundred yards from the lake shore, on a barren area of about ten acres of extent, but a few feet above the level of the lake. The whole shore of the lake is said to contain salt springs. At this spot there are some forty or fifty springs, though rather less than thirty wells have been dug by the manufacturers, whose works consist of three log-huts, three evaporating furnaces, and some large iron kettles or boilers. When a fresh spring is discovered a well five feet broad and five deep is excavated and a hut and furnace erected near it. The brine from the wells is ladled into the kettles, and as the salt forms it is scooped out and allowed to remain a short time to drain before it is packed in birch-bark baskets for transportation to the settlements. The brine is so strong that thirty gallons of brine produce a bushel of salt; and from each kettle, of which there are eight or nine, two bushels can be made in a day in dry weather. Some freighters’ boats were taking in cargo at the portage on Lake Manitobah for the Red River as well as for other parts, and we here also took on board as much as we could carry; having purchased several bushels besides, to be brought on to the mouth of the Little Saskatchewan, that we might salt some white fish to serve us for future use.

We might have proceeded by a more direct route—through Lake Winnepegosis—to the mouth of the Great Saskatchewan, but we wished to navigate the large lake from one end to the other. We accomplished all we proposed in five days—reached the mouth of the rapid and gold-bearing Great Saskatchewan. Near the entrance is a long and fierce rapid, which it was necessary for us to mount, before we could again reach water on which we could navigate our canoes. It is nearly two miles in length. The water from above comes on smoothly and steadily; then, suddenly, as if stimulated to action by some sudden impulse, it begins to leap and foam and roll onward till it forms fierce and tumultuous surges, increasing in size till they appear like the rolling billows of a tempestuous sea, ready to engulf any boat venturing over them. In the one case, on the ocean, the movement is caused by the wind above; in the present instance by that of the water itself passing over an incline of rough rocks beneath.

Having partly unladen our canoes, leaving two men in alone, one to steer and the other to fend off the rocks, the rest of us harnessed ourselves to the end of a long tow line, with straps round our bodies, and commenced tracking them up the rapid along a path at the top of the cliffs. It was very hard work, as we had to run and leap and scramble along the slippery and jagged rocks alongside the cataract.

It was curious to know that we were still in the very heart of a vast continent, and yet to be navigating a river upwards of half-a-mile in width. After proceeding twenty miles we passed through Cross Lake, and soon afterwards entered Cedar Lake, which is thirty miles long and twenty broad. We had now to proceed for some hundred miles up this hitherto little-known river, which, rising in the Rocky Mountains, is navigable very nearly the whole distance from their base. As we were sailing we were agreeably surprised, on turning a point, to see before us on the right bank of the river, in the midst of fields of waving corn, a somewhat imposing church, whose tall spire, gilt by the last rays of the evening sun, was mirrored in the gliding river; a comfortable looking parsonage; a large and neat school-house, and several other dwelling-houses and cottages. This proved to be the Pas Mission, one of the many supported by the Church Missionary Society. Here we were most liberally and hospitably received. Above it is Fort Cumberland, a trading post of the Hudson’s Bay Company. An upward voyage of a hundred and fifty miles, aided by a strong breeze, brought us to Fort à la Carne, another Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, where we found Stalker and our carts, and were joined by Pierre Garoupe, who had come across the country from Red River with a further supply of provisions and stores.

Chapter Eighteen.

The Winter in Camp—Our Log-house and Huts—Hunting and Fishing—Buffalo Stalking—Supper and a Dance, and Supper again—How we fared in Camp—Indian Stalking—Winter Pastime.

We found that although the weather was still very warm in the day-time, that the comparatively short summer of those regions was already too far advanced to allow of our pushing our way across the Rocky Mountains in the present wild state of the country; a feat, however, which my friend Paul Kane performed some years ago; but then boats were in waiting on the upper branch of the Columbia to convey him and his party to the south. We therefore agreed to employ ourselves in hunting, and in preparing our winter quarters till it was time to go into them. As I have already described a summer buffalo hunt, I will pass over those we at this time engaged in, and proceed to an account of our life in the winter.

Our canoes and such articles as we no longer required we exchanged for horses—such as were likely to prove of value to us in our onward journey in the spring. We had selected a beautiful spot near a lake and in the neighbourhood of a tribe of peaceably-disposed Indians, for the erection of our residence, about fifty miles from the forts; and we now set out for it, with our carts, horses, stores, and cattle in the true patriarchal style, only the women and children were fortunately wanting.

Having reached our location we pitched our tents, and having unpacked such provisions and goods as we required for our immediate use, placed the carts together, and covered the whole with tarpaulins. Our horses we turned out, as they would be able to exist through the whole winter, sheltered by the woods, and feeding on the rich grass which they could get at by digging with their noses under the snow. Our first business was then to cut down the trees necessary for the erection of our abodes. We all took axes in our hands, and in the course of a couple of days had trees enough felled for our purpose. There they lay around in all directions, but it puzzled Trevor and Peter not a little to say how they were to be made to answer the purpose of sheltering us during a winter of almost arctic severity. John Stalker was the chief builder, and I was architect; that is to say, I designed the plan of the buildings, and he directed the way in which they were to be put up, while the rest of the party lopped off the branches and dragged the logs up to the spot. I had studied the way to construct a log-house while recovering from the wounds I received in our skirmish with the Comanches, and now I found an opportunity of turning my knowledge to account. The chief residence was to be oblong; so we cut two long and two short trunks, making deep scores at each end that they might fit into each other. Above these were placed others also scored at the ends, till four thick walls had been erected about seven feet high, without a roof and without doors and windows. Trevor looked at it with astonishment, and Peter walked round and round it till, stopping short near the builder, he remarked—

“Well, Master Stalker, that’s a rum house! I’ll be bold to ask, are we to be shut up all winter, so that we don’t want a door to go in and out at? And is it so dark that we don’t want a window to see out of?”

“Wait a bit, and you’ll see what we’ll do, lad,” answered Stalker, laughing. “Light enough, day and night, when the snow’s on the ground; and you’ll be as much out of doors as in doors when the sky’s clear.”

Peter waited and wondered, for Stalker insisted on getting up all the walls of the huts before proceeding to other portions of the work.

Besides ours, in which were to be deposited the stores for greater safety, there were to be two of smaller size for the men. The walls, when only thus far completed, looked in no way fitted to keep out the cold, as we could see through the interstices on every side. “Wait a bit,” was Stalker’s remark. “Now, lads, some on you go and dig the stiffest clay you can find, and others chop up some grass.” This order was speedily obeyed, and, with a mixture formed of the two, every cranny was completely stopped up; and in the inside the walls were made so perfectly smooth that the logs were almost concealed. “There!” exclaimed Stalker, as he surveyed his work; “I doubt if Jack Frost, though he is pretty sharp in these parts, will ever get through that.” With their hatchets, he and two of the other men literally chopped out a doorway and a window in each hut. The doors were formed from some boards taken from the carts, and the windows with sheets of parchment nailed tightly over the aperture, so that they served the double purpose of drums and windows. As yet there were no roofs; but the men had been set to work to cut a number of tall, thin young pine-trees, which served as rafters placed close together, while a quantity of marsh grass, over which was spread a heavy layer of clay, formed a thatch which no storm could remove.

We began to talk of putting up our bedsteads, and making ourselves comfortable inside our huts.

“Not much comfort you’ll get by-and-by, gentlemen, if you was not to do something more than you have done,” observed Stalker.

“What can that be?” asked Trevor.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” muttered Peter. “To my mind the houses are pretty comfortable for poor men, though not much for gentlemen like master and Mr Trevor.”

“I guess Jack Frost would pretty soon remind you when he comes,” observed Stalker, with a grin.

“Ma foi!” exclaimed Pierre Garoupe. “Monsieur Jaque Frost make his way through de key-hole.”

“Oh, how stupid—a fire-place!” I cried out.

“That’s it,” cried Stalker. “And now let’s set about it.”

I suggested that, instead of the ordinary clay of which fire-places are built, that ours should be constructed of stone of which there was no lack, in the shape of boulders, near the lake. These we collected in the carts, and by cementing them by mortar supported by a frame of wood outside, we formed a substantial fire-place and chimney suited for such a fire as we expected to require. By Stalker’s advice we sunk the floor three feet deep, and piled the earth we dug up outside; thus adding much to the warmth of our abode. A trench was also dug outside, at some little distance, to take off any water which, during a casual thaw, might be inclined to run in. Then, to keep off the wind—the primary object—any grizzlies which might be wandering our way, or any Indians who might prove hostile, we surrounded our whole station with a strong palisade, so that it was almost as strong as one of the Company’s Posts. Never sleep on the ground. To obviate that necessity we stuck some short posts into the ground, and on them formed a framework, over which we stretched some buffalo hides, and so got first-rate bedsteads. Trevor laughed at me for what he called my effeminacy, but I suggested that, after a hunting tramp of thirty or forty miles, we might not be sorry to turn into a comfortable bed. Our lads’ labour was stacking all the wood we had cut for burning, and then storing our goods and provisions. We put off making the furniture for our huts till we should be kept in by bad weather. A further supply of firewood could also be procured at any time after the snow covered the ground. Writers of romances make their heroes and heroines wonderfully independent of food and rest; but we, being ordinary mortals, were aware that we could not exist in comfort without a good supply of provisions, and Trevor and I therefore formed two parties of the men—one to remain in charge of the huts to fish, and to cure what they caught, besides trapping or shooting any animals; while the other was to accompany us in search of buffalo and any other game to be found.

Scarcely were our arrangements completed when the snow fell, and all nature assumed her wintry garb, not to be put off till the following spring.

Trevor and I, with John Stalker, Swiftfoot, and two other Indians, formed the hunting party. We first constructed four horse-sleighs to carry the flesh of the buffaloes we intended to kill, each dragged by a single horse. We were all mounted, also, on small, but active and hardy steeds, with our blankets, cloaks, tin-cups, pemmican, tea and sugar, and a few other articles, strapped to our saddles. We each had our rifles, axes, and hunting-knives, while an iron pot and a frying-pan were the only articles in our camp equipage. The snow, however thick, was no impediment to our horses in finding their food, for, without difficulty, they dug down through it with their noses till they reached the rich dry grass beneath, which seems, thus, in this apparently inhospitable region, to be preserved for their especial use. We found that horses, cattle, and pigs lived out through the winter without any charge being taken of them, except towards the end of spring, when an occasional thaw melts the surface of the snow, which, freezing again at night, forms so hard a crust that even their tough mouths cannot break through it.

We had no tents or covering beyond our cloaks and blankets. As night approached we camped near some copse of willow or birch, which would afford us wood for our fires—rarely even putting up a screen of birch-bark which would shelter us from the icy blast. With a fire in the centre, as large as we could keep up, we lay in a circle, our feet towards it, and our bodies, like the spokes of a wheel, wrapped in our blankets, and our heads on our saddles. This was our most luxurious style of camping. At other times we were not nearly so well off, as I shall have to recount.

We had travelled about a hundred miles south of our station over a hilly, well-watered, and well-wooded country, which must, in summer, be highly picturesque, when Stalker announced, from the traces he had seen in the snow, that buffalo were near. We, therefore, immediately camped, but dared not light a fire for fear of frightening the animals, so we had to make a meal off dry pemmican and biscuit, washed down with rum and water—very sustaining food, at all events. In winter the buffalo must be stalked like deer, and cannot be ridden down as in summer, when the hard ground allows the horses to approach at full gallop. We consequently left our horses and rugs and cooking utensils—and, indeed, everything that would encumber us—in camp, under charge of the two Indians, and advanced on foot. We had to keep to leeward and to conceal ourselves behind any bush or inequality of ground we could find. “Too many cooks spoil the broth”—too many sportsmen do the same thing, or rather lose it altogether. We advanced cautiously enough, when once we got sight of the herd, for about two miles or more, each man taking up his station properly; but it had not been arranged who should fire first, or when each person should fire. There appeared directly before me a dozen or more fine bulls, rather too far for a certain aim. I was creeping on slowly and cautiously to get a better aim, when one of the party, in his eagerness, showed himself. We all said it was Peter, and scolded him accordingly, for off set the buffaloes at full gallop. Then we all let fly at the ends they exposed to us; but not a shot took effect, and we soon afterwards met in the open space, where they had been, looking very foolish at each other. Peter bore his scolding without complaining, and our good humour was restored when Stalker assured us that we were sure to come up with the animals if we did not mind a good walk. Were we not bold hunters? so of course we did not, and off we set.

We trudged on for many a long mile, when Stalker called a halt, and told us that we were again close to the herd, on their leeside, and that if we were cautious we should certainly bag some game. We had spent two or three hours gaining our present position; evening was coming on, and if we did not kill some beasts now, we might miss them altogether. This made us more than usually anxious, as we crept on towards the unconscious animals, which kept busily cropping their afternoon meal. Now I saw one of them look up. Something had startled him. He communicated his fears to the rest. I was certain that in another moment they would be off. One of them, a fine bull, turned his shoulder towards me. The opportunity was not to be lost. I fired. The animal dashed on with the rest. I thought that I must have missed him; but in a few seconds he stopped, rolled over, and his life-blood stained the pure snow. Three other shots were fired in quick succession, two of them followed by the fall of an animal; at considerable distances, however, from each other. We pursued the rest, eager for more. We were hunting for the pot—indeed, our very existence might depend on what we should kill; but, after a hard run of a mile or more, the rest of the buffaloes broke from us and scampered off into the boundless prairie.

We now called a bait, and came to the conclusion that, if we did not hurry back, we should find but a Flemish account of the animals we had already killed, as that moment the howl of wolves struck on our ear, telling us that they had scented out the carcasses. Though they are much less ferocious than are those of Siberia and Russia, they have equally large appetites, and we knew that they would have no respect for our requirements of winter provender. We therefore divided parties. One half to remain by the animals last killed, while the others, that is to say, Peter and I, went back to the spot where I had killed the bull. We ran as fast as we could over the snow, and were only just in time to scare away a whole herd which was about to make an onslaught on our property; for so, in that region, the hunter considers every animal he kills, a point disputed only by the wolves, who believe themselves to possess an equal right to it.

We now began to reflect seriously how we were to pass the night. We had left our blankets and cloaks at our camp, and the thermometer, if we had possessed one, would have sunk below zero. Wood was scarce, and shelter of any sort there was none, as the snow was not deep enough to dig a hole in it, cold comfort even as that would have been. We espied a copse of arbor-vitae, the close foliage covered pretty well with snow, at a distance, near a small pond, and from it we collected dry sticks sufficient only for a small fire. Having lighted it, we commenced skinning the buffalo, taking his hump and tongue for our supper, intending to broil the one and bake the other in a coat of clay. I had a little tea in my pocket, and Peter had a tin mug, in which we managed to melt some snow and boil it sufficiently to infuse the fragrant herb; but, in spite of the warm beverage and hot meat, which we relished, we felt the cold bitterly. To keep off the chilling blast we scraped the snow up into a circular wall. I then bethought me of the buffalo skin, of which we soon denuded the beast, dragged it to our fire, and crept under it. How warm and cozy we found it! and all our fears for our comfort during the night vanished. Having made up the fire, with our rifles by our sides, we went to sleep. I was awoke by a sensation of cold, and hearing Peter exclaim—

“Oh, sir, I wonder what has come over the buffalo skin?”

On sitting up I found that the lately soft and warm hide had formed a frozen arch over us, as hard as iron, and that our fire was nearly out. We could do nothing but spring to our feet, make up the fire, and then jump about before it to restore the circulation. Though this employment was satisfactory for a time we began, at length, to find it very irksome and fatiguing, and it seemed impossible to keep it up the whole night, yet I could think of no other way of escaping being frozen to death.

Peter proposed, as a variety, that we should eat some more beef and drink some more tea, a bright idea, to which I acceded; and when that midnight meal was over, we took to dancing again. We knew that Trevor and his party would be as badly off, and we only hoped that they would have thought of similar means of keeping body and soul together. Peter diversified the amusement by singing and playing all sorts of antics, while I contemplated the stars overhead; but instead of rest we only became more and more fatigued, and I was truly glad when at length the wolves set up a hideous chorus, announcing the approach of dawn. A superstitious man, unaccustomed to the sound, might have supposed them to be a band of evil spirits, compelled at the return of the bright luminary of the day to revisit their abodes of darkness.

Having eaten so many suppers we had no appetite for breakfast, and instead of taking any we cut up the carcasses ready for the sleighs which Trevor was to send Swiftfoot to fetch. They arrived at length, when we found that our friends had passed the night exactly as we had done. The beef being sufficient only partly to fill the sleighs, Trevor and Stalker set off in search of more buffalo, while we followed slowly, intending to return to the camp in the evening. The result was that we killed four more bulls, and found ourselves, as night approached, far away from our camp. As, however, we had no desire to spend another night like the previous one, we set forth in search of it. We have heard of looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, and ours seemed a very similar undertaking; still both Stalker and Swiftfoot asserted that they could guide us to the camp by the stars; so on we travelled hour after hour, till they called a halt, and owned that we ought to be there, but that they were at fault as to the exact spot. Some thought that it was farther on, some to the right, and some to the left. The only point in which we were all agreed was that we were not at it, and that we must make up our minds to spend as disagreeable a night as the last.

There was a crescent moon, but that was about to set; by its faint light we discovered a small copse not far off. On the leeside of it we lighted our fire, round which we tramped for the remainder of the night, the trees not allowing us sufficient shelter to enable us to lie down without a great risk of being frozen to death. It was a weary and uninteresting employment after a hard day’s work, and while I went round and round the fire I began to consider whether I might not have been more pleasantly occupied in shooting pheasants and partridges at home, with a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed at the end of each day. “Begone such lazy thoughts,” I, however, exclaimed; “I left home in search of adventures, and I am finding them.”

When daylight came, it was, I confess, rather provoking to find that the camp was only three or four hundred yards off, where we had our supply of blankets and other creature comforts. As we had now our sleighs loaded to the utmost, and three buffaloes besides en cache, or hidden, that is from the wolves, we turned our faces homewards. The ground was hilly, and as the sun had still considerable power the surface of the snow had been melted, and when frozen again was exceedingly slippery. The consequence of this was that, one of the horses slipping on the side of a hill, the sleigh broke away and rolled over and over to the bottom. We ran down, expecting to see the horse killed or seriously injured, and the sleigh broken to pieces, but neither was the worse for the occurrence, and the horse being set on his legs, trotted on as bravely as before. We were not sorry to get back to our winter quarters, which appeared absolutely luxurious after the nights we had spent out in the snow without shelter. How we did sleep, and how we did eat! Hunter’s fare, indeed, is not to be despised. We had for breakfast fried fish, buffalo tongues, tea, sugar, dampers, and galettes—cakes of simple water and flour, baked under the ashes, and which are very light and nice. For dinner we had, say a dish of boiled buffalo hump, a smoked and boiled buffalo calf whole, a mouffle or dry moose nose, fish, browned in buffalo marrow, loons or other wild ducks, and goose, potatoes, turnips, and abundance of bread.

We had no necessity to dry the meat we had brought, as it would keep frozen through the winter. Near the forts the flesh of the buffaloes killed in winter is preserved through the summer in the following way:—An ice-pit is made, capable of containing the carcasses of six or seven hundred buffaloes. Ice, from a neighbouring river, is cut into square blocks of a uniform size with saws, like the blocks sent over to England from Wenham Lake. With these the floor and sides of the pit are lined, and cemented together with water thrown on them, which freezes hard. Each carcass, without being skinned, is divided into four quarters, and they are piled in layers in the pit till it is filled up. It is then covered with a thick coating of straw, which is again protected from the sun and rain by a shed. In this way the meat is kept perfectly good through the summer, and is more tender and of better flavour than when fresh.

We entered into friendly relations with a tribe of Indians, who had taken up their winter quarters in a wood five or six miles off, and from them we learned many devices for catching game, which our own people were not accustomed to practise. We had won their hearts by supplying them with meat, and as they discovered that we could kill buffalo with our rifles with more certainty than they could with their old firearms, or bows and arrows, they were anxious to get us to accompany them in any hunting expedition, knowing that their share of game would be larger than any amount they could catch alone.

The three chief men were called by us, Eagle-eye, Quick-ear, and Wide-awake. Eagle-eye came to us one day to say that some buffalo had been seen very near the station, and invited us to go out and shoot them. The Indians undertook to shoot too, if we would go to a distance and kill the rest as they ran off. Our party was quickly ready, and off we set—the Indians carrying some skins, the object of which we did not understand. After walking eight or ten miles, Eagle-eye called a halt. Quick-ear produced the skin of a buffalo calf, and Wide-awake that of a wolf, into which they respectively got; while Eagle-eye, telling us to imitate him, led away to the right.

“There, you see, we make one big snake,” he observed, as we prepared to follow his footsteps. “The buffalo see us long way off; think we snake among grass.”

What the buffalo thought I do not know, but certainly they took no notice of us—indeed we were a long way off, and perhaps they were engaged in watching the proceedings of Quick-ear, who was representing the antics of an innocent little buffalo calf. Nearer and nearer the little calf they drew; now they stopped, rather doubtful; then they advanced a little and stopped again. Suddenly a wolf, represented by Wide-awake, appeared on the scene, and the calf bellowed piteously; the wolf sprang savagely on him; the kind-hearted buffaloes could stand it no longer, but rushed forward to rescue their young fellow-creature, when Quick-ear and Wide-awake, jumping up with their rifles, which had been lying by their sides, in their hands, let fly, and brought down two of them. The rest scampered off towards where we were posted, nor did they appear to notice us till four more of their number had fallen, when the survivors turned, and were soon out of reach of our rifles.

The Indians, on seeing the success of their stratagem, sprang forward, shouting and leaping with joy, and soon had the animals cut up and ready for transportation to their lodges and our huts. Our horse-sleighs soon after appeared, followed by theirs, dragged by dogs, and guided by their squaws. Before moving, a feast was held by our Red friends; the men eating first, and enjoying the tit bits, then the hard-worked women were fed, and lastly the dogs came in for their share. When the variety of ways employed to kill buffalo is remembered, it will not appear surprising that their numbers are rapidly decreasing.

The winter seemed to pass far more speedily away than we could have expected, with a very limited supply of books, and with no society except such as our savage visitors afforded us. The fact was, however, that we were never idle, though it must be confessed that we took a very large share of sleep, and ate large amounts of meat and fat, for the sake of generating heat in our system. Day after day we were out in the woods trapping, and soon became very expert trappers. We caught the fox, the wolverine, the pokan or fisher, marten, otter, and other animals, for the sake of their skins, and occasionally fell in with the loon and other wild fowl. Our equipment was very simple. Doubling up our blankets, and uniting the four corners, we formed a pack to contain our pemmican, frying-pan, tin kettle and cup, tea, sugar, and salt, pepper, garlic, and any other small luxury. We had also brought with us from Red River some steel traps; a rifle, ammunition, axe, knife, fire bag and lucifer matches, completed the equipment of each man. Indeed, these last should never be overlooked by those who have to traverse wild countries; a single tin box is easily stowed away handy, and will last a long while. We carried our blankets—as an Irish woman or a gipsy does her child and other worldly goods, at our backs, with a strap across the breast. Well secured from cold, with snow shoes on our feet, we sallied forth into the pathless forest, trusting to our faithful pocket-compass to find our way back again, or to the guidance of our Indians.

The plan was to set our traps as we went out, and to visit them on our return. The steel traps made to catch wolves are of necessity heavy and strong, so that we could only carry a few of them, and had therefore to make others on a more primitive plan. When the beaver was less scarce than now, the beaver-trap was the usual mode of taking the creature; but beavers are now all but extinct, so we spared the few which got into the traps, and let them loose again. The steel traps are like our rat traps, but have no teeth, and require a strong man to set them. They are secured by a chain to a long stick laid on the ground, and are covered over with snow, pieces of meat being scattered about to tempt the animals to the neighbourhood. The wolf, as he goes prowling about, is nearly certain to get a foot into the trap. Off he goes with it, but is soon brought up by the chain and log, and they seldom had got far when we found them. The wooden trap is formed by driving a number of stakes, so as to form a palisade, in the shape of a half oval. The enclosure is large enough to allow an animal to push in half its body, but not to turn round. A heavy log is supported by a perpendicular stick, with another horizontal, having the bait at the end of it, much as the brick is in a boy’s bird-trap at home. The animal, if he touches the bait—a piece of tough meat or a bird—brings the log down on his shoulder and is crushed to death. We could, after a time, construct thirty or forty of these in a morning, so there was ample interest and excitement in ascertaining, as we walked back, whether our traps had caught anything. Our greatest enemy was the glutton, or wolverine, or as Garoupe called him, the carcajou. He is rather larger than an English fox, with a shaggy coat and very broad feet, armed with sharp claws. He is the most cunning and inquisitive of animals. Nothing escapes his notice as he ranges his native wilds, and he can climb a tree or dig a hole with his claws. He used to take the baits out of our traps by digging through the back, and so getting at it. He was not to be caught by poison, and he could select pieces without it, and bite in two those he suspected contained any. Now and then, though, he is caught by poison, but only when very severely pressed by hunger. When he gets his foot in a steel trap he drags it off, though heavy enough to catch a wolf, and instead of biting off the limb, as the mink and fox will do, he retires to some secluded spot and there endeavours to withdraw it, in which he often succeeds.

Hunting and trapping in winter, though very interesting and exciting, are not to be followed without considerable hardships. Often the cold was so intense that though sitting close to a blazing fire, and thickly clothed, it was impassible to keep warm. Our usual dress was three flannel shirts, one of duffel, and another of leather, over all; fur caps, protecting our ears and necks, mittens of moose-skin without fingers, easily pulled off; and secured by a string round the neck, and large moccasins over numerous pairs of socks.

Chapter Nineteen.

Across the Rocky Mountains—The Saskatchewan—A coracle, and how to make it—Fort Edmonton—Encounter with a Grizzly—A Banquet in the Wood—We are joined by a Party of Seven.

The winter at length came to an end. The snow began rapidly to disappear, and we commenced preparations for our journey across the Rocky Mountains and British Columbia to Vancouver’s Island. We busied ourselves in getting our carts and stores in order, while Stalker and Garoupe went out in search of the horses, which we knew had not strayed far. The following day they appeared, driving the whole mob before them, every animal looking as fat as if stall-fed, and in far better condition for travelling. Our men we believed were stanch and true. Our party consisted of Stalker, Garoupe, Swiftfoot, the Indian, and Quick-ear, who professed to know the whole country down to the mouth of the Frazer. Thus we had four natives and three Englishmen—Trevor, myself, and Peter—with our faithful four-footed follower, Ready: a number not so great as to provoke attack, yet sufficient to resist wanton aggression. On the last day of March we were up before daybreak, took our last meal in our winter abode, packed our carts, and then—carefully closing up the doorways and windows, so as to preserve the buildings for the use of future travellers who might have to spend a winter in that region—with a feeling of regret bade farewell to the spot, knowing the improbability that we should ever again revisit it.

We had four carts, and each of us was mounted, having a spare horse apiece, so that we formed no inconsiderable a cavalcade. We pushed on as fast as the nature of the ground—wet from the melting snow—would allow till we came to the north bank of the Saskatchewan River. For two days we continued along it till it became necessary to cross for the sake of the more beaten track on the opposite bank. How was this to be accomplished? The water was far too cold to make swimming pleasant. I bethought me of the ancient British water conveyances, still in use in Wales. Having seen an abundant supply of dry reeds and rushes in a creek a little way off, we unloaded a cart, and sent the men to bring it full of them. Meantime, I employed myself in making a framework of green willows, and in well greasing a buffalo hide, so as to prevent the water getting through it. While I worked at the boat, Trevor manufactured a pair of paddles and a third for steering. By the time the cart returned, we had done so much that all that remained was to make the reeds and rushes up into bundles and to fasten them outside the framework on which I had stretched the buffalo skin.

In this somewhat frail though buoyant canoe, resembling somewhat a Welsh coracle, we conveyed all our goods across the river, though with a very moderate freight; it would only carry two people at a time. The carts, which were entirely of wood, floated easily, and were towed across at the tails of the horses. All the party having got safe across, we again loaded and pushed on for another ten miles over a well-beaten track till we camped for the night. The difficulties we encountered in travelling across the country were wonderfully few, and Trevor was constantly exclaiming—

“What a pity people at home don’t know of this! A few thousand hardy fellows like us, who can stand cold and heat, would soon change the face of the country, and make comfortable houses for themselves into the bargain.”

We stopped for two days at Edmonton, a large trading port or fort of the Hudson’s Bay Company. It stands on high ground above the Saskatchewan, is formed of rough palisades, with flanking towers, sufficiently strong to resist an attack of Indians, and contains a blacksmith’s forge and carpenter’s shop, and some thirty families; while attached to it is a large body of hunters, employed in collecting furs for the Company, or in killing buffalo for food. Bound the fort, wheat, potatoes, and vegetables of all sorts, are produced in abundance; indeed, the whole of the Saskatchewan district through which we passed is capable of supporting a dense population. I can state also, once for all, that the scenery, though not grand, is highly picturesque and beautiful, with wooded slopes, green meadows, sunny uplands, lakes, streams, groves, and distant hills, yearning for an industrious population to give it life, and to fulfil the object of the beneficent Creator who formed it thus.

At Edmonton we exchanged our carts for packs and pack horses, as with those alone could we hope to pass over the Rocky Mountains, or, at all events, traverse the region on the other side of them. We did not, however, travel faster, as the delay, when we had to cross rivers, in building rafts to ferry over our goods, was greater.

There was no great probability of our having to encounter any formidable enemies during our journey. We might, however, meet with Indians who would perhaps set envious eyes on our horses, or with grizzlies, which would dispute our progress, or wish to appropriate our provisions. Of course, we should have rivers to cross, floods from melting snow to encounter, thunderstorms, or prairie fires, maybe; perhaps even avalanches and whirlwinds to battle with; or, at least, to reckon upon overturns, breakdowns, and similar incidents, to which all exploring parties are liable. Indeed, I will not attempt to describe how we had to cross and recross some of the rivers, or to follow through the prairie a track which only the practised eye of an Indian could distinguish.

We had been travelling along the banks of a wide stream, which, with the breaking up of the ice, had become too rapid to be navigable for our canoes, and had reached a small lake, on the shore of which we resolved to camp before continuing our ascent. While supper was preparing, I took my gun and strolled on by the shore of the lake, with Ready, hoping to get a shot at some wild fowl, or, if in luck, perhaps at a prong buck, a big horn, as the sheep of the mountains are called, or at a Rocky Mountain goat—all three most difficult to hunt. The scenery was magnificent—high mountain ranges rose on either hand, some directly out of the lake, with snow-capped peaks above standing out against the deep-blue sky, their images reflected in the mirror-like water. I strolled on; now glancing at the lake, now at the height nearest hand, where I fancied that I saw a fine mountain goat feeding. This was the first I had seen. It is the most wild, solitary, and unsocial of all animals, and seldom found but at the summit of the Rocky Mountains. All at once I was startled by the rustling of leaves near me, and wishing to ascertain what animal was there, I climbed to the top of the fallen trunk of a tree which lay in my path. Bending aside the branch of a tree before me, I saw—what I would rather not have seen so close at hand—a huge brown creature, a monster grizzly, busily employed in tearing open the rotten trunk of a tree for the sake of the insects therein contained. I retreated, hoping that I had not disturbed the gentleman in his entomological researches. I was mistaken, however, for as the bough sprang back to its former position, he looked up, and before I could jump down, his quick eye had discerned me.

To escape by flight was impossible. Had I attempted to run over the rough ground he would have overtaken me, and as certainly squeezed the life out of my body; so I stood still where I was, threw up my arms, and prepared to bring my rifle down to my shoulder to fire. I had heard that the action I performed had usually the effect of making a grizzly bear stop and stand up on his hind legs, or rather sit down with his fore paws up. This, to my infinite satisfaction, my friend did; but he curled his lips, showing his teeth, and opening his huge mouth in a most unpleasant manner. My safety depended on my putting a bullet into a vital part. Should I only wound him, I knew that he would be upon me in a moment. It is not surprising that I hesitated. While I did so I heard a loud rustling among the branches behind him, and from out of the brushwood two other rather smaller bears appeared, squatting down by the side of their big companion, and looking at me savagely.

Had there been only two of them I might, I thought, possibly kill one with one barrel, and one with the other; but how could I hope to dispose of three? Even should I shoot two, the survivor would certainly pursue and attack me. All this time, Ready, who had jumped upon the log, stood, like a well-trained dog, by my side. There was not a particle of fear in him. A word from me would have made him attack the bears, and proved his certain destruction. There they all three sat looking at me and grinning, and with Ready alongside I stood looking at them, thinking how I could best turn them into meat fit to be eaten. At last I determined to risk a shot, or rather two shots. I levelled my rifle. The hammer came down as I pulled the trigger, but there was no report. The cap split and missed fire. The bears growled more fiercely than ever, and I thought were about to make a rush on me. I dared not attempt to fire the second barrel; for should that go off, I should have been entirely unarmed. I therefore gently lowered my rifle till I could put on a new cap. The bears did not like the movement, and showed signs of advancing. I was afraid that Ready would have flown at them. It would have been all up with him and me had he done so. I stood stock still for a moment; so did the bears. Then I rapidly capped my rifle—fired first at the big fellow, with a steady aim, and then at one of his companions, and not stopping an instant to ascertain what effect my shots had taken, leaped down off the log, and ran off as fast as my legs would carry me, calling Ready to follow, loading my gun as I went. A loud growl told me that I was pursued, and I then felt that I had done a very foolish thing in firing, and that I should be fortunate if I escaped with life and limb. Had it not been for the tree, my escape would have been impossible.

The growls grew louder and fiercer. They were answered by a sharp bark. I turned my head. Two bears were following me—the large fellow and a smaller one. From the neck of the first the blood was trickling down. My faithful Ready, seeing my danger, was trying to draw off their attention from me. He succeeded sufficiently, at the great risk of his life, to enable me to load one barrel of my rifle. “Which of the two shall I shoot?” I asked myself. I selected the one already wounded. I fired. He stopped a second, and then came on more savagely than ever. He was close upon me—the other being only a little way behind. I must kill the big one or be destroyed. I stopped, faced him boldly—as dangers should always be faced—and fired. Not another inch did he advance, but immediately rolled over—shot through the heart. Still his companion remained unhurt. He continued to advance towards me, growling fiercely. In vain did Ready, with wonderful activity, endeavour to distract his attention. Had I attempted to fly he would have been on me in a moment. My only chance was standing still and keeping him at bay. I threw up my arms as before—made as if I would run at him—though I felt much more inclined to leap backwards—and shouted at the top of my voice, hoping to frighten him, but all to no purpose. On he came, and in another instant I should have been made into mincemeat, or into a perfect hash, at all events, when, just as the beast, having sent Ready flying on one side, was about to seize me in his terrible paws, a bullet whistled past my ear, the powder almost singeing my whiskers, and over he went, shot through the heart. I was safe, but so sensible was I of the danger I had incurred, that for a time I felt my knees trembling under me. On recovering myself I looked round to see who was my deliverer.

About a dozen yards behind me stood Swiftfoot, leaning quietly on his rifle, with true Indian calmness, as if he had been there for the last few hours, his countenance expressive of utter indifference to what had occurred. He knew the danger I might incur should my path be crossed by bear or panther, and had most considerately followed in my wake, keeping just within earshot without letting me know, and had heard my loud shouting at the grizzly. No words were spoken by either of us at the moment. A shake of the hand was all that passed; but it expressed far more than words could then have done. It took some little time to still my nerves, and with excellent tact Swiftfoot set to work to cut up the game which had thus fallen to our share, going about it as if nothing had happened out of the common, in a businesslike manner carefully selecting all that was to be carried into camp. Ready seemed to think the operation excellent fun; indeed, he was able practically to enjoy it till I was compelled to call him off from his banquet for fear that he would over-eat himself. All this time I kept eyeing the neighbouring thicket lest the third bear might come to look for his companions and catch us engaged in a manner which he might think fit to resent. Having cut up the two bears, Swiftfoot made a number of thongs out of their skins, and with these he slung as much of the bears’ flesh as he could carry over his shoulders. I followed his example, and the remainder we hung up in a tree, that we believed we could again easily find when we returned to fetch it.

Our arrival at camp was heartily welcomed by our friends—not the less so that we brought a handsome supply of fresh meat for all the party. The announcement that there was still more made our companions hurry off, not waiting for their suppers, to bring it into camp.

“If we don’t make haste there’ll be little else but the bones left for us to suck,” observed Swiftfoot. “The eagles and vultures will soon scent it out, not to speak of those cunning little critters the wolverines.”

He then led the party back to the spot, whilst Trevor proposed that he and I should try to add some fish to the dainty banquet with which we determined to close the day. Leaving, therefore, Peter, assisted by Ready, to guard the camp—the former being directed also to watch the pot boiling and the roast of bear’s flesh—Trevor and I took our rods to try and catch some fish out of the lake. So full are these lakes of fish that we soon caught a dozen fine trout and several other fish. We had time to prepare our supper before the return of Swiftfoot and the others with the remainder of the bears’ flesh.

We had a most sumptuous supper, washed down by copious draughts of tea, added to which—“The feast of reason and the flow of soul” made the hours pass so quickly away that it was long past midnight before we went to rest.

The next day we met a party of seven men, well-armed, who had wintered at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, some distance to the south, and were now on their way to the Saskatchewan to prospect for gold, of which they had heard there was an abundance. They had been very successful in their buffalo hunting, and had also caught a large supply of fish before the stream froze over, so that they were all in good condition and high spirits. They camped with us, and as we all sat round our fire at night, and song, tale, and anecdote succeeded each other, amid hearty shouts of laughter, no one would have supposed that tea was the strongest beverage in which we were indulging, and that we all had passed through and were about to plunge again into perils and hardships of no ordinary kind.

Chapter Twenty.

Habakkuk Gaby is hugged by a Grizzly—A Rattlesnake follows suit—The Rocky Mountains—The Frazer River—We form Three Exploring Parties—I construct a Raft, and what followed—All Safe at Last.

We were seated round the fire discussing a hearty supper, of which bears’ flesh formed a substantial part, and Habakkuk Gaby, a Yankee, half trapper and half gold-digger, one of our new friends, who was seated a little way back on account of the heat, had got on the point of his knife a huge slice, which he was eating with evident enjoyment, though in no very refined fashion. Suddenly, from behind a neighbouring tree, a huge monster, his size increased threefold in the gloom, darted out towards us.

“Un ourse! a grizzly—a bear! a bear!” shouted out our party, one after the other; but before any of us could rise to our feet the creature, seizing poor Mr Gaby round the waist, began to waddle off with him at great speed.

He had got, indeed, nearly fifty yards before we well knew what had happened: neither, indeed, did Habakkuk himself, very clearly. He kept shouting out—

“Let me go, you brute!—let me go, I say, or I’ll—”

The bear put a stop to any further remark, and he could only shriek out “Oh! oh! oh! Shoo—shoo—shoot!” Had anybody acted on his request he would inevitably have been hit, as the bear kept him between himself and our rifles. Trevor actually lifted his gun with the intention of firing, but I drew back his arm.

“Our best chance of saving the poor fellow is to rush in and stab the bear,” I said.

Fortunately, bruin’s immediate object was to get hold of the luscious steak Gaby had been eating. Putting him down, therefore, and keeping him pinned to the ground with his hind feet, the bear seized the steak and began greedily to devour it. Poor Habakkuk thought this would be a good opportunity to make his escape. No sooner, however, did he begin to move than bruin stopped eating, and gave him a look which clearly meant “You’d better not try that again.” Gaby remained perfectly quiet for a minute, and Stalker, Garoupe, and the Indians began moving round to either side that they might have a better chance of hitting the bear without killing the man. Trevor and I stood ready to fire if we had an opportunity. Again, Habakkuk thought that he could do the bear, and, springing up, made a leap forward; but bruin, who had just finished his steak, was too quick for him, and seizing him round the waist, gave him a most fearful hug. Poor Gaby’s features exhibited his very natural terror and the agony he was enduring. Uttering horrible shrieks, he shouted out—

“Fire! fire, friends! fire! Don’t mind who you hit so that you kill this infernal brute.”

I felt that something must be done to prevent such another hug, or poor Gaby would scarcely have a chance of escape with life; so, running up, I got within a few yards of the bear’s head, when, stopping, I took a steady aim and fired. As the monster rolled over on his back, poor Gaby fell forward in the opposite direction. While the rest of the party quickly despatched the bear I lifted up Habakkuk, whom I expected to find dead. However, to my great satisfaction, he slowly opened his eyes, and when he discovered that it was not the bear but I who was standing over him, and that bruin was killed, he drew a deep breath, as if to get back the wind which had been squeezed out of his body, and sat upright.

“Well, I guess that’s more than I ever went through afore, or ever wish to go through again,” he exclaimed. “It was mighty unpleasant—that it was!”

Besides this, he said very little on the subject. As to remarking that I had shot the bear and saved his life, that never entered his head. On examining the bear we found that he was wretchedly thin—all skin and bone. This was curious, as the bears we killed in the afternoon were tolerably fat. Stalker was of opinion that he had either come from a distance, and had no connection with them, or that he was an outcast bear—conquered by the gentlemen, perhaps, whom we were eating.

The night passed off without any further adventure. During the first part of it we cut up the bears’ flesh into thin strips to dry in the sun, that we might save our pemmican and more portable food as much as possible; and then we went to sleep with our feet to the fire, for the nights were still cold—one of the party keeping watch at a time. The next day we moved forward, but the ground was hard and rough, and our way lay across forests and over fallen trees, up rocky hills and across swampy valleys, whilst the heat of the sun during the day was very oppressive. So we encamped, rather earlier than usual, in a somewhat rocky place. After we had arranged our camp, and as Trevor and I were starting with our guns to kill a deer for supper, and while the rest of the men were variously occupied, as I passed Mr Gaby, who was fast asleep, what was my horror to see a large rattlesnake creeping slowly from his side to his bosom! I was on the point of shouting out to awaken him, but Stalker, who had come up, begged me to remain quiet, and that perhaps the snake would merely crawl over the man’s body and move away. The serpent, however, had no intention of doing any such thing, but quietly coiled itself under the Yankee’s left shoulder. Had he moved in his sleep the creature would, in a moment, have stung him in the neck, and no human power could have saved his life. We looked on with horror, not knowing what course to pursue. Immediately, however, that Garoupe saw the state of the case he hurried off to the nearest thicket, and returning with a long thin stick, told Stalker and Swiftfoot to go in front and draw the attention of the snake to themselves. As soon as the creature saw the men in front it raised its head, darted out its forked tongue and shook its rattles, showing that it was highly irritated.

Habakkuk’s danger was now greatly increased, for should the noise close to his ear awaken him, a movement of his arm might make the snake bite him. While all of us were in a state of dread for poor Gaby, Garoupe got behind the creature with his long stick, and, suddenly placing it under the coiled reptile, by a dexterous movement sent it flying a dozen paces off. A shout of satisfaction burst from our lips at Gaby’s safety. The sound awoke him, and little dreaming of the fearful danger he had escaped, he looked up, and merely said—“Well, now! What’s it all about? Do I look so very funny?”

He was serious enough, however, when Garoupe, who had gone after the snake and killed it with his stick, returned and exhibited it to him.

On searching about we found a number of the reptiles in holes in the rocks and under big stones. We armed ourselves with sticks and quickly despatched them. This we had no difficulty in doing, as they can only spring their own length, and a smart blow on the tail at once disables them. The first killed was three feet three inches long, and nine years old, which we knew by the number of rattles in his tail. At supper, off game which Trevor and I had shot, Gaby told us that he once formed one of a party in Vermont which went out rattlesnake hunting, and that they found a vast number of rattlesnakes in holes with their tails sticking out; that they pulled them out by their tails, and flung them far on one side, where they quickly were despatched. It is quite as well not to repeat how many hundreds he declared were killed in the course of the hunt, for Mr Gaby was not wanting in that quality so conspicuous in others of his countrymen, of speaking without much regard to exactness—which I candidly believe to be an infirmity, rather than a desire to exaggerate, which is common enough amongst the uneducated classes all over the world.

The Rocky Mountains consist of a lofty range extending from the north of the continent to its southern end, at a distance from the Pacific of from fifty to three hundred miles. The summits of the range are covered with perpetual snow, and, till lately, the generally received notion was that they formed an almost impassable barrier between the Pacific and the interior. To the east the country is mostly level and easily travelled over, especially the fertile belt along which we had come; while to the west, that is, between the range and the Pacific, it is mountainous in the extreme, as is also the case in British Columbia, across which we were now to force our way. There are, however, numerous passes through which roads can be cut out without much difficulty. The surveyors, indeed, reported one of the passes to require only the trees to be cut down to allow waggons, if not a coach and four, to be driven through it. It is called the Vermilion Pass.

We did not take it, because the distance through a mountainous and lake region is much greater than the pass we selected further to the north. When, however, the settlers in British Columbia cut a road across parts of the country, and place steamers on certain lakes and rivers, there will be no difficulties to prevent ordinary travellers from passing from Lake Superior, by the way of the Red River, through the Fertile Belt and over the Rocky Mountains, to New Westminster, the capital of the province.

We had been journeying on through forests, and should scarcely have noticed the ascent we were making, had it not been for the increased rapidity of the streams in our course flowing to the east, when reaching a small lake we found that the water which flowed from it ran to the westward, and that we were on what is called the watershed, or highest part of the pass. Still, as we looked westward, we had range beyond range of rocky mountains, the peaks of many covered with snow. This region was a part of British Columbia, but it must be remembered that between these mountains were valleys, and rivers, and lakes, and streams, and that it was by the side of these streams and lakes we expected to make our way across the country. I had thought, when I first planned the expedition, that all we had to do was to climb up the Rocky Mountains, and then to descend into well-watered plains. We found in reality that our chief difficulties had only now begun. We had certainly mountains to descend, but then we had also others to ascend; we had rivers to cross and recross, either by wading or on rafts, which we had to construct; trees to cut down, and brushwood to clear away; recumbent trees to climb over, and rotten trees to force our way through. Still people had done the same thing before, and Stalker and Swiftfoot asserted that we could do it, and were ready to stake their credit on the success of the undertaking.

We now formed fresh arrangements for crossing the country. Swiftfoot and Quick-ear were to devote themselves to hunting, to supply us with food. Stalker and Garoupe were to clear the way with their axes, while Trevor, Peter, and I conducted the horses. From the summit of a high mountain we reached, Quick-ear pointed out the hills (he said) of Cariboo, with the Frazer flowing away towards them. That now far-famed river has its sources in the region in which we then were. It runs nearly north-west for a hundred and fifty miles or more, and then, sweeping round the Cariboo region, flows due south for several hundred miles, down to Port Hope, and then on west to New Westminster and the sea, there being, however, some picturesquely beautiful, but practically ugly rapids, in its course. We made good our necessary westing, but after cutting our way to the banks of the Frazer we found that the country was almost impracticable towards Cariboo, and that the river swept so far round to the north of it that we should have to make a very long voyage if we went that way. We therefore turned round, with our faces to the southward, determined to make our way down the Thompson River to Port Kamloops, a trading post of the Hudson’s Bay Company, with which, and the town of Lytton, then was, we knew, a constant communication. High snowy peaks appeared more or less near on every side, broken hills, and rounded hills, and rocks, and precipices, and dense forests, wherever trees could find soil for their roots. The crossing streams and small lakes caused us considerable difficulty, but it was not so great as that we encountered when we had to cut our way, foot by foot, through the forest. The river our horses could swim across with ease, though they had some difficulty in getting up the banks. Our baggage was ferried over on rafts, for forming which we had plenty of materials at hand. Gaby was no despicable backwoodsman, and with his sharp axe he gave us efficient help in felling trees, while he was an adept also in fastening them together. As we advanced, however, our difficulties increased, and game became scarce. We agreed to separate for a few days Trevor was to take Swiftfoot and to ascertain if any navigable stream ran towards Lake Quesnelle, as we believed that if we could once reach its waters we could easily get to Cariboo. Stalker and Quick-ear were to continue to hunt, and to keep up a communication between us, while Gaby and I, accompanied by Peter and Ready, were to make our way to the head waters of the Thompson. A camp was to be formed in some eligible position, where pasture for the horses could be found, and here we were to leave our heavier goods and provisions, to be brought on in the direction which might prove most promising.

After a hurried breakfast, at daybreak we started on our respective courses. My party of three and the dog had not got far when we came to a broad stream, which it was necessary to cross. We quickly made a small raft, on which two persons could sit with a portion of our goods; we had a long line secured to it, so that the raft could be dragged backwards and forwards, while the horses swam across. Gaby and I crossed first, and I found the water deeper than I expected. Not without some difficulty did we reach the opposite bank in time to help up the horses, and to keep them together till their cargoes were again ready for them. Peter then drew back the raft, and embarked on it with the remainder of our provisions. He poled on the raft tolerably well till he got into the middle of the stream, when, by some means, the lad’s foot slipped, and overboard he went, letting go his pole. He was but a poor swimmer, and his destruction seemed certain, unless I could manage to get him out. I was throwing off my clothes to plunge in to his rescue, when I saw that the raft had swung round and that he had happily caught hold of it. I did not, however, at first observe that the rope had snapped, or got loose from its fastening, and that the raft was drifting rapidly down the stream. After a while he got up and seated himself composedly on it, wondering apparently what next would happen. It took a good deal to put him out. As soon as I discovered that the raft was really adrift, I ran along the bank, hoping that the current would send it in either on one side or the other, but instead of that it kept steadily in the middle, and as I looked ahead, I saw that precipitous rocks formed the banks, over which it would not be possible to scramble. Peter, too, turned round, and now, for the first time it seemed, comprehended his danger. He held out his hands imploringly towards me, crying out, “Oh, sir, oh, sir!—pray save me, save me!” The water was icy-cold, from the rapidly melting snow, and I had some reasonable dread of cramp. Still I was about to run every risk to save the poor lad, when I bethought me that Ready, who had crossed with me, would lend his aid. I told Peter to call him, and beckoned the dog to go towards the raft. After a little hesitation, and a few sharp barks, as if he was not quite certain what I wanted him to do, he plunged boldly in and swam towards the raft.

Peter had meantime hauled in the slack of the rope, and coiled it neatly down on the raft. Ready swam quickly up to the raft. He seemed clearly to comprehend the object of his enterprise, and opening his mouth to receive the end of the rope, which Peter put into it, swam triumphantly back towards the shore. I gave him an approving pat, as he landed, and taking the rope, with Gaby’s aid, I began to haul the raft towards the land. At length I got it safely to shore, where we landed the freight, and securing the raft, ready for our return, we pushed on towards the south. We encamped at night by the side of the river, which we believed ran into the Thompson.

As we sat round our camp fire, I became better acquainted with Mr Gaby and the very high opinion which he entertained of his own talents and powers. He informed me that he intended to settle in British Columbia, as he hoped to rise to the highest position if he did.

“I guess your Queen will be a lucky woman if she gets me as her subject to manage her affairs out here. I’m in no wise prejudiced. I’m a free and independent citizen of the greatest republic the world ever knew; but nevertheless I’m ready to give my services to any one who is able and willing to pay me properly.”

Chapter Twenty One.

The Thompson River—Our Parties re-unite—Hippophagous Stores—Indian Revenge—We build a Raft and two Canoes—The Rapids, and our Dangers—Indians in Ambush.

We had reached the banks of the Thompson, and were contemplating the possibility of descending it on a raft, when Stalker arrived and informed us that he had met an Indian who told him that, though we might possibly cut our way through the forest, we should find it a very arduous undertaking; that we might descend the Thompson by water, but that there were some fierce rapids on the way, into which, if we once plunged, we should inevitably be lost, and that we should in a much shorter time reach Cariboo if we went down the Frazer than by any other way. I agreed to his suggestion, though I still held to the opinion that one of the shortest roads from Red River to New Westminster will be found by the way we came and down the Thompson, and that with the aid of small steamers and ferry boats, and a gang of navvies and lumberers, it might speedily be made practicable. Yet, as we wished to get to Cariboo, we followed the Indian’s advice.

Some days passed before we all again met on the banks of the Frazer River. Trevor and his party had met with numerous adventures, the most serious of which was the loss of one of our horses, laden with numerous valuables. Three horses had fallen over a cliff into the river. Two, after great exertions, had regained the bank; but the third was swept down the stream and never seen again. Our provisions were growing short, and though game was occasionally shot, it was not in quantities sufficient to make amends for the amount we exhausted, and we were unwilling to go on short allowance—thereby lessening our strength and power of endurance and impeding our progress. We accordingly determined to go on till we found some place where there was sufficient pasturage for our horses to give them a chance of life, to kill and dry the flesh of some of them to replenish our stock of meat, and, with ample provisions for the voyage, to commence our descent of the Frazer.

The matter was earnestly discussed over our camp fire the evening of our re-assembling. We all know that the navigation of an unknown river on a raft is a most dangerous proceeding. If once a strong current gets hold of a raft, it is almost impossible for those on it to guide it properly. I therefore proposed that, besides a raft, we should form two dug-out canoes—that one should go ahead as pilot, and the other he attached to the raft to carry a rope on shore, so as to stop the raft when necessary. We were fortunate in soon finding an open, well-grassed valley suited for our object, where we might leave the horses which we did not require to kill. Of course, it was very likely that they would be taken possession of by Indians of bears. In every other respect there was no fear about their being able to take cure of themselves during any ordinary winter. Stalker told us a story which shows that people can exist even during the most severe winter with very little shelter, if they have a moderate supply of food. The event occurred many years ago.

An officer of one of the fur trading companies of those days had received directions to establish a trading post on the banks of one of the rivers in that district. Either he or one of his brother officers had some time previously had to punish an Indian for some offence committed against the community. The man was hung; his tribe looked on, acknowledging the justice of his sentence, and took their departure without any expression of anger. The post was established, and as the natives in the neighbourhood were supposed to be friendly, it was only partly fortified. As soon as the house was built, a party of hunters was sent out to a spot four or five days’ march off, known to be well-stocked with beavers. One of them, a half-bred, Pierre Dorie by name, had his Indian wife and two small children with him, one three years old, the other only four mouths. Huts were built; and while the trappers were out, this faithful squaw of Dorie took charge of them. While she was occupied in her household affairs, one evening soon after winter had commenced, expecting the return of her husband and his companions, one of the hunters staggered into her hut mortally wounded. He had barely time to tell her that her husband and the rest were murdered by Indians, and to advise her to fly, when he fell down dead.

With that courage and presence of mind which Indian women possess generally in so remarkable a degree, she prepared to escape with her children. Immediately hurrying out, she caught, with some difficulty, two horses, and, returning with them, packed up all the provisions the hut contained and some blankets and clothes. These she placed on one horse, and, mounting the other with her two infants, set out for the newly-built post, hoping to arrive in time to give notice of what had occurred, and put the officer in charge on his guard. She had accomplished two days of her journey without meeting with enemies, when, on the third, as she was pushing on as fast as the strength of her horses would allow, she espied in the distance a large body of Indians on horseback, galloping towards the fort. Her heart misgave her. She instantly dismounted, just in time to conceal herself and her horses in a copse ere the Indians passed by. Still fearing that they might be in the neighbourhood, she dared not light a fire or go in search of water. Early the next day she again set out, and late in the evening approached the spot where she expected to find the fort. It had disappeared,—a heap of ashes alone marking the place where it had stood. Still hoping to find some of the inmates alive, she concealed her children and the horses in a thick wood, and, arming herself with an axe and knife, crept cautiously towards the spot. Everywhere, traces of blood met her view. Still she hoped that some one might be concealed near. She called over the names of those who had been left in the fort. No one replied. She waited. Again she called. The melancholy howl of the prairie wolf was the only reply. She drew a little nearer. By the light of smouldering timbers, which a puff of wind just then fanned into a flame, she saw a band of those voracious creatures engaged in a banquet on the remains of her friends. A new terror seized her. They might attack her infants, whom she had left sleeping on the ground. Hurrying back, her heart sinking with dread, she was just in time to drive several away who were approaching the spot. The next morning she set out for a range of hills in the neighbourhood, bordering a river which falls into the Columbia. Here she proposed to remain during the winter.

After looking about on all sides, she selected as her abode for the winter a rocky recess in the hills, near which a stream bubbled forth. She had in her possession a large buffalo robe and two deer skins. With these, aided by fir bark and cedar branches, she constructed a hut sufficiently large to afford shelter for herself and children. She soon, however—finding that her provisions would not last her during the winter—killed the two horses, and smoke-dried their flesh. Their skins further improved her tenement. In this cheerless and wretched abode, the poor widow with her infants spent the livelong winter, not even seeing at a distance a human being passing by finding, towards the end of March, that her stock of provisions was growing short, she packed up the remainder, and, with as much covering as she could carry in addition to her youngest child on her back, set out, holding the other by the hand, towards a spot on the Columbia river, by which she knew the Company’s canoes would certainly pass. Fortunately, she met a tribe of friendly Indians, who treated her and her children with the greatest kindness, and after residing with them for some weeks, she saw the looked-for trading canoes arrive, and was ultimately restored to her friends.

We had plenty to occupy us in the construction of our raft and two canoes. The raft was to be just large enough to carry six men and Ready. Each canoe was to be capable of carrying two men, though the ordinary crew was to consist only of one man. Not one of us had ever before made a dug-out, and as the huge trunks of two trees which we had felled for the purpose lay prostrate before us, the undertaking seemed almost hopeless. “Nothing try, nothing have,” cried Trevor, seizing an axe and chopping away at the branches. We next cut the first tree into the proposed length, and smoothed off the upper part for the gunwale. On their flat surface I marked off the shape, as I used to do when cutting out a vessel as a boy.

“Let us give her good floors and all the beam we can, and she will be stiff,” said Trevor.

This we did; and as we proceeded with our work, we were well satisfied with it, and found that we could get on far more expeditiously than at first. While Trevor and I worked away on the canoes, the other men were progressing with the raft, and preparing the other log for our finishing. The first canoe was completed and launched with due ceremony under the name of the Hope. The next was called the Beauty. They both swam pretty well, but the sides being rather thick they were deeper in the water than was desirable. Still, as they were much more manageable than a raft could be, I regretted that we had not time to build more canoes large enough to carry all the party, and our provisions and goods. We made several additional paddles, as also a supply of poles, which were loaded on to the raft. The last thing I thought of was a mast and sail for the raft, as, under many circumstances, it might enable us to guide the raft, especially if the wind was against us, and a rapid near at hand.

One lovely bright morning we cast off from the shore, and commenced our perilous undertaking. Quick-ear had been down the river in his youth, but it was so long ago that he had forgotten the distances. All he could say was, that there were several dangerous rapids; but he could not say where they occurred. Stalker went first, and acted as pilot, and Garoupe had charge of the tender. The raft was tolerably heavily laden, and required careful handling. Each man on the raft had a pole as well as a paddle, to be used as circumstances required. I acted as captain, for I certainly knew as much about the navigation as any one on board, and it was necessary that some one should be in command. I also steered with a long oar fixed on a triangle at one end of the raft, while the rest of the party were arranged with paddles on either side. In the centre we placed the stores, and close to them Ready generally took his post, while the stores and provisions were placed round it. The scenery was grand—much as I have before described it—lofty, rugged mountains, their summits covered with snow, sometimes near, sometimes in the far distance; steep precipices, rugged wild rocks, and forests of trees of every size, with many fallen ones, some just uprooted, others soft from decay; here and there green glades, marshes, and other open spaces; while, by the sides of the rivers, and frequently in mid current, huge water-worn boulders, which it was often no easy matter, in our downward course, to avoid.

For several days the weather was fine, and we went on smoothly enough—camping at night on convenient spots. To prevent accidents, we unloaded our raft, placed the goods in the centre of the camp, and drew up our canoes. On the fourth night of our voyage, Ready, who was our most vigilant watcher, suddenly broke into a loud bark, and started towards a copse close to us. I sprang to my feet; so did Peter, who said that he saw a dark form moving among the trees. Whether it was a bear or a human being he could not tell. Whatever it was, it made its escape before Ready could come up with it, and I called him back lest he should be injured if allowed to be without support. Of course, the whole camp was aroused. Two scouts crept out cautiously, but could discover nothing, and the opinion was, that some small animal had aroused Ready and that Peter’s imagination had conjured up the figure in the wood. I thought it better, however, to keep on watch during the remainder of the night. Ready was far from easy, and several times started up and uttered low growls and short shrill barks.

We embarked at the usual hour in the morning. In a short time Stalker came back and reported that the navigation was far more difficult than heretofore, though with caution we might get through. “Let’s try it by all means,” was the cry. We were getting bold, and thought that we could do anything with our raft. Stalker, accordingly, again went on ahead, and we poled and paddled towards an opening among the rocks which he pointed out. Suddenly our poles lost bottom, and we found the raft whirled on at a rate which prevented me from guiding it in the way I had hitherto done. The paddles were almost useless. All we could do was to let the raft drive on, and to try and avoid the dangers as they appeared. We had passed several rocks, against which, if we had touched them, the raft might easily have been knocked to pieces, when a huge rock appeared before us, round which the water rushed with the force of a mill stream.

In vain Garoupe tried to tow us off from it—it was too late to attempt to carry a rope to the opposite shore—in vain all hands paddled to keep it clear. The raft struck, and remained caught by the rocks, the water immediately swelling up and threatening to sweep off the goods on it. Garoupe, instantly telling Swiftfoot to jump in, paddled off with a rope to the opposite shore. In the meantime, I saw that the water was shallow between the raft and the shore near which we were jammed. Accordingly, I told Quick-ear to try it, which he did, and finding it shallow, began at once to carry the goods on shore. This appearing the best thing to be done, Trevor, I, and Peter set about helping him. We had already landed several things, and Trevor and Peter were with Gaby on the raft, when, suddenly, from its being so much lightened, the current lifted it up, and away it went floating off the rock and down the stream. Garoupe and Swiftfoot made an attempt to stop it with the rope, but that snapped, and the raft was hurried on. I ran along the bank, which was here tolerably smooth. I saw Trevor sounding with his pole, and the next moment he and his two companions leaped overboard, and attempted to drag the raft towards the shore. Utterly hopeless was the attempt. It was forced from their grasp. I saw Gaby frantically pulling at it; but his foot slipped, and he let go his hold. The other two leaped on it, and on it floated, while he with difficulty gained a pointed rock in the middle of the stream, where he sat, by no means like “Patience on a monument smiling at Grief,” but frantically calling out for the canoe to come to his rescue.

While this was taking place, Garoupe and Swiftfoot had embarked in the canoe, and were going in pursuit of the raft; but the channel they took carried them at a distance from poor Gaby—besides which, he would have upset the canoe had he attempted to get into it Quick-ear and I ran on, he taking the lead, over the rocky ground, with a rope which he had brought on shore, hoping to render assistance to our companions on the raft. Gaby, believing himself abandoned, shouted more frantically than ever. I could only urge him to stick fast till we could return to his assistance; and the rocks soon hid him from sight. Once more, after an arduous run over rough boulders, among which I expected every instant to fall and break my legs, if not my neck, I again caught sight of the raft sticking fast between two rocks. Ready had, as he always did, kept close to my heels whenever he saw that there was work to be done, and when I put the end of the rope Quick-ear had brought into his mouth, he at once comprehended that he was to swim off with it to Peter, to whom I shouted to call him. Ready accomplished his task, and we now thought that, at all events, we should be able to land the remainder of the goods. Once again Quick-ear and I waded off with the assistance of the rope; though the water was deeper and the current stronger than I fancied, with a heavy load on my shoulder; just, however, as we got on the raft it swung round, and the cleat to which the rope was fastened gave way.

The raft floated off into deep water, and was carried quickly towards some swifter rapids than we had just passed. Though we might escape with our lives, still, the greater part of our provisions would be destroyed, and without them we could not hope to prosecute our voyage round to Cariboo. Just at that critical moment the canoes reached us. Stalker and Garoupe towed with all their might. We all paddled, and, at length, finding bottom with our poles, forced the raft into a counter eddy, and then, without much trouble, reached the shore.

Our difficulties had now, however, only just begun. We had to unload the raft, and to transport all our goods by land to the foot of the rapid. However, with larger canoes, Stalker was of opinion that we should have had no difficulty in getting down the rapid. Each package was done up so as to weigh as much as a man could carry over rough ground. On examination, it was found that the bank opposite to that on which we had hitherto camped was the easiest for the portage. With much caution, and the aid of all our ropes, we therefore towed our raft across the river, and began unloading. Stalker, meantime, paddled up the stream to relieve poor Gaby from his unpleasant position. The rest of us were so busily occupied that we scarcely noted how time sped. I had made one trip to the end of the portage, and was lifting up another load, when Gaby’s voice saluted my ears. His clothes, still wet, clung to his thin body, and his countenance wore a most lugubrious expression.

“I guess, friend, we are in a pretty fix,” he observed.

He then told me that while he had been on the rock he saw three Indians in their war-paint and feathers, who had emerged from the wood and stood eyeing him as he sat on the rock; that soon they were joined by others, who drew their bows with arrows pointed at him; that one shot, but the arrow fell short, and that they shook their heads as if of opinion that they could not reach him. They then disappeared into the depths of the forest. This information, coupled with what Peter had asserted he had seen the previous night, made us fear that we were watched by Indians, who would very likely fall on us, if they found us unprepared to receive them. We considered ourselves, therefore, fortunate in having crossed the river so that they could not reach us unless they had canoes, and we had seen none on our way down. It was very heavy work carrying our property along the portage. When Stalker undertook to carry the raft down the rapid Gaby volunteered to accompany him. All we could do was to bring up the goods we had at first landed to a camp near the raft. We formed it among rocks which would afford us good shelter on either side should we be attacked by Indians. However, as the tribes in that direction are generally friendly to the white men, we did not expect to be attacked by a large body, though we thought it very possible that a few individuals might have formed a plan to cut us off and possess themselves of our property. So we kept a sharp look out, and the possibility of being attacked added greatly to our difficulties.

Chapter Twenty Two.

We send out Scouts—We pass the Rapids—Swiftfoot returns alone—Indians surround us—A War-Party burn our vacated Camp—Quick-ear, pursued by Indians, arrives—We build more Canoes—Reach Fort St. George.

The next morning, Swiftfoot and Quick-ear went out as scouts to ascertain if any enemies were in the neighbourhood; and soon they returned with the report that they could find no traces of enemies.

Having made four trips during the morning with our goods, I proposed placing a portion of them on the raft and accompanying Stalker on it down the rapid. One of the canoes we hauled up on the raft. Garoupe took charge of the other. Stalker—who had surveyed the passage—Habakkuk, and I, navigated the raft. The rest of the party, under Trevor, made the best of their way along the portage. We cast off, and away we went whirling down the rapid. Sometimes the raft rocked so much that we could scarcely keep our feet. Now we were hurried towards a rock, as if about to be dashed on it, when a stroke from Stalker’s pole would drive us off again. It was exceedingly exciting, though somewhat trying to the nerves. The water boiled, and bubbled, and hissed, and rocked us up and down. Then, again, the raft would glide into water rapid as ever, but perfectly smooth, only an instant afterwards to be tossed about as if in a whirlpool. I have seldom felt more happy than when I found that we were safely through and in a wide reach of the river. We poled the raft to shore, and securing it, began at once to reload it with all the goods which had arrived.

While thus occupied, waiting for the remainder of our party, we distinctly saw several Indians peering at us from among the trees on the opposite side of the river. When they saw that we stopped in our labours and looked towards them they disappeared. This made us somewhat anxious, for it was certain that they could not be well-disposed towards white men, or they would have come out and had some communication with us. They must have seen, however, that we were not a party to be trifled with, and that if they meditated attempting to get possession of our property, they would have to pay dearly for it. As we had still three or four hours of daylight, instead of stopping to dine as soon as the rest of our party arrived, we all embarked and continued our course. The river, however, here expanded into almost a lakelike width, and the current was less rapid than usual, while the wind was adverse, and we made much less progress than we expected. We paddled on as long as we could, wishing to find a convenient camping place on the left bank. After all, we were compelled to land on the right bank, on which we had seen the Indians. We had very little fear of them, however, though it compelled us to keep a more careful watch than we should otherwise have done.

As soon as our camp was formed and we had taken a hearty meal, of which we all stood greatly in need, we sent out Swiftfoot and Quick-ear as scouts, to ascertain if any Indians were in the neighbourhood. The night drew on. The rest of the party lay down to rest with their arms by their sides. However, with Ready, I walked round and round the camp, for our scouts were so long absent that I became anxious about their safety. At length, my ear caught the sound of footsteps approaching at a rapid rate. Ready stopped, with his nose out, and then advanced a few steps, but did not bark. By this, I guessed that it was one of our scouts coming back. I was not mistaken; and I had good reason to be thankful that I had sent him out. He told me that he had come upon a large body of Indians seated round their fires and holding a council of war; that, as far as he could understand their dialect, they proposed attacking us when they could catch us unprepared, and seemed very much to regret that they had not done so when we were passing down the rapids in the morning. He gathered, moreover, from their eagerness to attack us forthwith and from some other remarks they made, that the navigation of the river for a considerable distance below where we were was very easy. They appeared to be awaiting the arrival of another party equally numerous as themselves. Swiftfoot expressed his fears that Quick-ear had fallen into the hands of the party, when, after waiting some time, he did not appear at the camp.

At length, I aroused my companions, and told them what I had heard. Trevor proposed fortifying the camp and waiting to receive the enemy. Stalker suggested that we should embark at once and continue our voyage, and that Garoupe and Swiftfoot should wait in the canoe to bring on Quick-ear if he should appear.

“But that will seem like running away from the enemy,” urged Trevor, like a stout John Bull as he was.

“I kalkilate the wisest thing is to do what is most profitable, and I don’t see much profit in stopping to fight a gang of red varmints,” observed Habakkuk.

I agreed with Stalker, and at length Trevor gave way, and we loaded the raft as rapidly as we could lift the goods on board. Garoupe consented to remain for Quick-ear, and we hoped to navigate the raft without his aid.

We embarked with as little noise as possible, and now shoving off, followed Stalker down the stream. I experienced a peculiarly solemn and awful feeling so we glided down that dark unknown stream, with the primeval forest rising up on either side, and still more so when we entered a mountainous region where the rocks towered up some twelve or fifteen hundred feet directly above our heads. We feared from the appearance of the river that we might be approaching some rapid. We accordingly moored the raft to a rock, while Stalker paddled on ahead to explore. After waiting for some time, we heard his voice shouting to us to come on. As we were easting off the rope the sound of a paddle was heard up the stream, and we accordingly kept on. In a short time Swiftfoot came alongside. He had waited under the bank, a little lower down than our camp. Suddenly, loud and fearful shrieks rent the air, and a large body of savages burst into our camp. It was certainly better for us not to have been there, and better for them too, for, although we might have killed a number of them, yet that would have been a poor satisfaction if they had killed one of us. They must have been woefully disappointed when they found that the birds they expected to catch had flown. We had now too much reason to fear that Quick-ear had fallen into the hands of the savages. Poor fellow! we could not go back to his assistance, though I must say I felt ashamed of deserting him without further search.

Morning at last broke, and we were still progressing along a deep, rapid, and clear stream, free from rocks or shallows. We hoped that by this time we had got far beyond the reach of the enemy. As I had looked up at the stars in the clear night, I had, however, observed that the river made several sharp bends, and thus I knew that we had not really made good any great distance through the country. As the sun rose there was a general cry for breakfast, and we accordingly put into a little bay with a small extent of grassy ground—a pleasant nook in the bush. We lit our fires, and breakfasted sumptuously on dried horse-flesh, converted into a capital stew, with the aid of some cloves, garlic, and pepper and salt, by allowing the steaks to simmer over a slow fire after being first briskly boiled in our frying-pans in just enough water to cover the meat. We also had hot dampers and plenty of strong tea, guiltless, however, of milk, which was a luxury we had not indulged in for many a long month.

Though the situation of the spot tempted us to remain some hours, that we might get some animals to stock our larder, yet, lest the hostile Indians should overtake us, we deemed it more prudent to continue our voyage. We had just packed up our cooking things and were stepping on board, when we heard a shout close to us, and the next instant Quick-ear burst through the wood and sprang on board the raft, crying out that the enemy were close upon him. We lost no time, therefore, in shoving off; and, as we were paddling down the river, we saw the spot we had just left filled with savage and yelling warriors. Quick-ear had had a long and desperate run, and it was some time before he could speak. When he recovered, he told us that he had found his way back to the camp just after it had been occupied by the savages, and guessing that we had gone down the river, he set off by an Indian track which he thought would lead to it at some point we were likely to pass. He had got some distance, when he found that the enemy were following, probably with the intention of cutting us off. This made him still further increase his speed. He had been seen by them a mile or two before he reached us, and had to run for his life. Had he been a minute later, he would have missed us altogether.

For several days we went on promisingly, when one day Stalker came paddling back to warn us that we were approaching a fierce rapid. We accordingly urged the raft to the shore, and landing our goods, prepared for a long portage. Still, we proposed attempting to carry down the raft. Stalker, Trevor, and I, in attempting to shoot one of the worst rapids, were very nearly lost. We had just time to spring into the canoes, which were on the top of it, when the raft was dashed to pieces. With considerable difficulty we paddled the canoes through, and had they been of birch-bark instead of dug-outs, they must inevitably have shared the fate of the raft. Had our provisions been on the latter, we might eventually have lost our lives. When, at length, we reached the foot of the rapid, we determined to do what it would have been wise in us had we done at first—that is, built canoes to convey the whole party and our goods. We here found some fine trees for the purpose, and, assisted by our former experience, in the course of a few days we had built two large canoes. As we had no saw, we had to chip our boards to form gunwales to them. Swiftfoot and Quick-ear sewed these on very neatly, so that the capacity of the canoes was very greatly increased. The sides of the two smaller canoes being raised in the same way, and then joined together, were also capable of carrying a considerable cargo.

Our voyage was much longer than we had expected; we ate up nearly all our provisions, expended the greater part of our powder, tobacco, and tea,—the great essentials in the bush,—and wore out our clothes and our patience. At length, however, we reached Fort George, a fort of the Hudson’s Bay Company, where we received that attention and hospitality for which its officers are so justly famed. After quitting Fort St. George we continued the descent of the Frazer to the month of the Quesnelle River, where a town has sprang up. Landing here, and leaving our canoes in store, we prepared to tramp it across country to Richfield, the capital of the Cariboo district. We overtook parties of the wildest set of fellows it has ever been my lot to encounter, people of all nations, and tongues, and colours.

The land in the district of Fort George is admirably adapted for agriculture, as all the European cereals, together with potatoes, turnips, carrots, and other esculent vegetables, arrive at full maturity. The white population consists chiefly of old servants of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and emigrants from the Highlands of Scotland. Indeed, the whole of this “Prairie Region,” as it is called, on account of the immense plains devoid almost of timber, and requiring, in consequence, no outlay for clearing, would no doubt before long be under the plough, if the Home Government would open up roads through the district. Barley and oats ripen even at Fort Norman, at a latitude of 65 degrees.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Richfield, the Capital of Cariboo—The Diggings—Habakkuk sets up a Store—Engages Peter for a time—Arrive at Victoria—Lord Milton and Dr Cheadle.

The city of Richfield has been built, and furnished, and supplied with provisions and liquors at the expense of a large amount of animal life; for the sides of the road were literally strewed with the bodies and bones of the animals which had died on the way. We put up at an inn where the object seemed to be to give us the worst possible food and accommodation at the greatest possible charge. Already, Richfield boasts of numerous hotels, and stores, and shops of every description, and dwelling-houses of a somewhat rough character. Coin is scarce, but gold is plentiful; so people carry gold dust about in little bags, and weigh out what they require for payment of goods received. I had fancied that gold-digging was rather clean and pleasant work, and that all a man had to do was to walk about for a few hours in the day with a geologist’s hammer to fill his wallet with nuggets. My visit to Cariboo dispelled this notion. There are possibly harder and more dirty employments; but gold-digging is a very dirty and hard one. In the first place, shafts have to be dug forty or fifty feet deep to the lodes, where the pay dirt is found. In galleries leading from these shafts the earth is dug out and put into baskets, which are hoisted out by a windlass and turned into large troughs, through which a stream of water is made to pass, with a succession of sieves, through which the gold dust falls. This is one of the most simple and easy of the processes employed. Water has often to be brought from great distances; deep trenches have to be dug, and the diggers have to work up to their middle in icy-cold water, with their heads exposed to the hot sun, down in deep holes in the beds of streams, or by the sides of streams, day after day, sometimes finding nothing, at other times only enough to enable them to procure food and lodging for the time. Others, again, have been fortunate, and have worked claims from which they have extracted many thousand pounds worth of gold in a few weeks. The latter have been mostly men who have had their wits about them, and who have purchased claims which they had good reason to believe would pay.

Such was the case with our friend Habakkuk Gaby. The day after our arrival, we saw him wheeling a barrow about, up and down hill, stocked with a variety of small wares such as he well knew miners would value. Whether he sold or not, he stopped and had a talk with all he met, picking up a little bit of information from one and a little bit from another. His former experience in California enabled him to ask questions likely to procure what he required. For several days he patiently continued at this occupation. At last, one evening, Trevor and I received a visit from him.

He told us that he had bought a claim which he guessed would pay; that he had engaged Stalker and the rest of our men for the summer; and asked if I would allow Peter to remain with him, promising to make the lad’s fortune, and to bring him down safely with him to Victoria at the end of the season, in time for him to leave the country with us. As Peter expressed a strong wish to remain and try his fortune at gold-digging, I did not oppose him; indeed, I could manage to do without the lad, and I wished him to employ himself in whatever was most likely to conduce to his success in life. Trevor and I tried our hands at gold-digging for a fortnight, at the end of which time we had had quite enough of it. After paying the owners of the claim the rent agreed on, we pocketed some few pounds apiece; but we were nearly knocked up with the hard work.

Before leaving Richfield, we paid a visit to Mr Gaby. We found him in a most flourishing condition. At one end of his claim was a store, of rough materials. On the front was an imposing board with “Gaby and Co.” painted in large letters on it, and underneath, “Everything sold here.” He welcomed us warmly, and pressed us to come in and liquor.

“I don’t much like this work,” he said; “but I’ll make it pay while I am at it. We shall meet again before many months are over.”

We found Peter serving in the store. He said that he took his turn with another lad at mining, and liked his occupation. His master treated him well. He got two dollars a day and everything found him, so that he did very well.

The next day we bade farewell to Cariboo, and tramped it on foot four days to the town of Quesnelle, on the banks of the Frazer. Here we found a steam-boat going down the Frazer to a place called Cedar Creek, where the navigation of the river becomes impracticable for four hundred miles to the town of Tale, from which place to New Westminster and Victoria steamers run constantly up and down the Frazer.

By far the most uncomfortable part of our journey was that performed in the stage between Cedar Creek and Yale. Our feet were cribbed, cramped, and confined, and we had just cause to apprehend a capsize over the terrific precipices along which part of the road lay, into the foaming waters of the Frazer.

Victoria is already a wonderful place, considering when it had its beginning—full of hotels, large stores, churches, dwelling-houses, and places of amusement, including a theatre, where stars of the first magnitude occasionally shine forth. We travelled all over the province of British Columbia and through Vancouver Island; made a visit to Nassaimo, the Newcastle of the North Pacific, and became more than ever convinced that what is chiefly required to place those colonies among the most flourishing and valuable of the possessions of Great Britain is the opening up of a road and the erection of post-houses along the line of country we had travelled from Lake Superior, via the Red River settlement and the Fertile Belts.

Of course, we gained great credit for the successful accomplishment of our voyage down the Frazer; but I consider that we were far eclipsed by the journey performed by Lord Milton and Dr Cheadle across the Rocky Mountains, by Jasper House and the Bête Jaune Cache down the Thompson and Kamloops. We had the pleasure of meeting at Victoria a very intelligent gentleman, who accompanied them from Edmonton; and from him we learned the particulars of their journey. The party consisted of himself, Lord Milton, Dr Cheadle, and an Indian hunter from the Assiniboine River, with his squaw and their son, a big strong boy. They had also several hones and a fair amount of provisions and stores.

“Ah, sir, it was very fortunate for those young men that they had me with them, or they would inevitably have perished. The countess would have had to mourn her son and his friend, the gallant Cheadle,” he observed, as he was introduced to us as the companion of those persevering travellers. “Yes, sir, I say it, fearless of contradiction, had it not been for my courage and perseverance they would never have accomplished the journey. I saw that, when I offered to accompany them; and if they did not know their true interest, I did. Why, that Assiniboine fellow would have murdered them to a certainty, but I kept him in awe by my eye—he was afraid of me, if he did not love me. Lord Milton is brave, but he wants that discretion and judgment which I possess; while Dr Cheadle is really a fine fellow, and would have made a capital backwoodsman. We had good horses; and as I am a judge of horse-flesh, I have a right to say so, and we got on very well till we began to cross the rivers. Some of the streams were fearfully rapid, and it was very evident that my companions were scarcely up to their work. I used, generally, to plunge in with my horse, and, leading the way, call them to follow. This they did, and I was always ready on the top of the banks to help them out. We had frequently to construct rafts, when I invariably set to work to cut down the trees and to carry them to the river’s brink. Sometimes, when I could not carry a log by myself, I had to call on one of them to help me; but I did so only in the last extremity. You see, Lord Milton was a delicately-nurtured young man, and I wished to save him as much as I could. I do not doubt that if he writes a book he will bear witness to the truth of my assertions. The Assiniboine was of a good deal of use, considering that he had only one hand, and his wife and boy were active too; but they could not possibly have got on without me. On one occasion, while I was asleep (or it would not have happened), the forest caught fire. I jumped up, and with a thick stick I always carried, so effectually attacked the flames that I put the fire out and saved the horses and our property.

“On another occasion, when all the rest of the party had gone out hunting, and, being disabled, I had remained in charge of the camp, I saw a huge bear approaching. I had no gun; but, sallying out with my stick, I put it to flight, and saved the camp from being plundered, which it would inevitably have been, of our most valuable property.

“Our first important raft adventure was in crossing the Canoe River, a tributary of the Columbia. A raft had been constructed. We embarked on it. The current was very strong. I warned my companions. They were deaf to my cautions. I saw that they were not up to navigating a raft. Suddenly, our raft was whirled round in a rapid current, which bore us to seeming destruction. A huge pine tree lay with its branches recumbent on the water. I shouted to my friends to hold on; but it was of no use. Dr Cheadle leaped on shore, followed by the Assiniboine and his boy. I sat firmly at my post; Lord Milton and Mrs Assiniboine hung on to the branch of the tree, like Absolom, only it was with their hands instead of the hair of their heads. To stop the raft was impossible; but to guide it towards the shore was practicable. I sat, therefore, calmly waiting an opportunity of steering my eccentric-moving bark towards a wished-for haven. This, with the assistance, I must own it, of the Assiniboine, I was enabled shortly to do. Lord Milton and Mrs Assiniboine were, meantime, very nearly carried away by the roaring flood. Dr Cheadle and I, at the risk of our lives, hastened to their assistance; and I must do the young nobleman the justice to say that he refused to be helped till we had got the woman out of her perilous position. I look upon that as true gallantry; and I told him that I should consider it a pleasing duty to narrate the circumstance whenever I gave an account of our adventures. However, Dr Cheadle, considering that he was in by far the most dangerous position, got him out at once, and, with the aid of my handkerchief, I helped out the dark-skinned lady.

“That was only one of the many fearful dangers we ran. As I before remarked, it was very much owing to my forethought that things were not worse. I used to rouse the young men up every morning, or I do not know how long they would have indulged in their downy slumbers; not that they were very downy, by-the-bye, considering that spruce-fir-tops formed the most luxurious bed we had for many a day. They were also improvident, and had a knack of leaving their things behind them, insomuch that, in spite of all I could do, we had only one small axe left with which to cut our way through a dense forest. We supplied ourselves with a second axe belonging to a dead Indian found in the woods. By-the-bye, my friends were very much puzzled to find that the said dead man had no head, and that it could not have been taken by a human being, as he would have carried off the poor man’s property; or by a wild beast, as it would have upset the body, which was found in a sitting position. It was close to our camp; and the fact was, that I had, not five minutes before, found the body, and lifted the head, which had fallen to the ground, with the end of a stick, and hid it in a bush hard by. Having crossed the mountains and found that we could not push overland to Cariboo, we turned our faces northward, to proceed down the Thompson River to Kamloops.

“None of our party were skilful boatmen. I do not myself profess to have any extensive knowledge of navigation; so my young friends would not venture to go down the Frazer in canoes, which, in my opinion, they might have done with ease. They chose to stick to terra-firma, and, in consequence, they very nearly stuck fast. First, they lost one of their horses, laden with numerous valuables—nearly all their tobacco and tea and sugar; and the other poor beasts were so completely knocked up that it was difficult to drive them. Now they went one way, then another; now they tumbled down precipices or got jammed between trunks of trees; then they fell into the river and began swimming away, and the Assiniboine had to plunge in and fish them out. This continued week after week. We were like babes in the wood, lost in that fearful forest, cutting our way through it; often making good three or four miles in the day, our provisions running shorter and shorter, till we were reduced to live one day on a skunk, a creature I thought no human being could have eaten. I own that I could not. Sometimes precipices faced us, and sometimes steep hills, which it took us hours to get round or climb up. At last we had to kill a horse, my little pet Blackie, which, owing to my careful and judicious driving, was in better condition than any other of the lot. The young men had expended nearly all their powder; and, at the best of times, rarely killed more than a few birds in the course of the day. We found horse-flesh tolerably palatable; but, by the time we had begun to eat Blackie, we were not very particular. However, he was only the first horse we ate—we had to kill another before long—and it seemed probable that we should have to eat up our whole stud before we could reach Kamloops. Several times we discussed the question as to whether we should kill all our horses and tramp through on foot, or build rafts and descend the river. I urged my young friends to persevere. They took my advice, with happy results, for, in a short time, we entered an open country, and met some natives, not handsome, but kind-hearted people. They knew of Kamloops; they could guide us there; and did so. We were hospitably received.

“Our troubles were over; but I must say that I hope I may never spend another eleven weeks such as we went through since we started on our journey over the mountains. I entertained a different opinion of the Assiniboine to that held by my companions, and I believe that had it not been that I kept my eye on the man he would quietly have murdered us all; but he was afraid of me—that is the fact. He behaved bravely on one occasion, certainly, when he plunged into a river and dragged out our horse, Bucephalus, that, with another, Gisquakarn, had fallen in. The latter was swept away with our stock of tea and tobacco, salt and clothes, and several important documents belonging to me. Had my friends taken my advice, they would have divided these articles among the various animals. Possibly they will do so another time. Lord Milton and Dr Cheadle talked of giving an account of their adventures to the world. If they do, unless their memories altogether fail them, they will corroborate all I have said.”

The fine island of which Victoria is the rising capital, with a population of some seven or eight thousand inhabitants, came into possession by the British Oregon treaty, which determined the boundary between British North America and the United States. Vancouver Island is by far the longest on the west coast of America; and the coast-line is broken into fine natural harbours, which will afford protection to ships in all weathers. Coal of excellent quality is found at Nanaimo, and copper and iron ores: the latter, found nowhere else on the North Pacific coast, are plentiful. Fish of the most valuable kinds, including the viviparous species, are abundant; as are also the elk, deer, grouse, snipe, etc, by way of game; and for fur-bearing creatures, the beaver, the racoon, and land-otter, are the chief wild animals. Indeed, considering all its natural advantages, and its vicinity to the gold-fields of British Columbia, Vancouver Island must soon take a prominent place among the colonies of Great Britain.

Queen Charlotte Sound, which separates Vancouver Island from the mainland, is scarcely ten miles wide in some places, and the Strait of Juan de Fuca, which waters its shores as well as those of the territory of Washington in the United States, is not more than eighteen miles wide. The island itself is 275 miles long, of an average breadth of 75 miles, containing an area of 16,000 square miles, with a population of 20,000, of which above one-half are Red Indians.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Voyage to San Francisco—The City and Diggings—We book our passage for Honolulu—Marcus warns me of Danger, and the idea is abandoned—We return to England via New York—Marcus sails for Liberia, and we spend Christmas with Aunt Becky.

I scarcely know why, but all of a sudden Trevor seized with a strong desire to visit San Francisco; and as there is steam communication between that city and Victoria, there was no difficulty in the way to prevent its being gratified. We had fixed the day for leaving Victoria, and were expecting Peter’s return to my service, when Mr Habakkuk Gaby walked into the room. He was wonderfully improved for the better since we parted at Cariboo, as far as dress was concerned; indeed, his costume was an indication of his very flourishing condition. “Well, I’ve brought back Peter to you; and I kalkilate the lad’s worth a hundred good dollars more than he was when you left him with me,” he observed, after the usual salutations were over.

I hoped that he had been successful in his speculations.

“Yas, I guess I have,” he answered, with a knowing wink; “I’ve had, too, enough of gold-digging, and I’m thinking of offering my services to the governor of one of these states as private secretary, or colonial secretary—I’m in no ways particular,—just to help him to put things to rights. I know how they ought to be—and that’s not as they now are. If my offers are not accepted I shall go on to Californy and see what’s to be done there; but I guess there are too many full-blooded Yankees there for the place to suit me.”

Mr Gaby, finding that the Governor of Victoria did not place the same estimate on his talents that he himself entertained, quitted the province in disgust, and was one of our fellow-passengers to San Francisco, the Queen of the Pacific, of which it is enough to say that the harbour is a magnificent one, as soon as the Golden Gate—the name given to the mouth of the river—is passed; and that the city is huge, composed of buildings of all sizes, from the imposing stone or brick edifice to the humble shanty. The hotels are numerous, and the jewellers’ shops, especially, are as handsome as any in London or Paris, while the population is truly composed of the natives of all countries in the world. We visited Sacramento and the diggings. The gold at the latter is chiefly obtained by crushing quartz; and numerous companies, with powerful machinery, are engaged in the business.

Cortez discovered California in 1537; yet, acclimatised as the Spaniards then were to the heat of the tropics, so oppressive did he find the climate, that he named the country, Caliente Fornalla, “the fiery furnace.” The Spaniards made no attempt to search for its mineral wealth; and till the middle of the last century, when California belonged to Mexico, and rumours reached Europe of its auriferous soil, its gold-fields were looked upon as fabulous. Some efforts were then made to discover the hidden treasure, but they all proved abortive, and the pearl fishery was looked upon as the only valuable product of “a sterile land of rocks and stunted bushes,” as it is described in the earliest account of any value of the country and its inhabitants, the latter then “but a step above the brute creation.” This account was written in German, by a Jesuit, after his return to his native country upon the suppression of his order by Pope Ganganelli, in July, 1773, and is full of curious information.

Still, the tradition of its yielding gold was never obliterated; but it was not till September, 1847, after its cession to the United States, that gold in any considerable quantity was discovered in California. The pioneers were a Captain Sutter and a Mr Marshall, two free settlers, who at first attempted to keep the discovery a secret. It is between that period and the year 1850 that the following sketch of “Dangers of the Diggings” must be placed, after which it became a sovereign State of the American Confederation, though murders and Lynch law prevailed even up to 1860.

I give the story in the words of Habakkuk Gaby—half trapper and half gold-digger, as we have seen him to be—as it is worth preserving, as a curious evidence of the rapid rise of San Francisco in the course of less than a dozen years from a state of almost perfect anarchy to such a height of civilisation and luxury as already to be regarded by many as all but the second city in the United States.

“Well, Master Trevor,” began Habakkuk one evening, as we were seated together, comfortably discussing our wine and cigars, “I’m no way partikler, but there is a place I’ve no wish to go to, though I guess that it ain’t hotter nor worse than Californy was when I first got to it. Ay, long before I got there, I guessed what was to follow; for a full day’s journey along the whole road was like a broker’s shop—only the goods were all smashed and had nobody to look after them. First, there were pianoes, fiddles, guitars, and other gimcracks. Then, chests of drawers, bedsteads, and boxes. Next, women’s fine clothes, bless them! and then bedding, pillows, and blankets. The useless first; then, step by step, one little comfort after ’tother. Then, sadder still, tents and cooking apparatus, skeletons of horses and oxen, broken-down waggons. Now and then, a grave; but, saddest of all, casks of biscuit and crackers, of flour and preserved meats, and whitened human bones!

“On, on! No time to bury the dead! Water, water! None to be had—not enough to cover the finger’s tip to cool the parched tongue! Whole families sank by the roadside and died of thirst. Perhaps one survived. It may be the father, whose thirst for gold had broken up a quiet home,—and all for greed had brought a fond wife and mother to perish on these arid plains—every vestige of vegetation dried up by the scorching sun—after seeing her little ones, one by one, droop and die away. Terrible such a fate! Welcome death! But death, in mockery, spares the thirsting wretch till madness supervenes, and suicide or murder ends what greed for gold began.

“No, Master Skipwith; ’tis only young and hale men, with no tie on earth to bind them, that should seek the diggings. Broken of heart, careless of the world, I’ve seen others who have left behind all they loved and were worth living for on the track to the gold-fields, labouring like machines, never smiling, seldom speaking, scarcely knowing why they thus toiled and laboured; now, all they had once loved on earth had gone. We could tell the nature of the country by the sorts of articles left on the road. Still worse, if anything, were the scenes which took place at the diggings. Rheumatism and fever brought many to the grave. The poor wretches lay in their tents or lean-tos, with no one to attend them—no one to speak to them—till death put an end to their sufferings, or sometimes madness seized them, and they would rush out attacking all they met, till they sank exhausted, or till they were knocked over by some of their companions, as if they had been wild beasts. Not content with having sickness for their foe, the diggers quarrelled among themselves. One party had diverted a stream from the claim of another. The latter demanded compensation, which was refused, on which they attacked the aggressors, killed several, and wounded many others. I guess gold-hunting, in those days, was not the pleasantest of occupations,” remarked Habakkuk, in conclusion.

“The Ingins, too, was troublesome in these parts, I’ve heard say,” observed Stalker.

“I guess they was,” answered Mr Gaby. “Can’t say, however, but what our people—that is, the whites—often brought it on themselves by shooting a red man without provocation; making them work against their will, beating them when they wouldn’t, and carrying off their squaws. Flesh and blood, whether it’s red or black, or white, don’t like that sort of treatment.

“One morning, two men were found speared in one of the out-huts of the camp, and everything in it carried off. Though we didn’t know much of the men, who they were or where they’d come from, they were whites, and that made the diggers very exasperated with the murderers. An expedition was at once organised to follow and punish the Red-men. We had no lack of leaders. Two or three men who had spent all their lives on the prairies or in the backwoods, and were well accustomed to cope with Indians, and knew all their tricks and cunning ways, offered their services. One fine old fellow was chosen—a Scotchman, called Donald McDonald. I guess that in his country there are a good many of the same name, but I don’t think many like him. He had lived all his life in these ports; and what made him come to Californy I don’t know, except the love of adventure, for he had plenty of money. He stood six feet four in his stockings, with a head of hair of a bright carrot-red, which hung down all over his shoulders—a beard and moustache to match. His brow, full of wrinkles, alone showed his age; for his eyes were bright and piercing, and his step as elastic as that of a young man. So as you seem pretty quiet with regard to the Ingins in these parts, I’ll just tell you how they manage things in the south, where, somehow or other, the whites are pretty nearly always at war with them. We assembled at the hut of the murdered men, that we might take our departure from it. There were numbers of footprints about the hut, but there had been no struggle near it. The men had been surprised by the crafty Ingins while they were asleep, run through with spears, and afterwards stabbed. Everything in the hut had been carried off by the murderers, who took no pains to conceal their numbers, or the direction in which they had gone. There was a considerable number of them, and their track led towards the most mountainous and intricate path of the country, with numerous streams intervening. ‘The varmints think by coming this way to baffle us; but we’ll soon let them know that a keen pair of eyes is following which has been accustomed for forty years or more to ferret them out, in spite of all their dodges,’ remarked Donald. It was well for those who had to accompany the old man to have a fast pair of legs.

“We kept on at a rapid rate the greater part of the day, the footmarks becoming more and more indistinct, from the nature of the ground, till we arrived at a mountain stream. As the traces were now totally lost, loud murmurs rose among our party.

“‘The savages have done us—depend on that,’ cried several of them.

“‘I ken they must be very clever savages, then,’ observed Donald, not a little offended at the imputation thrown on his sagacity.

“Donald continued walking up and down the stream for some time, carefully looking out for marks on the opposite side, for he well knew that the Indians must here have entered the stream and gone up or down some distance and then landed. No long time had passed before he shouted to us to follow him, and crossing the stream we came upon a track which looked at first as if only one person had passed, but on further examination we perceived that the varmint had formed in Indian file and trod in each other’s footsteps. We followed for some little distance, when the Ingins, little dreaming what sort of men would be after them, and despising the White Faces’ knowledge of their customs, broke off again, and walked along in a body, taking no pains to conceal their movements. They even dropped some of the flour which they were carrying off, and did not stop to hide the particles left on the ground. It was now getting dark, so we had to camp in a hollow, where we could light our fires without the danger of being seen by the Redskins, taking care, however, to prevent them from blazing up.

“As soon as we had camped, Donald went back to the river and quickly returned with a fat buck he had killed, and which he had watched for as it went to the stream to drink. We couldn’t sleep much for talking of the fight to come off next day, and for all the brave things we were going to do. By daybreak next morning we were on foot and closely following the trail of our enemies. In three or four hours we reached the place where they had camped, and Donald told us that the varmints had had a good supper on venison, and cakes made of the flour they had stolen, and that there were about five-and-twenty warriors, all well-armed with bows and arrows, and spears, and axes. We now pushed on more rapidly than ever, eager to be up with them. They were also marching quickly to get back to their camp, where they had left their squaws and papooses. Our route lay over mountains and across valleys, with grand scenery on every side. Each mountain we climbed the footprints of the Ingins became more and more distinct, till it was clear that we were rapidly getting up with them. McDonald, like a good general, now sent out scouts to prevent our being taken by surprise. We were told to hold our tongues and to look to our arms. At length we reached the summit of a lofty ridge, below which lay a broad valley.

“‘They are there,’ whispered McDonald; ‘and if you all keep silence, obey my orders, and behave like true men, we shall bag a round dozen of them.’

“These Californian chaps were no way particular how they treated the Redskins. Going on a little further, we saw, far down below us in the valley, a few wreaths of smoke curling up into the blue sky. They came from the fires of the Ingins. The order was now given to form in single file. Silently and cautiously we proceeded towards the encampment. The slightest noise or want of care would alarm our enemies, and perhaps bring destruction on our own heads. I guess it weren’t quite pleasant altogether, for if they had found us out, the tables might have been turned, and they would have killed us instead of our killing them.

“We crept on till we got to a low ridge, when, peering through the thick bushes, we saw, about four hundred yards off, a large body of Ingins encamped, some forty men or more, and twenty or thirty women. One old man, who seemed by his dress and position to be a chief, sat against a tree with a group of warriors collected round him, evidently giving an account of their adventures. The latter were in their war-paint, with feathers of different colours stuck in their hair, which was tied up in knots behind. They were as wild and fierce a set of fellows as I ever set eyes on. Yet Donald afterwards said that they were as arrant a set of cowards as are to be met with; but he certainly seemed to hold the Redskins at a cheap rate. Slowly we crept closer and closer. Fortunately the Ingins were so engaged with their speeches and boasting of their brave deeds in murdering two unhappy men in their sleep, that their usually quick ears did not hear us. At a most critical moment, however, one of our party kicked his foot against a loose stone, which rolled down the bank. Some of the Redskins started and looked up, but they were so engaged in their occupations, some in speech-making, and others in cooking, that, seeing nothing to alarm them, so thick were the bushes, they took no notice of what had occurred. We spread out in a line so as almost to surround them, and then crouching down, waited till all the party were collected together round their evening meal. At a signal from McDonald we were to commence operations. We waited for it in breathless suspense. With a startling effect our first volley sounded through the calm evening air. The Ingin warriors sprang to their feet; it was only to afford us a surer mark. On we sprang, and when within thirty yards, fired point-blank at the poor wretches. Five fell where they stood, shot through the head, several more staggered on mortally wounded; the rest, uttering fearful yells, took to flight. When the smoke cleared off, we discovered that they had halted to see who were their assailants.

“‘On, on, boys!’ shouted Donald, discharging his pistol at the Redskin nearest to him and bringing him to the ground. Then flourishing his formidable axe, he dashed on after the flying wretches.

“Those who had been the worst wounded made their way to a stream, where, in spite of our approach, their faithful squaws joined them, and began to bathe their wounds in the cool water. They knew that, however bad a wound, if the inflammation can be kept down, a man’s life may be saved. Many a poor fellow has died on the battle-field for want of cold water. ‘Let none of you hurt the women,’ shouted Donald, who, rough as he looked, was humane and kind-hearted in his way, as well as brave. Some of our fellows were, however, no better than savages themselves. Before Donald could interfere they had brained four of the wounded men. One of the women tried to save her husband, but two of our party killing the man, hurled her with him into the stream. One of the Redskins, who, badly wounded, was trying to escape, dropped as if he had suddenly fallen dead. His pursuer was about to knock out his brains, when the Ingin sprang to his feet, and tried to seize the gun from his assailant’s hands. He would have succeeded had not one of our party come up with a loaded pistol and shot the Redskin through the head. Donald insisted that the poor women who had so bravely remained by their husbands should be allowed to stay by them near the stream, greatly to the disappointment of some of the Californians, who wanted to kill all they could reach. Having collected all the articles which had been taken from the hut, including the flour, and as much venison as we could carry, we beat a retreat up the hills again. There was little fear of the party we had dispersed attacking us, but they would very likely collect their allies, and if we remained where we were, come down on us in overwhelming numbers. All the tribes in those parts have horses—mustangs they call them—so that they would have had no difficulty in collecting a large body of warriors in a short time, who, if they did not destroy us, would greatly harass us in our marches. Darkness compelled us to camp, and you may be sure we kept a sharp look-out all night, but the varmints had had enough of us, and allowed it to pass quietly.

“The Ingins followed us, however, the next day, though we took a different route to avoid them; but they soon found that we were led by a leader who knew what he was about, and that they were likely to come off second best if they attacked us. We got back safe to the diggings, and I was not sorry either. I am a man of peace, and I don’t like fighting of any sort, much less such murderous work as we had been engaged in—such as shooting a dozen of our fellow-creatures at their supper. Those Ingin murderers deserved punishment; there’s no doubt about that; but I did not fancy punishing them in that way.”

Habakkuk gave us several other anecdotes which he had heard of the redoubtable Scot, Donald McDonald. Among others I remember one which amused us greatly.

“Mr McDonald was very thick with the Redskins at all times, for he had a dark-red wife, and some light-red children, of whom he was very fond, and spent much of his time in the lodges of his wife’s relations. Gambling was then, of course, one of their principal amusements, especially when visitors came in. One day an old chief, Slabface, went into his father-in-law’s lodge, when he, with Donald and others, were soon engaged in gambling. Donald suddenly detected some trick or other, and rushing out into the open air, seizing his gun as he went, declared that he would play no more, and would be revenged on the rascal who had cheated him. Slabface followed, and asked him what he wanted. ‘Satisfaction,’ shouted Donald. ‘You are a cheat, a rogue, and a liar, and you must fight me.’

“‘All in good time; but you are reputed to be a brave chief, and chiefs should not put themselves into a passion,’ answered Slabface, quite coolly.

“‘I want none of your talk. I say again that you are a cheat and a liar!’ exclaimed Donald, getting more and more angry. ‘Will you fight me like a man, I ask?’

“‘A wise man wouldn’t get into so great a passion about so small a thing,’ said the Redskin, doing his utmost to exasperate Donald. ‘If you wish it I’ll fight to please you, though I think your proposal a foolish one. We will go into the wood and settle the matter.’

“‘Into the wood!’ shouted Donald. ‘By no means. Here as we stand, face to face, like men. Shall we fire together, or shall we draw for the first shot?’

“‘Why, now, indeed, I find that you are a far greater idiot than I supposed,’ exclaimed Slabface, in a tone of scorn. ‘Would any but a fool let his enemy point the muzzle of his gun at him, if he could help it? The Red-men are too wise to do such a thing. It is only foolish Pale Faces that fight thus.’

“‘Why how, in the name of sense, do you want to fight?’ exclaimed Donald. ‘I am inviting you to fight in the way all gentlemen fight in Scotland.’

“‘That shows that the gentlemen are fools,’ answered Slabface. ‘We will fight as all Indian warriors fight. We will go into the wood out there with our guns. You shall get behind one tree, and I will get behind another, and we will fire at each other as we can.’

“‘You are a coward, and afraid!’ cried Donald, turning on his heel.

“‘I am not afraid, but I choose that way of fighting,’ answered the chief, in the same calm tone as at first.

“‘Well, then, you shall have your own way,’ exclaimed Donald, who would not have yielded in any other matter of far less importance.

“Slabface, who was a good shot, would too probably have killed our friend, had not a party of us, hearing what was taking place, hurried up and contrived to soothe his anger. Still, to make things sure, we carried off both his arms and those of Slabface.”

Our friend Habakkuk’s account gave us a pretty correct idea of the state of affairs in the early days of the Californian diggings. Matters improved in Australia, though they were bad enough there at first, and I am glad to say that they were conducted still better at Cariboo, and the other diggings of British Columbia.

Trevor and I had soon seen enough of the Golden City and its motley society; the chief of which, a mere money aristocracy, was not at all to our taste. There is a considerable amount of trade between San Francisco and the Sandwich Islands, to which the diggers also often resort to recruit their health. Trevor, who had met Queen Emma at his High Church cousin’s rectory, near Portsmouth, a year ago, was so enthusiastic in her praise, that we determined to return to England by the Panama route, spending some days at Honolulu on our way, and joining the steamer from New Zealand at Tahiti, which is in the direct line to Panama. We accordingly engaged a passage on board a brig, the Banana, bound on a trading voyage to those islands. As I was leaving the office of the agent to whom the Banana was consigned, I found a party of seamen lounging about in front of the door, as seamen of all nations are accustomed to do. These were a curiously mixed set; not only of all nations, but of all colours and tints. There were scarcely two alike. Among them were several negroes. I saw one of them, a fine sailor-like looking fellow, start as he saw me. I looked again, and had little doubt that the man I saw before me was the runaway slave, Marcus. Yet, though he eyed me as some of his companions were doing, not by another glance or sign did he seem to recognise me. He cast also the same indifferent look at Peter and Ready. I stopped for a moment for Trevor, who wished to obtain some additional information about the brig, so that I had time to examine the countenance of the black more narrowly. Every feature was that of the countenance of Marcus. So convinced was I of this, that I was on the point of going up to speak to him, when I reflected that he might possibly have some good reason for not recognising me, as it was not likely that he should have forgotten me and Peter, or the dog.

As I walked on slowly, after Trevor rejoined me, I looked back and saw the black enter the ship-agent’s office. Again, looking back after some time, I saw him following us at a distance, and evidently wishing that it should not be seen that he was doing so. He watched us into our hotel and then disappeared. Some stars of the first magnitude were performing at the opera-house, and we went to hear them. On our return home, as we had nearly reached our hotel and were passing a dark archway, I felt my arm seized, and a voice whispered, “Stop!” I thought that I was about to be robbed, and expected to have a knife stuck into me—so did Trevor—when the voice said:

“I am a friend. Listen. You do not know me; but I know you, and remember that I owe you a deep debt of gratitude never fully to be repaid. I am Marcus—once a slave. I must be brief. You are about to sail in the Banana. A number of rich miners, and others, whose health requires recruiting, are about to proceed in her to the Sandwich Islands. She has also, it is well-known, a rich freight. She has been marked for destruction. A band of desperate men on board a fast vessel purpose following her. Two of them will be sent to ship on board as part of the crew, so that she has not a chance of escape. Take my advice; do not go by her; sacrifice your passage money. Any loss will be better than venturing to sea in that craft. Farewell, Mr Skipwith. I must not detain you, nor must I stay longer here. I owe you much; I am thankful that I have had again an opportunity of serving you. I have run a great risk to do so, and would willingly run a greater. We may never meet again; but believe that I earnestly desire your safety. I will not say I pray for it, for such a wretch as I am cannot pray. If I could, my prayers would turn to curses. Farewell, farewell!”

The last words were said in a tone of deep feeling. Even before I could answer, he had disappeared. I said nothing to Trevor before we got to our hotel. I then told him all I had heard, describing how I had met Marcus, and the opinion I had formed of him.

Trevor looked serious for a few moments, and then he said—

“I must see Marcus myself. Though I do not know him personally, what you have just told me, and what Dick wrote about this man, interests me much, and if he is in trouble again, which I fear he must be, from the stealthy way in which he dodged you, let us try to get him out of it. Black skin or white skin, what does it matter? At bottom he is a noble fellow, and if you see nothing to object to the plan, he shall return with us to Old England; and when there, between us, we can manage to do something for him.”

Of course, I could have no objection, so Trevor set off in search of the fugitive. San Francisco is not the pleasantest place in the world for such a search. There are a good many persons there who have been driven by their crimes out of society at home, and whose reckless way of living at the diggings casts a suspicion upon them, so that folks generally avoid that quarter of the city where they usually congregate, and where I had met Marcus but a few hours before.

I had been left to myself for more than three hours, and it was already getting dark, yet Trevor did not return. I therefore determined to go in search of him. I had just turned the corner of the street in which was the dark arch from which Marcus had emerged, when I saw Trevor and the black approaching. Jack had succeeded in drawing Marcus away from a lawless set of rascals, who were pirates of the worst class, by whom the latter had recently been captured, and had had his life spared upon taking the usual oath to join the crew of his captors. He was closely watched by them, so that Trevor could not get near him till the shades of evening had fairly set in.

Jack and Marcus were not long in bringing me to their way of thinking, that overland would be our safer way of reaching England; so we determined to lose our passage money, and on Marcus’s account more particularly, to take the easiest and quickest route to New York. Peter would not leave me, and is still a member of my household, dealing often in the marvellous, and frightening the maids in the kitchen with his narratives of shipwreck and crocodiles, of pirates and savages, and of blood and murder.

With our quitting San Francisco our perils and adventures came to an end, and we reached Liverpool in time to see Marcus on his way to Liberia, with letters of recommendation, before accepting dear Aunt Becky’s invitation to spend Christmas at Merton Lodge, and to spread out before her the trophies I had promised at starting, among which her drawing-room exhibits, by way of hearth-rugs, two panther skins, and, in large glazed cases, a lot of stuffed birds and reptiles, including a rattlesnake and a boa-constrictor.

I need not say that Ready is a great favourite with all the household, and that with true canine sagacity he knows how to make the most of his popularity. He seems to imply by his manner that the stuffed trophies would scarcely have been where they are but for him, and his bright eyes express as plainly as tongue can do Quorum pars magna fui, whenever Trevor and I have to narrate, for dear aunt’s repeated gratification, how the living creatures themselves were captured and where they ran wild.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Hendricks the Hunter"

Chapter One.

The Trader in Zululand.

Zululand is a wild region of mountain ranges, deep valleys and gorges, roaring torrents, rapidly flowing rivers, plains covered with mimosa bushes, meadows where cattle pasture and grow fat, and level plateaux extending for many miles across it, several hundred feet above the level of the ocean; while scattered here and there, in some parts pretty thickly, are to be seen the kraals or villages and the mealy grounds of the natives. Wild as is the country, and although roads, properly speaking, there are none, it is sufficiently practicable for waggons in various directions.

Some few years back, one of these vehicles, drawn by a span of twelve oxen, was seen slowly wending its way to the south-west, in the direction of Natal. It was a loosely yet strongly built machine on four wheels, fourteen feet long and four wide, formed of well-seasoned stink wood, the joints and bolts working all ways, so that, as occasionally happened, as it slowly rumbled and bumped onward, when the front wheel sank into a deep hole, the others remained perfectly upright. It was tilted over with thick canvas impervious to rain, the goods or passengers inside being thus well sheltered from the hardest showers, and even from the hot rays of the sun.

The oxen pulled steadily together, as became animals long accustomed to work in company. On a board in front stood a Hottentot driver, his black visage surmounted by a broad-brimmed straw hat ornamented by a few ostrich feathers twined round the crown, while his hand held a whip of Brobdignagian proportions, the stock being fully fourteen feet, and the lash upwards of twenty-four feet in length, with which he occasionally urged on the leaders, or drew blood from the animals beneath his feet, as well as from those intermediate in the span, whenever a rise in the ground or its unusual roughness required an additional exertion of their strength.

Several black men, of tall sinewy forms and Kaffir features, each carrying a gun at his back, and a long pole in his hand, accompanied the waggon on foot. At some little distance ahead rode a florid, good-looking man, above the middle height, and of strongly built figure, dressed in a grey suit, with a broad-brimmed hat on his head. He also carried a gun at his back and a brace of pistols in a broad belt which he wore round his waist. Though his hair and beard were slightly grizzled, yet, by the expression of his countenance and his easy movements, he appeared to have lost none of the activity of youth, while his firm-set mouth and bright blue eyes betokened courage and energy. Some horses followed the waggon, secured by thongs of a length sufficient to enable them to pick their way. A glance into the interior of the waggon would have shown that it was fully loaded, the chief contents being the skins of wild animals, the huge tusks of elephants, and other spoils of the chase, with which the proprietor was returning after a hunt of many months’ duration, to dispose of them at Maritzburg or D’Urban.

The horseman was apparently one of those enterprising traders and hunters who roam over the southern parts of the dark continent to barter European goods for cattle, skins, ivory, and other produce of the country. As he was the owner of the waggon and the master of the men attending it, we will for the present designate him as the Trader. He generally rode on in silence, amusing himself with his own thoughts, but occasionally he turned to address a tall Kaffir by his side, whose leopard-skin robe and head-dress, the long rifle at his back, and the independent air with which he walked, betokened him to be a leading hunter, and the familiar way in which he was addressed and replied, showed that he was held in high esteem by his employer.

“We must look out for a camping-place before long, Umgolo,” said the trader. “The beasts have had a rough journey, and will require plenty of time for feeding. Do you go on ahead, and select a spot where grass and water are to be found, and where we may watch them, and defend ourselves, should any of the people hereabouts take a fancy to the beasts or to the contents of our waggon.”

“The master shall be obeyed,” answered the Kaffir. “It may be as well, as he has said, to be on our guard, for the Zulus in these parts are arrant thieves, and will not scruple to steal if they have the chance.”

The Kaffir, who had of course spoken in his native tongue, hurried ahead of the team. In a short time the waggon overtook him at a spot which he had chosen on the slope of a hill forming one side of a valley through which ran a sparkling stream, the ground in the neighbourhood of its banks being covered with rich grass. No more favourable spot could have been selected for the camp, as the stream served as a boundary on one side, and the hill on the other, so that a man stationed at either end could effectually prevent the cattle from straying.

Another valley opened into that along which the waggon was travelling, and on a level space some considerable way from the bottom could be distinguished in the distance a circular palisade forming a kraal, the dome-roofed huts just appearing above the enclosure. It was so far off, however, that the inhabitants were not likely to have discovered the waggon as it passed along.

At that period, it should be understood, the Zulus and their white neighbours were on tolerably good terms, though some of the former might occasionally have carried off a few horses or head of cattle belonging to the settlers, when they could do so without the risk of being caught. Sportsmen and traders therefore penetrated fearlessly into the country, the traders carrying cotton goods, blankets, cutlery, and not unfrequently firearms and powder and shot, which they exchanged for skins and oxen.

However, we will return to our friends. At a short distance from the spot selected by Umgolo for the camp was a wood from which fuel for the fires could be obtained, and which would have afforded materials for throwing up a fortification, had such been considered necessary. But the sturdy owner of the waggon, with his band of expert marksmen, believed himself well able to cope with any natives who might venture to interfere with him.

Having outspanned, or in other words the oxen being unyoked, they hurried of their own accord down to the stream to drink, attended by two of the men, with their guns in hand, in case any lion or other savage beast should be lurking in the neighbourhood. The water was too shallow for crocodiles, which in many parts have to be guarded against. The rest of the men were engaged in collecting fuel for the fire, and cutting stakes and poles to form a temporary enclosure in which the oxen might be penned during the dark hours of night.

Meantime the trader, attended by Umgolo, set off in search of a springboc or a pallah, called also the rooyaboc, or a wild boar or a water-buck, whose flesh might serve the party for supper and breakfast. There was no fear of starving in a country where numberless varieties of animals abounded. They made their way towards a thicket which extended from some distance up the hill, across the valley, almost down to the river. Game of some sort was sure to be found within it, while at the same time they themselves would be concealed by the thick bushes, and be enabled to get sufficiently close to an animal to shoot it with certainty.

It was only, however, in some places that the thicket could be penetrated; for below the large mimosa trees there grew thorny creepers and bushes, among which it was impossible to force a passage without the certainty of having to emerge with garments torn to shreds, and legs bleeding from lacerations innumerable. Here in wild profusion grew the creeper known as the “wait-a-bit,” because its hooked thorns will catch the clothes of any person brushing by it, and compel him to wait a bit until he has released himself by drawing them out one by one. The natives give it the still more honourable title of “catch tiger,” as they affirm that even that savage creature, who may unwarily leap into it, will find itself trapped in a way from which there is no escape. Then there was the cactus with spikes three inches in length, and the “Come and I’ll kiss you,” a bush armed with almost equally formidable thorns, and huge nettles, and numerous other vegetable productions, offering impracticable impediments to the progress, not only of human beings, but of every species of animal, with the exception of elephants and rhinoceroses, which might attempt to force a way through them.

The hunters had not gone far, when, as they were skirting the thicket, they came on a small herd of water-buck. The trader, raising his rifle, fired, and one of the graceful animals lay struggling on the grass. The rest bounded off like lightning, to escape the shot which the native discharged. Both hurrying forward, soon put the deer out of its misery. To follow the rest would have been useless, as they were away far out of range of their firearms. They therefore at once applied themselves to the task of cutting up the dead animal, so that they might carry back the best portions of the meat to the camp.

While they were thus employed, a crashing sound was heard coming from the thicket at no great distance, when springing to their feet they saw before them a black rhinoceros, the most formidable inhabitant of those wild regions. It is more dangerous to encounter than even the lion or the elephant, because the only one which will deliberately chase a human being whenever it catches sight of him, and will never give up the pursuit, unless its intended victim can obtain concealment, or it is itself compelled to bite the dust. Its sight is, however, far from keen; so that if there are bushes or rocks near at hand, it can be easily avoided.

Such was, fortunately for the hunters, the case in the present instance. As on it came thundering over the ground, uttering a roar of displeasure, the Kaffir, shouting to his master, sprang behind a bush, near which the deer had fallen. The trader, however, stood firm, his weapon in his hand, ready to fire, although knowing full well that, should he miss, the next instant the savage brute would be upon him, and either gore or trample him to death.

Flight was out of the question with such a pursuer at his heels, while even should he now attempt to take refuge behind a bush, the rhinoceros, close as it was, would probably see him. Notwithstanding this, he remained motionless; not a limb shook, not a nerve quivered. As the ferocious monster, with its formidable horn lowered, came rushing on, the trader, raising his rifle, fired, and then, before the smoke had cleared off, with an agility which could scarcely have been expected in a man of his proportions, sprang on one side. Almost at the same moment a crack was heard from Umgolo’s rifle, and the rhinoceros sank to the ground, uttering a loud scream indicative of pain and also of anger at finding itself foiled in its onslaught.

In vain the brute attempted to rise. Umgolo sprang forward and plunged his assegai into its breast. The hunters’ sharp knives soon cut through the tough skin, and several slices of the flesh were added to the store of meat with which they set off on their return to the camp. It was the leader’s intention to send some of his people to bring in the horn and a further portion of the flesh, should it not in the meantime have been devoured by jackals, hyenas, and other scavengers of the wilds. Their arrival was greeted with a shout of satisfaction by the people. While some eagerly set to work to cook the meat brought to them, others went out to bring in a further supply. On their return, each man loaded with as much as he could carry, they reported that they had been only just in time to drive off a pack of wolves which would soon have left them the bare bones alone for their share.

Although they had performed a long and rough day’s journey, they sat up round the fire late into the night, cooking and eating the rhinoceros and water-buck flesh, and relating to each other their oft-told adventures. As soon as darkness came on, the cattle were driven in and secured close to the waggon, and sentries, with muskets in their hands, were placed to watch them, as well as to serve as guards to the rest of the camp.

The trader’s accustomed sleeping-place was inside his waggon, where, by the light of a lantern hung from the roof, he could sit and read or write when so disposed. After allowing his followers sufficient time to amuse themselves, he shouted to them to cease their noise and go to sleep. To hear with his well-disciplined hunters and drivers was to obey, and at once rolling themselves up in their blankets or karosses they lay down round the fire, which had previously been made up, so as to last some hours without additional fuel. He then, before turning in himself, took a turn round the camp, stopping occasionally to listen for any sounds which might indicate that a lion was prowling in the neighbourhood. He was just about to return to the waggon, when he observed emerging from behind a clump of trees in the valley below him numerous dark figures moving slowly over the ground. He watched them attentively, and was convinced that they were a party of Zulus bent on a warlike expedition. Others followed, until a large number had assembled in the open. Whether or not their object was to attack his camp he could not tell; but he resolved, should they do so, to defend his property to the last. He at once called up Umgolo, and in a low voice ordered him to arouse his companions, but on no account to allow them to show themselves or to make the slightest noise. These orders were obeyed, and the trader retired to the shade of his waggon, where he could watch what was going forward without himself being seen. The fire, from which a few flames occasionally flickered up, must, he knew, have shown the Zulus the position of the camp.

Though he took these precautions for prudence’ sake, he did not consider it likely that the Zulus, who had hitherto been friendly, would venture to attack him. His followers, however, appeared not to be so well satisfied on that point as he was; for each man, as he lay on the ground, examined his arms to be sure that they were ready for instant action.

The dark figures moved slowly on, then halted.

“They are considering whether they shall venture to come against us,” whispered Umgolo. “If they do, we will give them a warmer welcome than they expect.”

Such might have been the interpretation of his remarks.

“I still doubt whether they will attack us,” answered his master. “They know too well the power of the white man’s powder and lead.”

At that time comparatively few firearms had been introduced among the Zulus, and they had but an imperfect knowledge of their use.

Again the black figures began to move, but instead of drawing nearer the camp, apparently supposing that they had not been observed, they directed their course towards the kraal which had been observed by the travellers on the hillside just before they unspanned.

“They are about to work no good to yonder kraal, or they would not be moving thus silently at this time of night,” observed Umgolo. “Before morning dawns, not a man, woman, or child will be left alive, and not a hoof remain inside.”

“I would then that we could give the inhabitants notice of their impending doom, or save the unhappy wretches by some means or other,” said the trader, more to himself than his follower, well aware that Umgolo would scarcely enter into his feelings on the subject.

“It cannot be done,” remarked Umgolo. “Any one approaching the kraal would be discovered by the warriors, and put to death to a certainty.”

“Why do you think that the kraal is to be attacked?” asked his master.

“This I know, that yonder kraal is the abode of the brave young chief Mangaleesu, who possesses numerous head of cattle, and has under him a band of devoted followers. Perhaps Panda, the king of the Zulus, or some other great chief, covets Mangaleesu’s cattle, or fears his power, and this expedition has been sent out to destroy him and all his people. It may be that one of Panda’s wives has been ill, and the doctor, not knowing what else to say, having declared that she was bewitched, was ordered to go and smell out the culprit; the cunning rogue knowing full well how best to please the king; or, as I remarked, some other enemy of Mangaleesu has fixed on him.”

“How do you know, Umgolo, that such is the case?” inquired his master.

“I guess it,” answered Umgolo. “Perhaps I am wrong. The young chief may be an enemy of Cetchwayo, and he it is who has sent the army to destroy him. He knows the bravery and cleverness of Mangaleesu, who, had he gained an inkling of what is intended, would have made his escape into Natal. There may be some other cause for the intended attack, but I am not far wrong, master, you may depend upon that.”

“I fear, indeed, that you are right in your conjectures,” said the trader. “I am satisfied that the Zulus do not intend to attack us. Tell the people that they may again go to sleep, and that they will be summoned if they are required.”

While Umgolo went to execute this order, the trader stood leaning on his gun at a spot a short distance from the camp, to which he had made his way the better to watch the proceedings of the Zulu force. He was considering how he could manage to reach the kraal before the Zulu warriors had surrounded it, and were ready to commence their work of slaughter. He might, by following a different direction, and moving more rapidly over the ground, get to the rear of the kraal, and warn the doomed inhabitants to flee while there was yet time. Too probably, however, they would be seen escaping, and would be pursued and slaughtered before they had time to get to any distance. Still his generous feelings prompted him to make the attempt. There would be a considerable amount of risk to himself, though the Zulus at that time held white men in respect, and himself especially as he had so frequently traversed their country, and was known to many of them. Notwithstanding this, if found interfering with their proceedings, they might, in a sudden fit of anger, put him to death. Leaving the camp, therefore, he proceeded with rapid steps along the side of the hill, in the direction the Zulus had taken. Though the kraal was concealed from view by the shades of night, and no lights issued from it, he well knew its position. He soon gained a spot whence in daylight he could clearly have perceived it, when to his grief he saw what might have been mistaken for a dark shadow creeping over the ground and already ascending the hill on which the kraal stood. He was now convinced of the impossibility of getting to it in time to warn the inhabitants of their impending fate. Perfect stillness reigned around, broken occasionally by the distant mutterings of a lion, or the melancholy cry of some beast or bird of prey. Unable to tear himself away from the spot, he waited, moved by a painful curiosity to learn what would happen, as he knew that the dusky warriors must have reached the kraal, though he was unable to see their movements. Still no cry reached his ear. Had the inhabitants got warning of the intended attack, and beaten a timely retreat? He hoped that such might have been the case.

A crescent moon and the bright stars shed a faint light over the scene. He could look far up and down the valley, but the part where the kraal stood was shrouded in gloom. Presently the silence was broken by a chorus of shouts and yells, borne by the night wind from the direction of the kraal, followed by shrieks and cries which continued without intermission for some minutes, and then he saw lights glimmering here and there, increasing in intensity, until a circle of flame burst forth, rising rapidly as the fire caught hold of the combustible material of which the kraal was composed. By this time all sounds had ceased, and he knew that the last of the unhappy inhabitants had been killed.

Wishing to avoid the risk of meeting any of the savage warriors, should they cross the hill, he hastened back to the camp. He found Umgolo, who had discovered his absence, looking out, wondering what had become of him.

The Kaffir had heard the yells and shrieks of the savages as they attacked the kraal, and fearing that his master might have been tempted to interfere, was proportionally glad to see him return safe.

They were still standing just outside the camp, when the sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears.

“Here come some of the savage Zulus. We must drive them back, if they intend to molest us,” said the trader.

“No fear of that,” replied the Kaffir. “There are but two pair of feet. See! there they come up the hill.”

The next instant the figure of a young warrior, with assegais in hand, supporting with his left arm a slight girl, came in sight. The flames from the fire lighted up their figures. Blood streamed from the side and right arm of the man. Both were panting for breath.

“Mangaleesu claims your protection, white chief, for her he loves, and for himself, that he may avenge the death of those he has lost. You will not refuse it?”

“I will gladly conceal you, and afford you all the help I can,” answered the trader. “Come on: there is not a moment to be lost. Your wife can get into the waggon, and you can lie in the hammock beneath it, where, even if your enemies come, they will not think of looking for you.”

This was said as the young chief and the girl were being conducted to the waggon. All was done so rapidly and silently, that none of the sleeping servants were awakened, and only those who had charge of the cattle could have observed what had happened, while the curtain which closed the front of the waggon was allowed to remain open, so as not to excite the suspicion of the Zulus, should they come to the camp.

The trader and Umgolo slowly paced up and down with their rifles in their hands, waiting the arrival of their pursuers. At length they began to hope that Mangaleesu had evaded them, and that they had gone off in a different direction. So satisfied were they that this was the case, that the trader returned to the waggon to see what assistance he could render to the wounded chief. Mangaleesu, however, made light of his hurts, although they were such as any white man would have considered very serious.

He told his white friend that his wife was uninjured, notwithstanding the many assegais thrust at her.

“Have any more of your people escaped from your enemies?” asked the trader.

“No; few even fought for their lives,” answered the Zulu chief. “When I was first awakened out of sleep by the shouting around my kraal, I knew well what was about to happen; but I resolved for Kalinda’s sake, as well as my own, to struggle for life. To fight my way out and to save my wife, I knew was impossible, had I dashed out boldly as I at first thought of doing; but she whispered to me, ‘Let us make a figure; our enemies will stab at that, and we meantime may perchance get clear.’ The idea struck me as good. She brought me a mat, and we rolled it up round a thick stick. We then fastened a shield to it, and on the top a bundle of assegais, as if held in the hand of a warrior. It was much too dark for our enemies to discover the deceit. When all was ready, I held the figure in one hand, while I grasped my weapons in the other, Kalinda keeping close behind me. I then opened the door, and thrust out the figure in the midst of those standing near, thirsting for my blood. They instantly, as I knew they would, gathered round it, piercing it with their assegais. While they were thus employed, I sprang out, still holding the figure, and in a few bounds reached the inside of the outer fence, against which I placed my back, and kept my assailants at bay. As they drew away from the door to attack me, Kalinda rushed out; and our enemies, who had supposed that there was only one person in the hut, seeing another appear, fancied that there might be more, and became confused, not knowing how to act; for many of them had already felt the point of my assegai. Kalinda, getting close to me without a wound, threw the figure over the fence, among those guarding the outside. They instantly rushed at it, leaving the gate for a few seconds unguarded. This was all I required. Sheltering my wife with my shield, as she clung to my arm, I sprang with her through the opening, over the bodies of my slaughtered followers, and before our enemies knew we had gone we were running like springbocs down the hill. We knew that if our flight should be discovered we should be pursued, but we hoped that we had not been seen at the moment we were rushing out of the kraal. I had been out hunting until late in the evening, and had discovered the tracks of your waggon. I guessed therefore whereabouts you would camp, and determined to place my wife under your protection, knowing that while with you our pursuers would not molest her. For myself, I intended to follow up my enemies, and revenge myself by trying to kill some of them. When morning breaks, and they do not find my dead body, they’ll know that I have made my escape.”

“You have acted a brave part,” said the trader; “but I would advise you to let your enemies go their own way. You have saved your young wife and your own life. You will, I hope, be able to reach Natal in safety, where you will be free from danger. If you attempt to kill your enemies, you will very likely be killed yourself, and there will be no one to protect your wife. You are also now weak from loss of blood, and although your heart is courageous, your strength may fail you.”

One of the servants had in the meantime been employed, by command of his master, in making some broth over the fire, which he now brought to the young chief, who notwithstanding his boasting was very glad to obtain it, being much exhausted from the exertions he had made.

The trader then took some to Kalinda, who lay trembling in the waggon, expecting every moment the arrival of their pursuers to kill her and her husband. The trader did his best to soothe her fears by promising that he would not deliver them up to their enemies, even though it should be discovered where they had taken refuge.

The remainder of the night passed quietly by. The glare from the burning kraal could be seen in the distance for some time, but it gradually died out, and all was dark in that direction. No sounds were brought down by the night wind to show whether the Zulus were still surrounding it; but Umgolo, knowing their habits, gave it as his opinion that they had departed as silently as they had come, after executing their fell purpose; and that if they had discovered the flight of the chief and his wife, a party had gone in pursuit of them in the direction it was supposed they had taken. One thing was certain, it could not have been suspected that the fugitives had taken refuge in the camp, or some of their enemies would have arrived before now to demand them.

The trader had previously determined to spend a day where he was now encamped, in order to rest his cattle from their rough journey, and he thought it prudent to adhere to his intention the better to deceive the Zulus, who would be less likely to suspect that he was sheltering the fugitives should he remain stationary, than were he to be found hurrying away from the neighbourhood.

Chapter Two.

The Foundling of the Kraal.

The trader having selected three of his men to keep watch, lay down, wrapped in a mantle of skin, under his waggon, having given up his usual sleeping-place to his guests.

No one was seen however, nor were any sounds heard to indicate that any persons were approaching the camp, and dawn at length broke.

Rising from his bed under the waggon, the trader walked a few paces beyond the camp, to take a look over the country around, for the purpose of ascertaining as far as his eye could help him, whether any of the Zulus were still in the neighbourhood. The air was deliciously fresh and balmy, the atmosphere was bright and clear, so that the outlines of the distant hills were clearly defined against the sky. There were a few soft, white, fleecy clouds of mist floating here and there, which the breeze, as the sun rose, quickly dispersed; while below, winding through the valley, could be seen the sheen of the river between the clumps of the trees bordering its banks.

It was difficult to believe that a terrible tragedy had been enacted a few short hours before in the midst of so lovely a scene. He proceeded on along the hill to a place whence he could see the spot where the kraal had existed. Looking through his telescope, he could clearly distinguish a large black circle of ashes marking the spot where the habitations of the slaughtered people had lately stood. He could see no human beings moving about in the neighbourhood, though he turned his glass in every direction. He feared the worst.

“Perhaps some of the poor people may have escaped death from the assegais of their enemies, and may be lying hid in the bushes or plantations around,” he said to himself; “though I fear those savages do their work too surely to give much hope of that.”

He hastened back to the camp, and having taken a hurried breakfast, and advised his guests to remain quiet in their places of concealment, he set out, accompanied by Umgolo, towards the kraal.

The stream was easily forded. As the morning was fresh, he and his companion walked briskly on. They were thus not long in reaching the neighbourhood of the kraal. A dreadful sight met their eyes. Everywhere the ground was strewed with the dead bodies of its late inhabitants. As he had supposed, the assegais of the avengers had been used too well to allow any of them to escape with life. Some lay outside, others within the two circles of ashes where the huts had stood. Still it was possible that some might have crept to a distance. He and his companion searched, however, all round, and although every bush was examined, no one was discovered, nor did they perceive any traces of blood which might have indicated that some wounded person had got thus far from the scene of slaughter.

They were about to return to the camp, when, looking towards the kraal, the trader fancied that he saw some object move in the centre among several dead oxen, which had probably been wounded by the assegais of the attacking party, and had returned there to die. He accordingly made his way towards the spot, followed by Umgolo, over the still warm ashes. He preferred the risk of burning his boots to going round through the entrance, where the bodies of the slaughtered people lay so thickly that he could scarcely pass without treading upon them.

“Who can this be?” he exclaimed as he got near where the dead oxen lay. “If my eyes do not deceive me, here’s a young white boy. Who are you? What brought you here, my child?” he asked in a kind tone.

But the boy did not reply. He had been lying between two of the cattle, partly under one of them, and having apparently been asleep, and just awakened, was endeavouring to get up. Round his waist was a robe of monkey skins, and a cloak of wild cat skins hung over his shoulders. Both were stained with blood, but whether it came from a wound he had received, or was that of the animals whose bodies had sheltered him, it was difficult to say. When the trader lifted him up, he evinced no fear, though he still did not speak.

“Are you English or Dutch?” asked the trader. “A Zulu you cannot be, though dressed like one.”

There was no reply. The boy, who seemed to be about eight or nine years old, looked round with an astonished gaze at the circle of ashes to which the kraal had been reduced.

“Why, the poor child is wounded, I fear,” said the trader, examining his arm. “Terror probably has deprived him of his wits.”

As he said this, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he bound it round the injured limb, so as to staunch the flow of blood.

“The sooner we get him to the camp the better: he wants both food and water. Although he cannot say anything about himself, I have no doubt that Mangaleesu will be able to give an account of him.”

Saying this, the trader, giving his gun to Umgolo to carry, lifted the boy up in his arms, and hurried with him down the hill towards the camp. Had the boy been a Zulu, Umgolo would probably have recommended that he should be left to shift for himself, but observing his white skin he did not venture to interfere.

The child, evidently satisfied that he had found a friend, lay quietly in the strong arms of the trader, who walked on with rapid steps, carrying him as if he had been an infant.

The camp was soon reached, and the trader, placing the boy on some skins in the shade of the waggon, ordered one of his Kaffirs who acted as cook to get some broth ready, while he sent off another to obtain fresh water from the spring.

This done, he examined the wound in the boy’s arm, more carefully than he had before been able to do. He first got out of the waggon a salve and some lint, with some linen bandages; for he was too experienced a hunter to travel without articles which might occasionally be of the greatest necessity.

Having taken off the handkerchief and carefully washed the wound in warm water, he dressed it with the skill of a surgeon. The boy looked up gratefully in his new friend’s face, but still did not speak. The trader having in vain endeavoured to obtain an answer when addressing him in English or Dutch, he at last spoke to him in Kaffir.

The boy at once said, “I thank you, white stranger, for what you have done for me. I thought at first that you belonged to those who had killed our people, and that you were going to kill me. Now I know that you are my friend.”

“You are right, my boy; I wish to be so,” said the trader. “But tell me, how comes it that you who are white, cannot speak your native tongue?”

“I have been so long with the Zulus that I have forgotten it,” answered the boy. “I once could speak it, and I well remember the white people I lived amongst. For a long time I remembered my native language; but as I always, since I could speak, knew some Kaffir, I soon understood what was said to me. I had a black nurse, but she was assegaid, and I was torn from her arms by the Zulus who carried me off. More than that I cannot tell.”

The kind-hearted trader was obliged to be content with this information. He was unwilling indeed, till the poor boy had regained his strength, further to question him, and he hoped to learn more of his history from Mangaleesu and Kalinda, who he had no doubt would be able to afford it.

Having given the boy some of the broth which was now ready, and placed a blanket under his head to serve as a pillow, he left Umgolo to watch over him. He then went and sat down by the side of Mangaleesu, who still lay in the hammock under the waggon, not yet recovered from the exertions he had made on the previous night, and the loss of blood from his wounds.

“I have recovered one of your people, and have brought him to the camp,” said the trader.

“Who is he?” asked Mangaleesu eagerly. “I thought that all had been killed.”

“Although he has a white skin, he seems by his dress and language to be a Zulu,” answered the trader.

“Then he must be little Unozingli,” said the chief. “I am glad he has escaped, for he was a favourite with us, and will some day, if he lives, become a great warrior.”

“By what chance did he happen to be living among you? Although he is dressed like a Zulu, and speaks the Kaffir tongue alone, he is evidently the child of white parents.”

“He was brought to my kraal by a tribe from a distant part of the country, who afterwards joined my people,” answered the chief. “They had taken him, they said, from a black woman who had been killed; but the child being white, they had been unwilling to destroy him, and had carried him off with them. He was at once adopted into the tribe, and has lived with us ever since, learning our customs and language, and we gave him the name of Unozingli.”

From this answer it was evident that no further satisfactory information could be obtained from Mangaleesu respecting the boy. This was a disappointment to the trader. He had hoped, after rescuing the little fellow, to have had the satisfaction of discovering his parents or friends, and restoring him to them. He was satisfied that the child was either English or Dutch, and from his features he was inclined to think he was the former.

“I don’t fancy calling him by his Kaffir name,” he said to himself. “I must get one more suited to him.” As he looked at the thick auburn hair which hung in curls over the boy’s head, his freckled, though otherwise fair countenance, his large blue eyes, and broad, open countenance, he exclaimed, “I have it! I’ll call him Lionel; for a young lion he looks, and will, I hope, some day bring down many of the brutes of the forest.”

Unwilling to leave the camp himself, lest their enemies might come in search of the young chief and his bride, towards evening the trader sent out Umgolo and another man in search of game to supply his followers with meat, for in that climate what is killed one day is scarcely eatable the next.

He also despatched two others in different directions to ascertain if any of the Zulus were in the neighbourhood, apparently searching for Mangaleesu, as he intended in that case to keep the chief and his bride more carefully concealed until he had carried them safely across the border.

The hunters were the first to return, loaded with the flesh of a couple of antelopes. Soon afterwards, while they were busily employed in cutting up the animals and preparing them for supper, the scouts came in, bringing the information that they had seen a large party who seemed to them coming from the south-west, but who were too far off to enable them to ascertain who they were. As—the intermediate ground being uneven—it would have taken them a long time to get nearer, they deemed it wise to return at once with their report.

“Whether friends or foes, we are ready for them,” said the trader. “In case they should be foes, we must keep our guests concealed; but from the direction they come, I think it more likely that they are friends, and we will have some food ready for them.”

The cooks therefore spitted according to camp fashion an additional supply of meat to roast, while the trader walked on a short distance in the direction he expected the strangers to appear. He was not mistaken in his surmise. After some time he saw through his glass a waggon very similar to his own, accompanied by two persons on horseback and several on foot. On this, returning to the camp, he ordered his horse to be saddled, and went out to meet them. As he was seen approaching, the two mounted strangers rode forward.

“What, Hendricks the Hunter!” exclaimed the elder, a tall, gaunt man, with a weather-beaten countenance, whose grey twinkling eyes, the form of his features, and his rich brogue showed him to be an Irishman. “Mighty glad to fall in with you, old friend!” and the gentlemen shook hands warmly.

“I’m equally well pleased to meet you, Maloney,” answered Mr Hendricks. “You can give me news of the civilised world, of which I have heard nothing for many a long month.”

“Faith! as to that, it wags much as usual. Skins are fetching fair prices, which is good news for you; but the Kathlamba bushmen are again becoming troublesome, and have lately carried off several head of cattle and horses from the settlers in that direction, which is a bad matter for them, while the new arrivals are grumbling and complaining as usual because they do not find the colony the Eldorado they expected, before they have had time to dig a spade into the ground or run a plough over it. For my part, I’m mighty glad to get out of their company and find myself in the wilderness.”

“So am I generally, after I have been a short time at home, I confess, though I have many friends in Maritzburg, with whom I am glad now and again to spend a few days,” replied Hendricks. “Had you, however, waited a little longer, I intended to propose that we should join forces and travel together. I thought it possible indeed that I might fall in with you, although as I did not expect to do so for several days to come I was in hopes that you would be induced to wait for me till I was ready to make a fresh start.”

“I would willingly have delayed my journey or waited for you, had we met closer to the Natal border,” answered Mr Maloney; “but as you know, it would not be prudent to remain longer than possible in this part of the country, and even now, as I shall spend some time trading and hunting to the south of the Drakensberg, you will probably overtake me before I get over the mountains.”

“It will be from no fault of mine if I do not,” said Hendricks. “I shall not be long in transacting my business at Maritzburg. However, we’ll talk of that presently; and now come along to my camp, for supper will be ready by the time we get there. By the bye, who is the lad with you? He looks somewhat tired from his journey.”

“He is my son Denis, a chip of the old block,” answered Mr Maloney. “To say the truth, however, he is just now somewhat sick, and I’d rather see him safe at Maritzburg than travelling with me into the wilderness. I have a favour to ask—it is that you will take charge of him and let him accompany you back to the town. I shall be mighty thankful to you if you will.”

“I will do as you wish,” said Hendricks, “though the lad, I suspect, would rather be hunting with you than kicking his heels in town with nothing to do.”

“He has been too well-trained to dispute my authority,” observed Mr Maloney. “I took him from the office of his uncle, my worthy brother-in-law, and he must go back for a few months until I return and am ready to make my next trip. By that time he’ll have more muscle and stamina, and be better able to stand the fatigue and hard life we hunters have to endure.”

“I’ll carry out your wishes with all my heart, and will look after the lad while I remain in the colony,” said Hendricks.

This conversation took place while the two leaders were riding on towards the camp, the lad following a short distance behind them.

Mr Hendricks briefly related to his companion the attack on the kraal, and the way in which the Zulu chief, his bride and the little boy had been rescued. “I intend to take the child with me, to leave him in charge of my good sister, Susannah Jansen,” he added. “We may some day discover to whom he belongs, but I will, in the meantime, act the part of a guardian to him.”

“It is a kind act of yours, but faith! I suppose I should be after doing the same sort of thing myself, though I find one son as much as I can manage. To be sure, all boys are not like Denis here, who boasts that he shot a springboc before he was ten years old, and that he has since killed a lion and a wild boar, his great ambition being now to bring an elephant to the ground.”

As his father was speaking, Denis, who had hitherto kept in the rear, hearing his name mentioned rode up.

“I have asked Mr Hendricks to take you back with him to Maritzburg, where you must wait with all the patience you can muster till my next trip,” said Mr Maloney. “You are not strong enough for the work before us; and if you knock up, the object of my expedition will be defeated, for I shall have to nurse you instead of being able to hunt or carry on trade.”

“I am much obliged to Mr Hendricks, but I don’t intend to knock up,” said Denis, not looking very well pleased at his father’s proposal. “I’m a little sick now, but I shall be all to rights in a day or two, and will be able to continue the journey.”

His looks, however, belied his assertion, though he was evidently doing his utmost to appear at his ease.

“Well, well, we’ll see about it, my boy; but for your own sake, as well as mine, I wish you to go back. I took you somewhat against my better judgment, in the hopes that the journey would strengthen you, instead of which you look worse than when we started.”

Denis still begged to be allowed to go on, until his father, losing patience, told him to say no more about the matter; that he should decide what was best to be done, and should act accordingly.

Hearing his father say this, Denis, not venturing to make any further appeal, again dropped behind.

“You see the boy has a will of his own,” observed Mr Maloney. “Though so tall and full of spirit, he is scarcely twelve years of age, and has in truth outgrown his strength. Since he lost his mother he has only had his uncle, Tom Lumly, to look after him when I have been away, and my good brother-in-law being much taken up with business has had little time to attend to him, so that he has been allowed to run rather wild. However, as he is now well able to make himself useful, Tom will give him work to do, and that will help to keep him out of harm’s way.”

“You are right, my friend; there’s nothing like plenty of work to help keep a person out of mischief; but, after all, he must have steadiness and good principles. They alone are to be depended on, and I hope your son has got those as ballast.”

The two gentlemen, followed by Denis, soon arrived at the camp. They found the promised repast spread out under the shade cast by the waggon as the sun sank towards the western hills.

The two ciders did ample justice to the venison steaks and other African luxuries placed before them; but though Denis managed to eat a little, he had to acknowledge that he was somewhat off his feed.

Umgolo, who ranked as a chief amongst his followers, and shared his master’s board, ate considerably more than the two white men together. Mangaleesu and Kalinda, who had been invited, at first hung back, but overcoming their bashfulness at length came and joined the party, and did ample justice to the food offered them. At last, little Unozingli, the white boy, or Lionel, as his protector determined to call him, crept out from the corner of the waggon, and, tempted by the smell of the viands, came and placed himself by the side of the Zulu chief, of whom he showed no fear.

“The child has been well treated, or he would keep away from our dark-skinned friend there,” observed Mr Maloney. “It’s mighty curious that he’s unable to utter a word of English; but he’ll find his tongue soon, when he has stowed away a little food.”

The little fellow, unlike the Zulus, ate moderately, and after taking a draught of cold water declared that he was satisfied. His wounded arm, which Hendricks had placed in a sling, did not appear to cause him much pain; at all events, he did not complain as most boys more delicately nurtured than he had been would have done.

The Zulu chief now addressed him in a kind tone. He at once answered, and was soon chattering away either with him or Kalinda, with whom he appeared to be a favourite. After this, as he had recovered his spirits, Hendricks called him to come and sit by his side, and speaking in the Zulu language, questioned him as to his early recollections, when his answers fully confirmed the account given by Mangaleesu.

“Do you wish to return to your white friends?” asked Hendricks.

The boy’s countenance brightened. “I am fond of the chief and Kalinda, but I should greatly like to see the white lady who often used to talk to me, and whom I called mother, and a man with hair like mine, who sometimes carried me on his back or in his arms, and let me ride on his knee. Then there was the black woman, but I shall never see her, for I remember well how the Zulus pierced her with their assegais. She fell into the river and was swept away, while one of the warriors carried me off.”

“We will try and find your parents if they are still alive, and until they are found I will be a father to you,” said Hendricks. “Will you trust me?”

“Indeed I will, for I like your face,” answered the boy frankly.

“I suspect the little fellow is the child of some Dutch boers, slaughtered by the Zulus, while travelling in search of a location,” observed Hendricks to his guest. “So many of the unfortunate settlers have thus lost their lives, that it is very improbable I shall ever discover to whom he belongs. If not, I will adopt him as my son, as he seems to have been committed to my charge by Providence.”

Meantime Mr Maloney’s waggon had arrived, and had been drawn up close to that of his friend, in such a position that in case of necessity it might serve to afford additional strength to the camp. Their respective Kaffir and Hottentot servants had assembled round a large fire a little distance off, the necessary guards only remaining to watch the cattle.

As the night was drawing on, and young Denis looked very sleepy, his father ordered him off to his berth in the waggon, which, though pretty well loaded with goods for traffic, had space enough for a couple of sleeping-places.

The lad got up, and wishing his father and Hendricks “good-night,” sauntered away to the waggon, while the hunters remained seated near the fire, discussing their plans for the future. The Irishman intended to push forward through Zululand to a region some distance to the northward, where elephants, rhinoceroses, and hippopotami abounded, so that he might obtain a supply of ivory as well as of skins and any other valuable products of the country which he might discover.

Hendricks proposed, after remaining at Maritzburg two or three months, again to set out northward with the same object in view. He however relied less on trading than his own skill as a hunter to load up his waggon.

“If you find my boy well enough, and think fit to bring him along with you, do so; though don’t tell him of your intention until the time for starting has arrived, or he will not settle down to his work in the town,” said Maloney.

His friend promised to carry out his wishes, and at last, their various plans being arranged, they gave the word to their followers to go to sleep, while they themselves retired to their respective waggons.

A resting-place had been constructed for the young chief and his wife under the waggon, and little Lionel, who did not occupy much space, crept into his corner on the top of the cargo beneath the tilt.

Before lying down Hendricks took a turn round the camp to ascertain that the guards were properly posted and on the watch. This precaution his friend did not appear to have considered necessary, a single Hottentot alone being left to watch the cattle. The night was calm and clear, enabling him to see a considerable distance both up and down the valley.

No sounds broke the silence, and if there were lions or other wild animals in the neighbourhood, they did not make themselves audible. Satisfied that all was right, he at length got into his usual berth, and was soon fast asleep.

Chapter Three.

Lost and found.

Hendricks was awakened by the voice of Maloney shouting—

“Do you know what has become of my son Denis? The boy is not in his berth, and none of my people can tell where he has gone. They all declare that they did not see him leave the camp, and though I have been shouting to him for the last ten minutes, he has not replied to me.”

The hunter, springing out of the waggon, answered—

“As I have been fast asleep I cannot tell you, but the chances are that he has taken his gun to show his skill as a sportsman, and hopes to bring back a pallah or springboc for breakfast. We must ascertain in what direction he has gone. Perhaps some of my Hottentots who went down with the oxen to the stream may have seen him.”

Neither of the Hottentots, however, could give any account of the missing boy. The men who had been on guard were also questioned, but none of them had seen him, and from the answers they gave it seemed more than probable that they had been nodding at their posts. One of them at last acknowledged that he had caught sight of a figure, just before daybreak, some little distance from the camp, going to the northward.

Further search was made, and Denis not appearing, his father and Hendricks determined to set off in quest of him, in the direction he was supposed to have gone, leaving orders with their followers to get breakfast ready and to prepare for inspanning directly they returned.

“I fancy that my first suspicions are correct, and that your boy wants to prove how able he is to accompany you,” observed the latter. “If he appears loaded with venison, it will be difficult to persuade him to the contrary.”

“Faith! the young rascal has spirit enough, but his strength is not equal to it,” answered Maloney. “If I take him with me, he’ll be getting into mischief; whether, therefore, he appears loaded with venison or empty handed, nolens volens, I’ll send him back with you.”

While they were speaking, the sound of footsteps was heard coming up behind them. They both turned expecting to see Master Denis; but instead, little Unozingli the white boy, or Lionel, as Hendricks called him, came running up to them.

“What brings you after us, boy?” asked Hendricks in Zulu.

“To help the masters find my white brother,” answered the boy. “I know the way he has taken, for I saw his footsteps on the grass, though the master may not have discovered them. We shall find him in time, but he may already be some distance away.”

“I will trust you, boy, and am glad you came,” said Hendricks. “But how is it you are so confident of finding him?”

“Because I have often gone out with my Zulu masters to search for game, and sometimes to follow their enemies, and I know the signs on the ground which guided them. Here the grass pressed, there a twig broken off, or a stone moved, or the mark of feet on the sand or soft earth.”

“You understand what is wanted, I see. Come with us,” said Hendricks. Then turning to his companion, he added, “The boy’s wits have been sharpened by his life with the blacks. I have always noted that when a white man has the same necessity for acquiring knowledge as savages, he always surpasses them. In course of time, had that boy continued with the Zulus, he would have become a great chief among them, and would probably have made himself a terror to the settlers, had any cause of quarrel arisen. It’s an ill wind that blows no one good, and it’s fortunate for him as well as for the settlers, that the kraal was destroyed and that he was liberated.”

The boy, on obtaining permission to accompany his new friends, immediately took the lead, with his eyes fixed on the ground, at a pace with which they found it somewhat difficult at times to keep up. The trail, or as the Dutch call it, the spoor, when an animal is being tracked, must have been remarkably clear to the eyes of the little fellow; for he did not hesitate a moment, though the white men, with all their experience as hunters, were unable to distinguish any of the marks by which he was guided. Several animals were seen as they went along. Now a buffalo would dash out of a thicket, and go rushing at a rapid rate across their path. Now a herd of peewas were caught sight of, making their way towards the stream to take their morning draught. Presently a flock of Guinea fowl would rise from the tangled underwood, and fly hither and thither, filling the air with their discordant notes. Then suddenly a white rhinoceros would appear strolling along, until, seeing the strangers, he would break into a gallop similar to that of a well-bred horse; notwithstanding his heavy body, showing a splendid action, with his head well up, and moving at a pace few horses could rival. But these occurrences did not for a moment draw off the boy’s attention. The heat as the sun rose became excessive, beating down with a force which only those accustomed to the wilds of Africa could have borne without complaining.

After going a considerable distance the boy stopped and examined the ground. What was the horror of Hendricks and Maloney to see the grass stained with blood! It was too probably that of Denis.

“The poor boy must have been struck down by a lion, and has been carried off into the thicket,” exclaimed his father.

“I am not so sure of that,” answered Hendricks. “What is it, Unozingli?”

“The white boy shot a pallah, which galloped off away out there, and he followed,” answered the little fellow, pointing to the north. “We shall find him before long. He thought to get another shot, but he had little chance of that.”

Scarcely had he spoken when a roar was heard coming from the direction towards which he pointed. He looked anxious; it was the voice, undoubtedly, of a lion.

“Come on!” he said; “but be ready to fire.”

Presently another roar was heard, but this time there were the voices of two lions—the sound, however, came from a considerable distance. The hunters pressed on. They were too well accustomed to encounter the monarch of the wilds under ordinary circumstances to have any feeling of alarm for themselves, but they became intensely anxious about Denis; still it was not likely that the lions would be roaring had they seized him. They hurried on even faster than before, though they had several times to turn aside to avoid the thorny thickets in their path, through which even their young guide did not attempt to make his way. The sounds grew louder and louder. They were approaching the spot where the lions would be discovered. For their own safety it was necessary to be cautious. Their great hope was that Denis had turned aside, and that the beasts were roaring over the body of the wounded pallah which they had brought down. Still Lionel, though he slackened his pace, did not hesitate, but went on, his eyes peering about in every direction. He seemed to place perfect reliance on the power of his companions’ firearms. For some time the roaring ceased. Could the brutes have gone off, or were they watching the approach of the strangers? Suddenly three lion cubs burst out from a thicket. Maloney was instinctively about to fire, but Hendricks stopped him. “Take care! the old ones are not far off. Those little brutes were sent out by the lion and lioness to watch us.”

As he said this, the cubs, turning round, galloped off to the left up the hill. Cautiously the hunters advanced. It was well they did so, for scarcely had they gone fifty paces more when a lion and lioness suddenly bounded out with rapid strides, their heads and tails up.

“You take the lioness, I’ll take the lion,” said Hendricks calmly, while the boy, showing no signs of fear, stepped behind his friends. All at once the lion stopped, then gazing a moment at the intruders, galloped off after the cubs, but the lioness still came bounding on. Hendricks on this refrained from pulling his trigger. Maloney fired, the ball struck the savage animal in the neck, but notwithstanding on she came towards him, and in another instant would probably have laid him low on the ground with a blow from her powerful paw. It was fortunate that Hendricks had not thrown his shot away. He stood as firm as a rock, and raising his rifle aimed at the lioness’s chest. She made one bound into the air, and fell close to his feet. She was still not dead, and he, grasping the boy by the arm, sprang to a distance on one side while Maloney leapt to the other. She made several efforts to reach them, crawling along for some distance on the ground, but in vain attempted to rise, and after giving a few convulsive struggles, she fell over on her side dead.

“My poor boy, my poor boy! If he has encountered those brutes, what chance of escape can he have had?” exclaimed Maloney.

“We’ll hope for the best. Come on,” was the answer. And not stopping, as they would otherwise have done, to skin the lioness, they hurried forward, led by their young guide.

“He’s not far off, he has not been killed,” he said, in answer to a question Hendricks put to him.

Presently a shout reached their ears, and looking up, there, to their intense relief, they saw Master Denis seated amidst the branches of a tree, well out of reach of the lions. Below it lay his gun.

“Have you settled the brutes?” he shouted out. “I’m glad you have come, for I’m desperately hungry. They seemed inclined to keep me here all day. If I hadn’t had to leave my gun on the ground, I should soon have driven them away. I saw the brutes just in time to scramble up here.”

“You may thank heaven that you were not torn to pieces by them,” said Hendricks.

“Come down, Denis,” cried his father, thankful that he had escaped, and too glad to find fault with him just then.

The boy made his way down, but would have fallen on reaching the ground, had not his father caught him. He looked paler even than on the previous evening, but that was not surprising, considering the alarm he had been in, and that he had had no breakfast. It was important that they should get back to the camp as soon as possible, and the two hunters, each taking an arm, helped him along, for by himself it was very evident that he would have been unable to walk even a short distance.

“You have given us a pretty fright, Denis,” said his father. “What made you take it into your head to start off alone from the camp, without letting any one know where you were going?”

“Faith! for the sake of showing you what I could do,” answered Denis. “Besides, I just honestly confess that I thought you would have inspanned and come along this way, when I hoped you would not have refused to take me with you.”

“I thought as much, but you’ve gained nothing by the move,” observed his father. “You have shown me more clearly than before that you are utterly unfit to go through the fatigues of a hunter’s life. You’ll just take advantage of the kind offer of our friend here, and go back with him to Maritzburg.”

Poor Denis looked very crestfallen, but said nothing, for he did not feel just then well able to enter into a controversy with any one. Indeed, he was growing weaker and weaker, and it seemed more than probable that he would be unable to get back to the camp unless he was carried. Little Lionel had picked up his gun, and was staggering ahead with it over his shoulders. He kept his eyes looking about him as if on the watch for something or other. Presently he cried out in Zulu, “Be on your guard, white chief. See, see! there they come!” and Hendricks caught sight of the lion, followed at a distance by the cubs, stealing down the hill towards the spot where the lioness had been shot. He kept his eye on the animal, to watch its movements. Both he and Maloney had loaded with ball, and they now halted until the lion came within range of their weapons.

The brute moved slowly on, and then suddenly sitting up on its haunches, surveyed them at a distance.

“The lion has no stomach for a fight. We may go on,” said Hendricks. They walked on supporting Denis, while the boy kept close to their side until they had passed the body of the lioness, the lion all the time retaining its position, conscious probably that its duties were to protect its cubs. They went on and on until they got out of sight of the lion, which, when they last saw it, had not moved from its post. Very frequently, however, Hendricks looked back to ascertain whether the animal was following them. “After all, they are cowardly brutes,” he observed. “They will seldom attack a man when they see he is prepared for them, unless hard pressed by hunger. I have never found them otherwise.”

A rhinoceros, a panther, and several deer were seen, but they had no further interruptions to their progress, and at length the camp was reached. They found breakfast ready for them. From the appearance of Denis, who scarcely ate a morsel, it was more than ever evident that he would be unable to accompany his father. It was doubtful indeed whether he would be able to start with Hendricks the following morning, unless room could be found for him in the waggon. In the meantime a bed was made up for him in the shade beneath it, consisting of a blanket and kaross, the latter being a robe composed of jackal skins sewn together. Hendricks, although anxious to get to Maritzburg, agreed to wait until the following morning, when it was hoped that Denis would be able to sit his horse, and benefit by the fresh air of the early day.

His father was very grateful to their friend for his kindness.

“Don’t talk about it,” answered the sturdy hunter. “Our oxen will benefit by having another day’s rest and good feeding, which neither yours nor mine are likely to obtain for some time to come; for when once I inspan, I shall let nothing stop me until I get to the end of my journey, and you, of course, will have to traverse the barren country I lately passed over.”

The young chief, however, showed great impatience at the delay. He evidently feared that his countrymen would discover him and drag him from the protection of the English. He expressed this idea to Hendricks.

“They will have to fight pretty hard to do that, and you must not be slow to defend yourselves,” observed the hunter.

The black chief flourished his assegai with a fierce look. “Mangaleesu has shown what he can do, and he will not yield while life lasts,” he exclaimed.

“Those who are ready to fight for themselves merit assistance,” observed the hunter. “Rest assured, we will not deliver you up.”

During the hot hours of the day the Kaffir and Hottentot servants lay about in whatever shade could be found, some smoking, others spinning interminable yarns, but the larger number passing the time fast asleep, stretched on the ground with a few boughs or pieces of blanket over their heads. Occasionally the Hottentots were roused up to take then turn in watching the cattle, on which, even during the day, it was necessary to keep a bright look-out lest a lion might pounce down upon them, or a black rhinoceros charge into their midst and put them to flight. At length Hendricks called out the hunters, and sent them in search of game. While they took one direction, he himself, with Maloney, accompanied by Umgolo, proceeded higher up the mountain-side, his object being to discover if there was any more practicable route than the one by which the latter had come, as also to ascertain if there were any native kraals in the neighbourhood. The summit of the hill was soon reached.

“It is as I thought,” said Maloney, after they had surveyed the country. “You’ll not find a better road to the east or west, bad as it is; if you make the attempt, you’ll very likely get out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

On either side were seen a succession of tree-covered heights, through which no waggon could force its way, unless preceded by a party of pioneers to cut down the trees and bridge the ravines. In the far distance were a few kraals with open spaces marking the mealy grounds of the inhabitants, but in other respects the whole country was a perfect wilderness.

As they were descending they caught sight of a graceful animal which at that moment had leapt on a rock not far from them. In colour and appearance it resembled the common roe, but was considerably smaller. On seeing the strangers, it was on the point of turning to escape, when Hendricks, raising his gun in a moment to his shoulder, fired, and the little klipspringer fell from the projecting rock on which it was standing, down on the smooth side of the hill, where it lay motionless. The klipspringer is one of the most active of antelopes, differing from others of its species in having small hoofs and somewhat short legs for its size, thus adapting it to its roaming mountainous life, while the hair is so loose in the skin, that even in the short distance the animal just shot had fallen, a considerable part had been knocked off. Umgolo at once shouldered it, and without difficulty carried it off to the camp. Had it been a load of any other description, he would have declined to demean himself by lifting it on his shoulders. On their way back, the hunters shot several dassi, or rock rabbits, which thus paid the penalty of their curiosity as they came out of their holes to look at the passers-by. Their flesh, although not so highly flavoured, was more likely to prove tender than that of larger game, and they were thus an acceptable addition to the store of meat.

Poor Denis made his appearance at supper-time, somewhat revived by a long sleep. Although he tried to be cheerful, and declared that he was fit for anything, it was still very evident that he would be unable to accompany his father.

Except that there was a continual serenade of hyenas and jackals, with the occasional low mutterings of lions in the distance, the night passed quietly by. Before dawn the next morning both camps were astir. After a hurried breakfast the oxen were inspanned, and Denis was placed in the homeward-bound waggon. His father having taken leave of him, and parted from Hendricks with a hearty shake of the hand, the two vehicles commenced their journeys in opposite directions. Mangaleesu and Kalinda walked together close to the waggon, and it had been arranged that should any natives appear, she was to get inside, while the young chief, who had put off the insignia of his rank, and was dressed like one of the other natives, would then, it was hoped, pass without discovery. Little Lionel, whose wound was slighter than at first supposed, and who seemed to look upon it as a mere scratch, some times trotted alongside them, and at others clambered up by the side of the driver, to whom he took an especial fancy. Denis frequently called him to sit in the corner at the other end of the waggon, and amused himself by trying to teach him English, which the boy acquired with wonderful rapidity, it being scarcely ever necessary to tell him twice the name of a thing.

“I’m sure the little chap is English,” said Denis to Hendricks, when they outspanned for the night. “Had his parents been Dutch, he would not have recollected the names of things so uncommonly fast as he does. When I put my hand to my head, and said head, he immediately repeated the word after me, and when I asked him again ten minutes afterwards he had not forgotten it. When I touched my cap, without telling him the name, he at once said ‘cap.’ If he goes on at that rate, he’ll be able to talk English before we get to Maritzburg, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he will then be able to give us a more clear account of himself than he has hitherto done.”

“That’s right, Denis; go on and try to make him talk as much as you can. I have got some books, and you may be able to teach him his letters, and perhaps even to read before the journey is over,” said Hendricks. “He is a sharp little fellow, no doubt about that, and will do credit to your instruction.”

Denis looked well pleased at this remark. He was flattered at the confidence placed in him, and was thus reconciled to sitting quietly in the waggon all day, instead of mounting his horse. He was really unfit for hard exercise, though, had he not found this employment, he would probably have been restless and discontented, and would have insisted on mounting his horse, and exposing himself to the hot sun.

Day after day the waggon moved on, generally only ten miles were accomplished, frequently even less, and seldom much more, except when the ground was level and hard. Occasionally the men had to put their shoulders to the wheels to help on the oxen where the ground was unusually steep. On these occasions the young chief made himself useful, not disdaining to labour with the other men. He appeared desirous, indeed, of showing his gratitude to Hendricks for the protection afforded him. He still, however, did not seem to be at his ease. Whenever a height was reached, his eye ranged anxiously over the country, as if he expected his enemies to be coming in search of him. Hendricks inquired one day who he supposed was the leader of the attack against the kraal. Was it Cetchwayo? he asked. “No, but Mapeetu, another chief, a great friend of his. He had seen Kalinda, and wished to make her his wife, but she ran from him because she loved me, and she became mine. He knew that he could not get her back, because I kept too strict a watch over her, and would never allow her to go out of the kraal without going myself, with a strong party; so in revenge, when one of the king’s wives fell ill, he bribed the doctor to declare that I had bewitched her. I heard of this, and so, when the king sent for me, knowing that I should be murdered on the way, I refused to go. Mapeetu was cunning, and appeared to have forgotten all about the matter. This threw me off my guard, or I should have moved with my people and cattle, as soon as our crops had been gathered in, to another part of the country. Thinking that all was secure, I kept no watch at the kraal that night, but the moment I heard the sounds outside, I knew what was about to happen, and resolved to fight, not so much to preserve my own life, as to prevent Kalinda from falling into the power of Mapeetu. Had she been killed, I would have sought him out, and followed him through the country until I had satisfied my revenge.”

“I am glad that you both escaped. And now tell me; how are you going to support yourself in Natal?” asked Hendricks.

“Where game is abundant one need never be anxious on that score,” answered Mangaleesu. “When I have provided for my wife, I intend to return to Zululand and punish Mapeetu for the slaughter of my people. Cetchwayo will not dare to kill me, for it will be acknowledged that a chief so brave as I have proved myself could not have been guilty of witchcraft. Then, when I have gathered some people round me, and have built another kraal, I will go back for my Kalinda.”

Hendricks, though suspecting that the young chief would probably lose his life in endeavouring to carry out his plan, was well aware that to attempt dissuading him from it would be useless; he therefore simply observed, “You have a good many things to do first, and perhaps you will not find it as easy as you suppose to obtain a livelihood in Natal.”

The chief looked somewhat disconcerted at this remark, but the next moment drawing himself up proudly, he answered—

“Mangaleesu’s strong arm and rifle will supply him and his wife with all their wants. The Zulus are not like you white men, they can live where you would starve.”

“You are a brave young man, but you have no rifle and ammunition to begin with,” said Hendricks. “However, I will supply you, and will purchase the skins you bring me at a fair price. In that way, if you hunt diligently, you will be able to support yourself and your wife.”

The chief appeared well pleased with this arrangement, and did not for the remainder of the journey again talk of returning to Zululand to revenge himself on his enemies. When the waggon was passing in the neighbourhood of kraals, the natives on several occasions paid Hendricks a visit, supposing that he had come to trade with them; but, as his goods were exhausted, and his waggon already fully loaded, he told them that he could do no business, and they soon again took their departure. None of them appeared to recognise Mangaleesu, and as Kalinda always cautiously crept inside she was not seen. It was therefore hoped that Mapeetu had no suspicion of how the young chief and his bride had escaped, and that the party ran no risk of being molested. Several not very important adventures were met with. Game, which was everywhere abundant, was killed to supply the travellers with food, and at length descending from the high ground they reached the colony. They had a considerable distance to travel, but all danger from hostile Zulus was over. A journey of about ten days brought them in sight of the high black hills, devoid of a single tree, which bound Maritzburg on the north and north-west. Soon afterwards the town itself appeared, situated on a large knoll or plateau, rising out of a natural basin, and almost surrounded by “little Bushmans” river. Crossing the stream, the waggon passed along a broad road bounded by green hedges of pomegranate, enclosing nicely kept gardens, in which stood neat little whitewashed cottages with verandahs in front, round whose posts were twined beautiful and luxurious creepers. By the side of the water-courses by which the gardens were irrigated, coming from the main stream, grew weeping willows and lilac trees, with several other water-loving and rapidly growing shrubs. The streets of the town were at right angles; the houses uniformly white, few of them being of more than one story, but all looking very neat and clean, as did the streets themselves, with channels of clear water flowing on either side, affording the inhabitants an abundant supply for all their wants. Indeed, it could not but be acknowledged that the site of Pieter Maritzburg had been admirably chosen for a colonial town.

Hendricks having outspanned in an open place at the entrance of the town, left Umgolo to look after the waggon, and took Denis and Lionel to dispose of them as he had arranged. Denis was kindly received by his uncle, who, thanking Hendricks for having brought him back, promised to give him employment until his father should come or send for him. Denis seemed very sorry to part from Lionel, who had been so long his pupil.

“Don’t you be after forgetting all I have taught you, Lionel,” he said.

“No fear, me no forget,” answered Lionel, laughing. “Soon talkee English well as Den ’self.”

The little fellow, as he walked alongside his tall friend, gazed with astonishment at all he saw, and when he came near the public buildings—which though unpretending edifices enough, were of gigantic size compared with any structures he had seen—he opened his eyes and inquired how men could ever manage to put them together.

Mr Hendricks led him through the town, until they reached a neat little cottage standing in a nicely kept garden surrounded by a pomegranate hedge, and full of gay flowers. In front of the house was a porch, round the posts of which were trained several luxuriant creepers, so as to hang in festoons from the roof. The floor was paved with Dutch tiles, kept as polished and clean as a dinner-table.

As they entered through the wicket gate, a fair, portly-looking dame, of a comely and cheerful countenance, her white cap concealing her smooth light hair, appeared at the door.

“What, do my eyes deceive me? or do I really see my dear brother safe and sound in limb and body?” she exclaimed, sticking her knitting-needles and balls of cotton into one of her ample pockets, ready for the affectionate embrace she was prepared to give and receive.

“Yes, indeed, you see me as strong and hearty as ever, and richer than I have been since I first started off from home as a younker, with a pack at my back and a rifle in my hand. Never have I made a more successful trip; for I have returned with the waggon so loaded that I sometimes feared the stout wheels would give way under the weight they carried.”

“What young stranger have you brought here?” asked the dame, after the first salutations were over. “A fine little child, by my troth!”

Hendricks briefly described how Lionel had come into his hands. “And I want you, my good sister, to take charge of him, and bring him up, until by some means we may discover his parents. He will repay your trouble if I judge rightly of his disposition; and although he has no large amount of English at his command at present, he will soon chatter away fast enough to afford you plenty of amusement.”

Kind Mistress Jansen, taking the boy by the hand, and drawing him towards her, answered, “That I’ll do with all my heart, and we shall be good friends at once, shall we not, my boy?”

The little fellow did not answer, but looked up at Hendricks as if asking him to reply. The hunter spoke a few words in Zulu, on hearing which the child’s eye brightened.

“I have told him that you will be a mother to him Susannah, and he seems well pleased at the thought.”

That matter being settled, the hunter having taken a cup of tea with his good sister, and enjoyed a little further conversation, left his young protégé with her, and returned to where his waggon and followers were encamped to make arrangements for the disposal of his cargo. Finding, however, that it would be well worth his while to proceed to D’Urban, he the following day set off for that town, to dispose of the produce of his hunting, and to procure fresh goods for his next journey. According to his promise, he made a present of a good rifle and stock of ammunition to the young chief Mangaleesu, giving him authority to procure a further supply of powder and shot when that was exhausted.

Lionel was soon perfectly at home with Mistress Jansen. He showed an amiable disposition, and willingly obeyed her, but at the same time she discovered that he had several savage habits and customs to be cured of. Young as he was, he showed a fearless and independent spirit, but she endeavoured by kind and judicious treatment to keep him in good order. He paid almost a daily visit to Denis Maloney to be taught his lessons; but Mistress Jansen took upon herself to give him instruction in religious truth, of which very naturally he was totally ignorant. He had no idea that there was a God in heaven, or how the world had been formed, or of a future state, and it was some time before he could comprehend the plan of salvation, while he exhibited a woeful ignorance of what was right and wrong. Had he been older, the task of instructing him would have been more difficult, but as it was, his mind in most respects was a perfect blank. He was ready enough, however, to receive the impression his kind instructress endeavoured to make. As he gained knowledge himself, he felt very anxious to impart it to Mangaleesu, who had built a hut on the nearest piece of wild land he could find to the town. Here he lived with the independence of a Zulu chief and gentleman, his wife attending to household affairs of a very primitive description, while he, gun in hand, hunted through the neighbourhood, and never failed to obtain an ample supply of food. The agent of Hendricks also was always ready to make advances on the skins of the animals and the feathers of the birds he shot, which afforded him and his wife all the other necessaries of life. Though he listened to what Lionel had to say, he had always a ready answer to excuse himself for not following his advice. At the same time he assured the boy that he should be very glad to see him whenever he would come to pay him a visit. By this means Lionel kept up his knowledge of the Zulu language, which there would have been a risk of his forgetting while he was acquiring that of English.

When his guardian returned from D’Urban, he was greatly surprised at his proficiency, not only in speaking, but in general knowledge.

“If you continue as you have begun, Lionel, you will soon be able to accompany me on my journeys, and make yourself very useful in a variety of ways,” he said.

“Then I’ll make great haste,” answered Lionel. “I’ll go with you as soon as you will take me, and learn how to shoot lions and elephants, and Zulus too, if they try to treat us as they did the people in Mangaleesu’s kraal.”

Lionel had still need of further religious instruction, as his last remark showed, and good Mistress Jansen endeavoured to give it by teaching him “to love our enemies, to bless them that curse us, to do good to them that hate us, and to pray for them which despitefully use and persecute us.”

Chapter Four.

A journey northward.

What the camel is in Northern Africa—the ship of the desert—so may be considered the waggon in the southern part of the dark continent. It may be likened indeed to a huge, deeply laden merchantman, steadily making her way amid the rolling waves of the ocean.

Some time had passed, not reckoned by months only, but by years, since the events narrated in the previous chapters occurred, when one of those lumbering vehicles, dragged by a span of fourteen sturdy oxen, was rolling along through the eastern part of Natal towards the Zulu border.

A short distance ahead rode our old friend Hendricks the hunter, scarcely changed since we first knew him, except that his beard might have become slightly more grizzled, and that here and there a wrinkle had deepened on his open countenance. Occasionally a shade of melancholy passed over it, as he spoke to a companion who rode at his side on a light, active little horse.

“It was His will who rules all things, Lionel, to take her; but I would rather you had remained some time longer under her fostering care, instead of commencing the rough life you will have to lead with me. But she has done you justice. You are better fitted morally and physically for what you may have to go through, than I might have ventured to hope. You will be of great service to me, as I can rely on you in a way I cannot even on Umgolo, or certainly on the rest of our Kaffir and Hottentot servants.”

“Thank you, uncle, for your good opinion of me,” answered Lionel, who had learnt to call his kind protectress, Mrs Jansen, by the name of aunt, and very naturally in consequence addressed her brother, the hunter, as uncle. “I will do my best to show my gratitude to you, and to Aunt Susannah for all her kindness to me. Though I shall never see her again, I cannot help fancying that she will know what I am about. It was a sad day when she was taken from us so suddenly, and I thought I should have broken my heart if you had not arrived. I was so happy with her, that I never wished to be away, though I used to like going out with Mangaleesu, and shooting with the little fowling-piece you gave me, as long as he lived in the neighbourhood. Did you know that a short time ago he and his wife disappeared without saying where they were going? When I last went to see them, what was my dismay to find their hut burnt to the ground! At first I was afraid that they had been murdered; but Denis Maloney, who accompanied me the next morning, and I could discover no remains of anything belonging to them, and he is of opinion that they had some reason for going off. If they hadn’t been in a desperate hurry, they would, I am sure, have come to bid us good-bye.”

“I have no doubt that Mangaleesu was summoned by a superior chief to whom he owes allegiance for some special object—probably to take part in an attack on another chief. We shall hear about it when we get into Zululand,” replied Hendricks. “You were speaking just now of young Maloney. I am glad to hear so good an account of him; he appears to have acted the part of a true friend to you.”

“Indeed he has, and I am much obliged to him. It was fortunate for me that he remained in Maritzburg so long, for he taught me a great many of the things I know. Still he declares that he hates books, and would a hundred times rather be shooting elephants and lions than studying. Poor fellow! he has become very anxious about his father. Still he does not give him up, though everybody else in the town thinks he is dead.”

“I do not agree with them, though I confess that I am very anxious about my old friend,” answered Hendricks; “I still hope that he pushed, as I know he intended doing, far away to the northward, and that though he may probably have got into difficulties, he has escaped with his life. I think it very likely, however, that he has lost his waggon and servants, or he would have managed to communicate with me during my last long trip. I made every possible inquiry, and sent out messengers in all directions; but could hear nothing of him. It is strange that he should have so totally disappeared, without leaving any trace to show the direction he took. I am inclined to believe that he was entrapped by some treacherous chief or by some rebel boers who have often vowed that they would allow no Englishman to come near the territory they claim.”

While Hendricks was speaking, Denis Maloney, now a well-grown lad, rode up. He had previously been forming one of a party of three following the waggon at a little distance. All traces of sickness had disappeared, his muscles were well knit, and his countenance bronzed by the heat of the sun to which he had been exposed during a trading expedition dispatched by his uncle into Zululand. He had gone in the capacity of clerk or accountant to the leader of the expedition, his duties being similar to those of a supercargo on board ship. He had acquitted himself in the most satisfactory manner, and had thus gained experience both as a hunter and a trader. His uncle was so much pleased that he promised before long to fit him out with a waggon and team on his own account, that he might try his fortune in trading, chiefly for cattle, among the Zulus.

“Mr Crawford and young Broderick asked me to come on and inquire when we are likely to outspan, for they complain that they are both hungry and tired, as they are not well accustomed to our style of travelling,” he said, addressing their leader.

“Tell them we shall camp in an hour or in less time perhaps; and if they can’t hold out, do you get some biscuits from a box in the hinder part of the waggon,” answered Hendricks.

Young Lionel was inclined to feel something like contempt for those so much older than himself, who were not ashamed to acknowledge that they were hungry and tired after travelling somewhat under twenty miles in a broiling sun. Denis, who had, it must be confessed, spoken one word for them and two for himself, soon got out the biscuits, and keeping a portion, distributed the rest between his two companions. One of them, Percy Broderick, was a lad about his own age, fair and good-looking, and well-grown, not having the appearance, however, of a person particularly well fitted for a life in the wilderness. The other, Harry Crawford, though much older, looked at the first glance still less fitted for roughing it. Not that he wanted breadth of shoulders, strong muscles, or stout limbs; but that his countenance betokened intellect and refinement, rather than firmness, resolution, and the other qualities requisite for a person who has to go through the hardships of a settler’s existence.

“Faith! I wonder what brought you two fellows out here, and I doubt much whether you’ll like the country now you have come. It’s a mighty fine one, there’s no doubt about that, for those who have a fancy for a wild life, and shooting rhinoceroses and buffaloes, not to speak of elephants and lions,” exclaimed Denis. He had as yet had but little conversation with his fellow-travellers, they having only that morning joined the waggon party from a farm at which they had been staying. All Denis knew was that they had come out together from England, and were now bound in the same direction.

“As to that, I was born in the colony, and have only come back to my native land,” answered Percy. “Haven’t you heard of my father, Captain Broderick, who is settled at Falls Farm on the borders of the Transvaal country? I suppose I can endure what my father and mother, and my brothers and sisters have to go through, and I shall soon get accustomed to it. I can’t say I know much about it at present, as I was sent to school in the old country, when I was a very little chap under the charge of an uncle, with whom I spent my holidays, and who looked after me all the time I was in England; but he died some months ago, and as my father could not send money to pay for my schooling, I was shipped off to return home, and Mr Piatt, the owner of the Cloof Farm, where we were staying, was good enough to ask your friend Mr Hendricks to let us accompany him as far as we were going, as he said that he expected to pass close to my father’s house.”

“You are very fortunate to find so good a man to travel with,” said Denis. “He is the most noted hunter in the whole colony, and a capital fellow besides.”

“I was much pleased with him,” remarked Crawford, “and should greatly like to accompany him throughout the whole of the expedition; but as I came out to farm, I must lose no time in endeavouring to learn. Half a year ago I had no notion of doing such a thing. I was at Oxford, intending to become a barrister; but the small fortune I expected to inherit disappeared, and as it might be several years before I could obtain a brief, I thought the wisest thing I could do with the remainder of my possessions was to come out to this country, of which I had heard glowing accounts. I cannot say exactly that I am disappointed; but were I to purchase a farm, and attempt to commence operations by myself, I should feel remarkably like a fish out of water, for I confess I have not the slightest idea what I should do.”

“Faith! there are a good many young gentlemen like you, Mr Crawford,” observed Denis, “only they haven’t the wisdom to keep their money in a bank while they are learning something about the business they wish to engage in. In most instances they are so eager to begin, that they buy land, and very soon find all their money gone, long before their crops have grown, or what they have laid out in other ways has given them any return. When I was in the office of my uncle, Mr Walker, in Maritzburg, numbers of young gentlemen used to come and ask for employment, just for their food and lodging. Those who have friends at home who can pay their passage money return, others have to turn their hands to digging and delving, or road making, though a few occasionally get to the surface. Now if they, as I was saying, had kept their money, and begun by working on a farm, either for wages or even for nothing, they would have been able in time to set up for themselves.”

“As to that, I must not boast too much of my wisdom,” answered Crawford. “My capital hasn’t yet been sent out to the colony, so that I could not invest it even if I wished to do so. Percy assures me that I shall receive a warm welcome from his family, and that I may besides have an opportunity of seeing how farming operations are carried on. He tells me also that I shall obtain an easy introduction to every description of wild beast: elephants, rhinoceroses, lions, gnus, black and brindled, blessbocs, hartebeests, reitbocs, not to speak of others of smaller size, and birds innumerable.”

“Faith! you’ll not find any want of them, but you’ll remember it’s not always pleasant to meet a lion or a black rhinoceros in a morning’s ramble, and you will have reason to be thankful if you don’t, for I can assure you that they’re rather troublesome acquaintances. I came to that opinion not many years ago, when I had to spend some hours up a tree, waiting for my breakfast, while a couple of lions and their cubs were watching below, eager to breakfast off me;” and Denis told, with much naïvété, his adventure on his first journey with his father.

Besides the white persons who have been mentioned, the waggon party consisted of three Hottentots, whose duty was to drive and attend especially to the cattle; and six Kaffir hunters, among whom Umgolo was the chief. Hendricks intended to obtain others who had before served under him on the way. There were three spare horses, which followed the waggon, fastened by riems or thongs of hide, the general substitute for rope in the colony. Five dogs may also be counted as forming part of the expedition, rejoicing in the names of Spout, Growl, Pincher, Fangs, and Raff. The latter belonged to Denis, who so called the animal after the name of a countryman, Paddy Rafferty, who had given it to him. The “baste,” he boasted, did credit to the “ould counthry:” for although no beauty, he was the cleverest and bravest of all the dogs, and much attached to him.

Each of the fourteen oxen had a Dutch name, to which it answered, well knowing when the driver shouted out, that if it did not exert itself, it would presently feel the effects of his long whip on its hide.

Travelling in Africa needs the exercise of a large amount of patience. Even when the ground is level, the huge machine moves leisurely along; but when rough hills have to be surmounted, the progress is still slower.

The “trek,” as the day’s journey is called, had been far from a pleasant one. A dry scorching wind blew in the faces of the travellers, while the country presented a vast stony plain, burned and arid, with here and there a few small round hills breaking the line of the horizon. Harry Crawford and Percy looked about them with dismay.

“I hope the country ahead is not all to be like this,” said the former.

“No fear of that,” answered Denis. “We shall have, to be sure, a few stony mountains to climb over, and now and then, in parts, it’s hard to find a tree, but that’s only here and there; for there are forests, and grassy meadows, and streams, and beautiful valleys, such as are to be found in no other part of the world, or, at all events, none superior to them, in my opinion. Look out there ahead, you’ll see, just rising above the plain, what I daresay you took to be a cloud, but it is a range of mountains; when we get over them, we shall have fine scenery enough to satisfy you. We shall then meet also with what you fellows from the old country call adventures, but which we out here are so accustomed to that we do not think much about them.”

Dreary as was the scenery in other respects, it was enlivened by numberless gorgeous flowers, the beauty of which Harry Crawford was well able to appreciate, although ignorant of the names of most of them.

“We should value these in our hot-houses at home,” he said.

“For my part I’d sooner have plenty of green grass,” observed Denis, “and so would the cattle, I’ve a notion. To say the truth, I’ve seen so many of these things that I no longer pay any attention to them, although they are mighty fine, I’ll acknowledge, now that I come to examine them more particularly.”

Percy, who admired the flowers as much as his friend did, every now and then got off his horse to pick some of them, until he had collected a large bouquet, greatly to the amusement of Denis.

“Take care, my boy, not to catch hold of the tail of a puff adder,” he exclaimed, as Percy again dismounted. “They are pretty numerous hereabouts, and you may chance to put your hand close to one of their holes while you are picking those flowers.”

Percy, without making any remark, threw himself into his saddle again, satisfied with the collection he had already made.

As they advanced the country improved. They passed the ruins of several farms, the owners of which had “trekked” to the Transvaal republic.

Hour after hour the waggon proceeded on through the same monotonous style of country, until towards evening, no other more convenient spot being found, a halt was called near one of the mounds which have been described, and close by which ran a small “spruit,” or stream, affording the weary oxen sufficient water to quench their thirst. As no trees or shrubs grew near, a quantity of dry dung was collected to serve as fuel. This, when once lighted, threw out an intense heat, quickly boiling all the pots placed over it; but as it produced little or no flame, it was not so well calculated to serve as a watch fire to scare away wild beasts as one formed of wood. It was necessary, therefore, to keep a stricter watch than usual at night, lest a lion might visit the camp with the intention of making a feast off one of the oxen or horses.

While the party were seated at supper, Denis amused himself by telling all sorts of terrible tales of the way a lion had occasionally leapt into a camp and carried off a man before his companions had time to rescue him.

“Come, Denis, don’t be trying to frighten our young friends with your wonderful stories, and to make them wish that they were out of the country again,” said Hendricks. “The lion is not so very formidable a beast, after all. I’ve never been troubled by one in my camp, although I have not unfrequently had half a dozen roaring round it at night; but then I have always kept up a good fire, and had men on the watch, ready to shoot the brutes, should they come near; so their instinct, I fancy, has told them that it would be prudent to keep at a distance.”

The horses had been knee-haltered, the usual way of securing them from straying, and had been turned out with the cattle to pick up as much sustenance as they could obtain from the withered grass, with one of the Hottentot boys, old Dos, to watch them. The Hottentots, like postilions, are always boys to the end of their days. Dos, though near sixty, was so small and wiry, that at a little distance he might have been mistaken for a boy.

As Hendricks intended to start at daylight, he ordered all hands to lie down at an early hour, and obtain as much rest as they could, with the hard ground for their beds, and the starry heavens overhead. A piece of canvas let down from the side of the waggon served somewhat to screen the young Englishmen—who were supposed to be more luxuriously inclined than the rest of the party—from the chilly night air, while the mound also contributed to protect the camp.

Denis and Lionel did not disdain to creep in beside them, while Hendricks occupied his usual berth inside his waggon. In a few minutes all voices were hushed, but though Crawford and Percy did not speak, the strangeness of the scene prevented them from going to sleep. Some time had passed, and they were at length beginning to get a little drowsy, when they were startled by a terrific roar, which seemed to come almost from above them. Starting up, and knocking their heads against the bottom of the waggon as they did so, in a very unpleasant fashion, they scrambled out from their sleeping-place, their impulse being to meet the danger, whatever it might be, on their feet, and to look about them. They were followed by Denis and Lionel, who had naturally been awakened by the roaring.

“What is it? Where is it?” asked Percy Broderick.

“Look there,” answered Denis, pointing to the top of the mound, where, in the dim light, the outlines could be seen clearly defined against the sky, of two lions. The monsters, placing their heads to the ground, again sent forth a roar, which sounded fearfully loud in the silent night air. The hideous uproar they made at length aroused Hendricks, who, turning out of his berth, seized his gun, ever ready at hand, and stepped a few paces from the camp towards them. The rest of the men in camp had sprung to their feet, and held their rifles ready for instant action, while the dogs, rushing to the front, continued barking in varied tones, though they showed no inclination to venture beyond the protection of their masters. The lions, however, did not advance, but continued standing in the position in which they had at first been seen, contenting themselves with uttering an occasional roar, as if to terrify the occupants before making a final rush into their midst. The hunters, however, were too well accustomed to encounters with lions to be alarmed, let them roar ever so loudly; still a fight with a couple at night would not be free of danger, should either of them be wounded and not killed outright. It would indeed be no easy matter to bring them down at the distance they were off.

“We must send these brutes away, or they’ll give us no time for sleep,” said Hendricks, and he summoned Umgolo and another experienced hunter to his side. Ordering the other men to keep back the dogs, he slowly advanced with his two companions towards the foot of the mound. Denis and Lionel, who was well able to use the small rifle his friend had procured for him, with Percy and Crawford, kept behind as a reserve, but Hendricks had ordered them on no account to fire, unless by chance the lions should break through and come down upon them.

Slowly the hunters advanced up the mound: the lions, however, not appearing to have noticed them, continued roaring as loudly as before, till suddenly they seemed to become aware that enemies were at hand, when, instead of springing boldly forward, Percy and his companions, to their astonishment, saw them retiring as cowardly dogs are apt to do after barking, then finally turning round, they trotted off until they were lost to sight at the other side of the mound.

“The brutes often prove poltroons, if courageously met, and so these have shown themselves,” exclaimed Denis. “We shall not be troubled again to-night by their sweet voices, though we may hear them in the distance growling and muttering over their disappointment.”

In a short time the camp was again quiet, and Denis and Lionel, accustomed to such adventures, quickly went to sleep, but Percy and Crawford could not, as before, close their eyes. Every now and then, as they listened, they heard a low muttering sound coming from a distance.

“What can that curious noise be?” asked Crawford. “I should fancy it was made by deer; I have heard something like it in England.”

“I don’t fancy any deer would remain in the neighbourhood with a couple of hungry lions roaming about,” answered Percy. “Perhaps it is made by monkeys. I’ll ask Denis. He was awake a few minutes ago. I say, Denis, what creatures are making those curious sounds? Just listen for a minute.” Denis was asleep, but on hearing himself called, awoke in an instant, fancying that something was the matter.

“What curious sounds?” he asked. “Sure I only hear a couple of lions muttering away as the beasts have a fancy for doing at night when they want their suppers, and haven’t yet found anything to eat. There now go to sleep, and don’t be bothering a fellow by waking him out of his first nap; you’ll soon get accustomed to stranger noises than those.” And Denis covered his head up again with his blanket.

The rest of the night passed quietly by, but at early dawn there was a great hubbub among the Hottentots and Kaffirs. The horses had disappeared; either the lions had put them to flight in spite of their being knee-haltered, or they had gone in search of greener pastures. Old Dos had not seen them go. He had been herding the cattle, and had taken little note of them, thinking that they could take care of themselves. The consequence was, he and another Hottentot boy, Tan, were sent off in search of them as soon as daylight had increased sufficiently to enable their spoor to be seen. The party had therefore to remain encamped until they were brought back.

“I should have preferred more picturesque scenery to spend the day in. I wonder our leader takes the matter so coolly,” observed Crawford.

“It’s just this, that he’s accustomed to it,” answered Denis. “A man who travels in this country must have a vast amount of patience. He must not value time as you do in the old country.”

Hendricks, however, did not let his people remain idle. They were employed in repairing or strengthening the harness, cutting thongs, collecting fuel, and doing other odd jobs, while he and Umgolo went out with their guns in search of a pallah or other game. Crawford and his younger companions amused themselves in camp, for the heat was too great to enjoy exercise. Before noon the horses were brought back, and the hunters returning with a springboc, no time was lost in inspanning, and the waggon proceeded on at a faster pace than usual, to make up for lost time. A drift or stream was forded, the waggon sticking as it reached the opposite bank, and much more time was lost in dragging it up, as the oxen obstinately refused to pull all together. In vain the Hottentot boys rushed in among them, endeavouring by soft blandishments to induce them to move. The Kaffirs swore in strange-sounding tones, and Denis flew here and there, poking one, lashing another, hauling at the head of a third, his example being followed by the other Englishmen. Their leader rode forward, merely observing—

“You must make haste, boys, for we have a worse bit than this to cross, and cross it we must, before we outspan for the night.”

Scarcely had he disappeared in the distance than the oxen, suddenly pulling together, hauled the waggon out. Denis uttered a loud shout of triumph, and away it went rumbling after them.

The promise of their leader was soon fulfilled. After moving on for three miles or so, the foot of a hill was reached. The driver knowing what was before him urged on the oxen, hoping that by pulling together as they were then doing, he might urge the waggon up without a stop. For the first two-thirds of the way they did very well, but at last coming to a steep pitch, suddenly the whole span stopped, and refused to budge an inch farther. Frantically the driver lashed and lashed, and cracked his whip, the reports resounding like a sharp fire of musketry amid the hills. It was of no avail, and had not two of the men rushed up with two huge masses of rock, which they placed behind the wheels, the waggon would have gone backwards, and dragged the animals after it to the bottom of the hill. In vain the driver shouted and yelled; forward they would not go; but began twisting and turning round in their yokes, some facing one way, some another; some dropping down on their knees, others rolling over with the risk of being strangled by the riems which secured them to the yoke. To Crawford’s eye they appeared in a state of confusion, from which it would be impossible to extricate them. The Hottentots shouted, the driver leapt from his box, and with the other boys rushed here and there, uttering yells, shouts, and execrations while they plied their tough waggon whips with a vehemence which brought blood at every stroke from the backs of the obstinate brutes. Now they seized the animals’ tails, twisting them round and round, some actually seizing them with their teeth, while they endeavoured to get them back into line, all the time shouting “Juk! juk!” to make them start, or “Om! om!” whenever they wanted them to turn round, generally at the same time hitting them on their noses with the butt ends of their whips. Crawford and Percy could do nothing, but Denis and Lionel exerted themselves fearlessly. At last old Dos, dragging at the leading oxen with a riem, the whole span “trekked” at the same moment, and in a few moments the waggon was again moving forward at a slow pace.

“All our difficulties are not over yet,” observed Hendricks to Crawford, as they were walking ahead, leading their horses. “See, there’s an ugly spot yonder, which it will require all the skill of old Dos to surmount. I’ll leave the drivers, however, to their own resources. If I interfered, they would simply follow my directions, throwing the responsibility upon me, and take no further trouble about the matter. If they get into a fix, I try and get them out of it.”

The ugly spot was reached. The path was sufficiently broad for the waggon to pass, but it sloped down to the edge of a steep precipice, not however quite perpendicular, as the tops of tall trees could be seen rising out of its side, but sufficiently steep to cause a waggon to turn over and over, and of a depth which would ensure its being crushed or smashed to fragments when it reached the bottom. The Hottentots gazed at it with uneasy glances. They first examined the harness, to see that all was secure, they then fastened four riems of stout buffalo hide to the side of the waggon opposite to the precipice. The whole of the party were next summoned to lay hold of the other ends of the riems, and the driver fixing himself on his box with his whip ready for action, Dos went ahead, and the waggon started. The ground was of clay, excessively slippery, and the party holding on to the riems and running alongside the waggon, found it no easy matter to keep their feet. Every moment it appeared that the waggon must slip down the steep incline. Lionel and Denis worked as hard as any one, although their united weight did not do much to keep back the heavy vehicle. All the party were slipping, hauling, scrambling along, shouting at the top of their voices, now and then one of them coming down in the mud, but still holding on to the riems. The fear was that the oxen would come to a standstill. So long as they kept moving, the danger was not so great; but there appeared every probability, should the waggon once fetch way, that not only it and the oxen, but the whole party, would be dragged over the precipice. Hendricks, assisted by Crawford, had taken charge of the horses, and rode on ahead, too well accustomed to similar adventures to feel especially anxious about the matter.

“The waggon will get over it,” he remarked; “if it does not, it will be provoking; but I always make up my mind for an occasional accident, although on the present occasion I should regret it very much, as it would delay the search for my friend Maloney: for in spite of what others think, I have hopes that he is still alive.”

“Denis thinks so too, and frequently alludes to the subject. He could not be as merry as he is if he believed that his father was really lost,” remarked Crawford.

Meantime old Dos and the other Hottentots were shouting and shrieking in shrill tones, the Kaffirs roaring in deeper bass, while Denis, Percy, and Lionel were halloing and laughing as they tugged away at the thongs. The oxen, encouraged by the voices of their drivers, were doing their part. The difficult spot, which the Dutch settlers called a squint path, was passed, and the waggon gained the top of the height, when at some distance a broad river was seen flowing to the southward.

“There is the Tugela; we must cross that to-morrow morning, to get into Zululand,” said Hendricks to Crawford. “To-night we must encamp midway between it and the foot of the hill.”

The waggon at once began its descent, as there was but little time to spare before darkness came on. The riems were now secured to the hinder part to prevent its slipping down too rapidly in the steeper places. The scenery from the top of the hill was wild and picturesque. Beyond the river lay several cloofs or valleys, containing numerous fine timber trees, and rich in the variety of their foliage and gorgeous flowers. A carpet of green clothed the side and foot of the berg, as well as the borders of the broad river, although the intermediate space was dry and parched by the summer heat.

The waggon reached the bottom of the mountain in safety, and soon afterwards the travellers camped by the side of a small stream flowing down from the berg they had crossed, a thick wood near at hand affording them abundance of fuel.

While the camp was being formed, Hendricks and Umgolo, according to their usual custom, hastened out with their guns, and each before long returned with a klipspringer, which were forthwith cut up and prepared for supper. The abundance of good meat restored the spirits of the Kaffirs and Hottentots, which the toils of the day had somewhat depressed. The night passed without any unusual incident. Lions might have been heard roaring or muttering in the distance, and occasionally the camp was surrounded by musically-inclined jackals or hyenas, but the brutes did not venture near enough to disturb the slumbers of the travellers, and at daylight every one was on foot ready to commence the trek which was to carry them into Zululand.

Chapter Five.

Crossing the Tugela.

The bank of the river was reached. The stream was broad and rapid. Crawford and Percy looked at it with dismay.

“By what means are we to get across?” exclaimed the former.

“I’m sure I can’t tell,” said Percy. “There’s not a ford here, at all events.”

“We’ll soon show you,” said Denis.

The oxen were outspanned, and while the Hottentots began unloading the waggon, the Kaffirs, headed by their leader, went along the river, and cut down a number of poles of a soft buoyant wood. These they immediately began to form into a couple of rafts. The waggon being unloaded, was next rapidly taken to pieces, and the wheels lashed together, while the upper sides and pole being removed, the rest of the vehicle formed a strong and substantial raft. Long poles and paddles having been procured, a portion of the goods were placed on it and the other rafts. Four of the Kaffirs then stepped on the smallest two, having long poles and two paddles, and commenced the passage, shouting loudly as they did so, the paddlers splashing the water.

“What do they make all that noise for?” asked Crawford.

“Sure to frighten away the crocodiles,” answered Denis. “The beasts would otherwise be running their snouts against the raft, wanting to see what it is, or they would be catching hold of the horses or oxen as they swim across.”

The first raft having reached the opposite bank in safety, the passage of the waggon, of which Hendricks himself took charge, was commenced. This, being heavier, required a larger crew, but even then it was some time in getting across. The cargo from the first raft being landed, it returned for a further freight, bringing back some of the men who had crossed in the waggon, while the rest, under the direction of Hendricks, began putting the vehicle together. The second raft began to cross, the people in charge of it shouting and shrieking as before. All this time the Hottentots had remained with the oxen and horses, as they were to cross last, while Crawford and Percy, with Denis and Lionel, employed themselves in loading the rafts. It had been arranged that they should cross on the smallest raft after the cattle had swam over.

While they were thus employed, three of the horses, whose legs had been left free, discovering that they would have to cross the river, and apparently not liking the undertaking, took it into their heads to gallop off. When the Hottentots ran after them, the cattle began to scatter in a way which threatened a general stampede; they were therefore obliged to return in order to keep the animals together, “This won’t do!” cried Denis. “Come along, Lionel; we must manage to catch the brutes. If we don’t look sharp, they will be away back to Maritzburg.”

Percy, seeing them start off, also followed. While Denis went on one side, Lionel took the other, accompanied by the young Englishman. Fortunately the horses stopped to graze at a tempting spot of grass which they found on their way. This, after a long run, enabled the lads to get to the south of them. They then crept up slowly, and Denis, who was the most active of the party, caught one which had a long halter trailing from its head. Instead of hauling at it, he allowed the horse to continue feeding until his two companions had seized the others. They were, however, at this time, at a considerable distance from the river, and when they got back they found the remaining horses and oxen swimming over, with the Hottentots and several Kaffirs holding on to their tails, shouting, shrieking, and splashing the water, to keep the crocodiles at a distance.

“I vote we cross on horseback,” said Denis. “It will be half an hour or more before the raft can come for us, and I’m getting desperately hungry. We can get over just as easily as those Kaffir fellows. We can either sit on the horses’ backs, or hold on to their tails, while they tow us over. See, that’s how the Kaffirs are crossing.”

“I’m ready, at all events,” said Lionel. “I think I’ll ride my horse.”

“Mind if you do, give him his head, and don’t on any account pull at the halter,” said Denis. “What way are you going to cross, Percy?”

Percy did not quite like the undertaking, not being accustomed to this sort of thing. But he was ashamed to refuse; at the same time, being an excellent swimmer, he was not afraid of the water, but more apprehensive of crocodiles, which he thought after the noise had ceased might come swimming up to the spot. At last, however, after seeing Denis and Lionel mount, they having secured their outer clothing to the heads of their horses, he imitated their example, and all three plunged into the river together, the horses now, with riders on their backs, taking to the water willingly enough. Denis led the way, keeping on the left or up stream. Percy followed closely a little farther down. Lionel was on his right. For some distance the river was sufficiently shallow for the horses to wade, with the water only half-way up their backs. Presently Denis’s horse began to swim.

“I’ll try the Kaffir fashion, and I’d advise you to do the same,” cried Denis. “Lionel may stick on his horse’s back if he likes.”

Saying this he slipped off, and grasping hold of his horse’s tail, was towed across, while he laughed and shouted to Percy to imitate his example. Neither Percy nor Lionel felt willing to make the attempt.

“Just try it,” cried Denis again; “you’ll find that your animal swims twice as fast. He can’t kick, if he were to try.”

They had already got more than half-way over, when, gaining courage, Percy slipped off, and had just got hold of his horse’s tail when Lionel, who was, as has been said, a short distance off, uttered a cry of alarm. What was Percy’s horror to see his horse frantically beating the water with his fore-legs and making no progress! The dreadful thought instantly occurred to him, that a crocodile had caught hold of the animal’s legs, and that the boy, who had acknowledged a short time before that he was not much of a swimmer, would either be seized by the monster, or be drowned. Percy, though quiet and unassuming in his manners, possessed more courage and resolution than he was aware of. Another crocodile might seize him even while swimming behind his horse, but he did not think of that risk. He could not bear to see his young companion perish without an effort to save him.

“Throw yourself off, and swim towards me,” he shouted.

Lionel did as he was advised, narrowly escaping being struck by the horse’s hoofs. On this, Percy, letting go his horse’s tail, and exerting all his strength, swam to meet Lionel, who, although supporting himself in the water, was evidently unable to reach the bank towards which they had been directing their course.

“Keep up, keep up until I come to you,” cried Percy, and in a few seconds he was up to Lionel. “Now place your hand on my back, and strike out with the other and your feet at the same time. Don’t attempt to clutch me, and we will, please heaven, gain the bank.”

Lionel, who kept his presence of mind, did as he was bid. At first Percy was in hopes of regaining his horse’s tail, but the animal had got too far ahead, and was now abreast of Denis’s horse. Denis himself was too much ahead to see what had happened, and not until Percy’s horse had got up to him was he aware of the danger of his two companions. His first impulse was to let go and swim to their assistance, but his next thought was that his powers were insufficient for the task.

As he looked round he saw them both swimming on steadily, while Lionel’s unfortunate horse was gradually sinking beneath the surface, although its fore-feet were still striking out in the vain attempt to escape from the jaws of its captor.

“Shall I come and help you?” he shouted out. “I’ll try to do so if you want me.”

“No, no,” answered Percy. “If you are not a good swimmer, you’ll do no good. Get to shore as fast as you can, and send off a raft to us, for they don’t appear to be looking at us.”

Owing to the oxen and horses having just landed, what had occurred had not been perceived from the shore. Crawford, who had gone across on the last raft, was the first to discover that there were only two horses. He then saw the heads of Percy and Lionel close together.

Shouting out to Hendricks, who was at some distance, attending to the waggon, he leaped on to one of the rafts, making signs to the nearest Kaffir, to whom he could not otherwise communicate his wishes, to come off with him.

Fortunately Hendricks heard his voice, and rushing down, sprang on to the raft. In the meantime Percy had a hard matter to keep up. The stream was carrying him and Lionel farther and farther down; and as they got away from the noise made by the cattle, he well knew that the risk of being seized by another crocodile was greatly increased.

Still, though he might easily have gained the shore by himself, nothing would induce him to quit his young charge.

“Hold up, Lionel,” he cried. “Kick about with your feet, and shout as loud as you can. Those brutes of crocodiles won’t hurt us while they’ve got the horse to eat. Hurrah! we are seen from the shore; your father and Crawford are on it. They are stopping to pick up Denis, they’ll be up to us soon. Now stop and tread water, it will give me a rest. It won’t matter if we are floated a little lower down. Shout and shriek as loud as you like.”

All this Percy said at the top of his voice, for he did not feel quite as confident as he tried to make Lionel suppose, that another crocodile would not make its appearance. Still his hopes of escape rose as he saw the raft urged on by poles and paddles approaching. He kept looking round him, however, to watch whether one of the dreaded monsters was rising to the surface, not that, should it approach, he would be able to do much to make his escape. Lionel all the time showed not the slightest fear. He did exactly as he was told. Had his skill as a swimmer equalled that of Percy, he would rather have trusted to his own powers, than have hindered his companion from reaching the shore. The raft was still some way off, although they could distinguish the features of their friends. When, as they were treading water, holding each other’s hands, Lionel, casting a glance down the stream, exclaimed, “O Percy, can that brute be coming this way?” Percy looked in the same direction, and there sure enough he saw the head of a huge crocodile, with its snout directed towards them.

“We won’t stop here to be gobbled up, at all events,” cried Percy. “Put your hand as before on my back, and we’ll swim towards the raft. We may be in time to get on to it before the creature reaches us.”

Though he said this, he felt very faint hopes of success; still, like a brave fellow, he kept up, shouting and splashing as much as he could without stopping on his way. Once he glanced over his shoulder. The dreaded monster came swimming on. In another minute, before they could possibly reach the raft, it would be up to them, though Hendricks and his companions were exerting their utmost strength to urge it on. Just then a man was seen running along the bank. He stopped, and raised a rifle to his shoulder. Percy fancied he could hear the bullet whistle through the air, and the thud as it struck the crocodile’s head. The monster sank from sight. Denis and Crawford raised a loud cheer, and in a few seconds they were hauling Percy and Lionel, both almost exhausted, on to the raft.

“Bravo! Percy, you did it well,” cried Denis; “and Lionel showed himself to be a brave little chap, or he would not have enabled you to save him as you have done.”

Hendricks was less demonstrative, but equally grateful to Percy, although he had no time just then to show his feelings. Placing the two boys on the centre of the raft, he, with the rest who had come on it, had to exert themselves to pull back to the shore, where they found Umgolo waiting to receive them.

“You saved the boys’ lives, my friend,” said Hendricks, addressing him and taking his hand. “You have rendered me many services; this is not the least of them.”

Of course he spoke in Kaffir, and Umgolo replied in the same language, that he was always ready to serve his young master, and that he was very glad to have prevented the crocodile from destroying the two boys. No time was lost in conveying them up to the spot where the camp was to be fixed. Here a fire was immediately lighted to dry their clothes and to cook some provisions, while they sat close to it, wrapped up in blankets. They both speedily recovered, the proof of which was that they ate heartily of the viands prepared for them.

“It’s the last time I’ll endeavour to cross a river at the tail of a horse, when crocodiles are likely to be swimming about,” exclaimed Denis. “I’m mighty glad that you escaped from the brute, Lionel; had you been swimming as I was, it would have had you to a certainty.”

The circumstance which had occurred tended greatly to draw the lads together, while Percy rose much in the estimation of all his companions.

“I only wish that I could see a hungry lion rush out on you, or a party of Zulus coming out of a kraal to cut off your head; I’d show both the one and the other what I could do with my rifle,” exclaimed Lionel. “I’d fight until I was killed, and should not care if you made your escape.”

“Thank you!” answered Percy. “I hope we shall not come to that extremity, but I am very sure that you will do your best to help me out of any danger I happen to get into.”

The night passed with the usual chorus from hyenas and jackals. At dawn the travellers were on the move. For a considerable distance few inhabitants were met with, the king not approving of his subjects living near the border, lest, when he should require them, they should get across it, and escape from his paternal care.

After moving on for some days, another steep hill rose before them. They encamped at the foot, that the oxen might the better be able to drag up the waggon in the morning. The ascent was no easy one, and the Hottentots had to exert their arms and voices.

“I hope the descent will not be so difficult, or the waggon may chance to be capsized,” said Crawford, as he and Denis were following behind, ready to put big stones under the wheels, and prevent the vehicle slipping back.

“No fear of that, for we shall not have to descend at all,” answered Denis.

He was right. On the summit being reached, the travellers found themselves on the edge of a vast plateau, extending to the north and south. Some parts were covered with fine timber trees, others with scattered mimosa bushes, and here and there a hillock rose above the plain. Deer of various species were seen bounding along in unrestrained freedom, chiefly small animals; now and then a herd of pallah or koodoo would make their appearance, sorely tempting the hunters to go in chase. Hendricks, however, was anxious to proceed as fast as he could through the country, until he could reach a region where elephants and other more valuable animals abounded.

Although the sun was intensely hot during the day, the air was pure and exhilarating, especially in the early morning. Day after day the party travelled on, occasionally passing near kraals, but Hendricks generally avoided them, unless he wished to do a stroke of trade with the inhabitants. The country as they advanced became wilder and rougher, and game of all sorts abounded, so that after outspanning in the afternoon, the hunters who went out with their guns never failed to bring back an ample supply of meat for the camp. When there was time, and there was more than was required for immediate consumption, the flesh, whether of deer, or quagga, or gnu, was cut up into long strips, and after being slightly salted, was strung up, either outside the waggon, or on a rope fastened from it to a tree, where it quickly dried in the warm air. The meat thus prepared is called beltong, and requires no further cooking to suit the palate of the hunter. It is to be sure somewhat hard, but not bad tasted. Even the flesh of the quagga, which few white men would eat willingly, becomes, when thus prepared, tolerably palatable.

Occasionally it was necessary to give the oxen a rest, when they might regain, on an abundant pasture, their strength, exhausted by the toils they had encountered.

Next time they stopped, Denis, Percy, and Lionel agreed that they would go hunting together, so that they might have all the glory to themselves; for, should they accompany Hendricks and Umgolo, or even Crawford, who had become a good shot and a daring hunter by this time, they would, as Denis observed, “not have a chance of shooting anything.”

Two days after this, having arrived at a suitable spot, away from any kraal, where there was an abundance of grass, and a stream of bright water flowing at the bottom of the valley; their leader calling a halt, the oxen were outspanned and the camp formed. As there was sure to be plenty of game in the neighbourhood, the three lads at once made arrangements for their trip. As their steeds had merely followed quietly behind the waggon, they were perfectly fresh, and it was settled that they should ride them. They agreed also to take with them a Kaffir servant, Gozo, who, though not equal to Umgolo, was considered an experienced hunter. Hendricks did not object to the boys accompanying him, though he gave him strict charge to keep them out of harm’s way. They turned in early, that they might be off at daybreak, as Hendricks wisely insisted that they should return before nightfall.

Chapter Six.

A hunting expedition.

The three lads, accompanied by old Gozo the Kaffir, set off in high spirits at daylight, expecting to have a magnificent day’s hunting. Denis, from having more experience than his companions, took the lead. Lionel, who, though much younger, had spirits enough to carry him through anything, kept up with him; but Percy, although he did his best, being less inured to the heat of the climate, soon began to feel fatigue, and expressed his fears that he should have to turn back.

“Don’t say that; come along, come along,” cried Denis. “You won’t mind the heat or feel tired, directly we get sight of the game. Gozo says that about five miles farther on there’s a broad stream, running through a wide valley or rather a plain, and that at the ford to which he will conduct us we shall be certain to meet with large animals, elephant and rhinoceroses, quaggas and pallahs, and other deer.”

Percy, thus encouraged, pulled himself together, and tried to forget the heat. They rode on, however, for several miles, without meeting with a living creature. Nothing was to be seen on either hand but wild mountain-sides and arid plains dotted here and there with gigantic ant-hills and occasional groves of tall trees.

At length, having surmounted a low ridge, they came suddenly in sight of a herd of wildebeests or gnus, grazing quietly about a mile from them. Denis was about to dash forward, when Gozo called to him and advised him to make a circuit so as to come upon the herd on the lee side. Turning their horses’ heads, therefore, they descended the hill they had just mounted, and keeping under its shelter, made their way northward. They were thus able to get round until they found themselves within a few hundred yards of the herd, in which there could not have been less than sixty or eighty animals. Suddenly, however, the leader of the herd, a fine old fellow with a flowing mane, and a beard descending down his breast, perceived them, and off they dashed at a slashing pace, a cloud of dust marking their course, while the young hunters pursued. Denis led the way, Lionel keeping close after him. Gozo galloped off to the right, intending apparently to get ahead of the herd, and turn them, so as to drive them back and enable the lads with more ease to shoot one or two down. The chase was exciting in the extreme. The wildebeests at first ran well ahead of their pursuers.

“We shall soon be up to them!” cried Denis. “They’ll not keep at that pace long together, you’ll see.”

He was right, for after a run of a couple of miles the animals began to slacken their speed, and at length Gozo was seen far away in the distance, and well ahead, gradually nearing them.

“We’ll stop here,” cried Denis, as they came to some thick bushes. “We can conceal ourselves, and the wildebeests won’t mind the horses, even if they see them.”

He and Lionel dismounted, placing their horses behind the bushes, with their reins on the ground, a sign to the well-trained animals that they were not to move from the spot. Percy soon came up, and followed their example. They then knelt down so as to be completely concealed. The herd, now turned by Gozo, came galloping back, not apparently frightened, and in no hurry, for Gozo having accomplished his object, had pulled in his rein so as to allow them to move at a moderate rate. On the animals came, lashing their sides with their flowing tails. Sometimes their leader would break away from the ranks, paw the ground, apparently determined to make a headlong charge, should an enemy appear; then suddenly he would face about and rejoin the herd. Then the whole, which had stopped for a short time, would again dash off in wild confusion, enveloping themselves in a cloud of dust which almost completely hid them from view. The young hunters waited with no little anxiety, lest they should take another direction, but on they came towards the bush, which they were about to pass when Denis whispered to Lionel to fire at the second, while he would take the leader.

“Percy, do you aim at the third; I feel sure you’ll hit him in the breast.”

Percy could not help smiling, for he felt far from sure of doing anything of the sort, anxious as he was to succeed. The lads held their breath. Denis was the first to fire, and a loud thud told him that his shot had taken effect. Directly afterwards Lionel and Percy pulled their triggers, but with what effect they could not tell, for the herd, frightened by the report, began kicking up the dust, as they scampered off, in a way nearly to conceal them from view. All that could be seen was a confused mass of prancing heels, whisking tails, and occasionally a few heads.

“Hurrah!” cried Denis; “my fellow is down.” Not far from them, where the leader had been seen when Denis fired, it now lay struggling on the ground.

Denis reloaded, and another shot quickly put it out of its misery. Whether any of the others were hit could not be ascertained, as they all went scampering off together; but Gozo was seen pursuing them, and the report of his rifle showed that he, at all events, considered himself within range of one of them.

Denis at once set to work to skin the animal. Neither Percy nor Lionel could render him much assistance, and he was very glad when Gozo made his appearance. The Kaffir had shot a wildebeest, he said, but he had come to assist them in disposing of theirs. It was agreed that the parts of the flesh which were worth preserving should be left in the bush, covered up with branches, so as to prevent the hyenas and jackals from getting at it until their return.

It took them some time, and their task accomplished, they sat down to enjoy some of the food they had brought in their holsters. Although they might without shame have returned to camp, satisfied with their morning’s sport, they had a wish to secure some larger and more valuable game. Their patient horses stood all the time cropping the leaves and herbage near them; for grass, properly speaking, there was none.

Their lunch over and their thirst quenched with some water which they had brought, although there was none for the horses, they again mounted, and continued in the direction they were before going.

They had applied so frequently to the water bottles, that their stock was soon exhausted; but supposing that they should speedily arrive at the river, they did not trouble themselves much about the matter, until they began to feel the unpleasant sensations of extreme thirst. Percy, less accustomed to the climate than his companions, suffered greatly.

“When shall we reach the river?” he exclaimed at last. “My throat feels like a dust bin. I shall choke if I can’t pour some liquid down before long.”

“Never fear,” answered Denis; “just try not to think about it. I’ll ask Gozo how far the river is off. It cannot be more than half a mile now, I should think.”

The Kaffir, however, did not give a satisfactory answer. It was some time since he had been in that direction, and it might be farther than he supposed.

“Then the faster we push on the better,” cried Denis. “Whollop-ahoo-ahoo! on we go;” but although he whipped his unfortunate steed, the animal refused to move at a quicker pace. All the horses showed signs of suffering. They opened their mouths, turned up their nostrils, and the foam was seen gathering on their lips. They were riding on when, as they were approaching a thicket, a sound, as if a battle was going on between some of the brute creation, reached their ears—roarings, snortings, and bellowings.

“What can produce that tremendous uproar?” cried Percy.

“Gozo says it is a lion belching,” answered Lionel; “but there’s some other animal, and we must be ready to fire or get out of its way.”

They again cautiously rode on.

“A lion! a lion!” cried the Kaffir, and looking over some bushes, they saw in an open space a large buffalo cow engaged in battle with the monarch of the wilds. Not far off lay the body of a buffalo calf, which at once explained to them the cause of the battle. The lion had taken up a position not far from some trees and thick bushes, whose branches were elevated but a short distance from the ground. The buffalo stood with her horns ready to receive her antagonist. Suddenly the lion bounded forward, fixing his powerful claws on the face and neck of the buffalo, when instantly, in spite of his weight, she turned, and rushing at the boughs, in a moment the lion was thrown off, and lay on his back with his claws in the air. Furiously the buffalo charged at him, pounding away with her horns in a manner which made it seem impossible that any life would be left in him. While the buffalo was retreating to make another charge, the lion, managing to roll himself over, recovered his feet. The buffalo received him as before, on her head. He in vain endeavoured to reach her hinder quarters, and once more she bore him into the brushwood. In an instant he was knocked off with a crash which it seemed must have broken every bone in his body; but he was soon again on his feet. This was more than the lion could stand, and, coward as he was at heart, finding himself thus defeated in his object, he took to flight, pursued by the buffalo, who went dashing away after him through the bush.

Gozo immediately dismounted, and stealing forward, dragged the calf into the bush.

“Gozo is determined that the lion shan’t benefit, even if he escapes the buffalo’s horns,” observed Denis. “Let’s keep out of the way, and we shall see what will next happen.” Presently the buffalo came back, looking about everywhere for her calf; but not observing it, naturally supposed that the lion had carried it off, and consequently away she dashed again in pursuit of the still fugitive king of the wilds.

“The big cowardly cat! I wish that she may overtake him, and give him a pounding which will knock the breath out of his body entirely!” cried Denis.

“What! do you call the lion a cat?” exclaimed Percy.

“To be sure I do. What is he but ‘Felis leo’? which means the cat lion, as you know, in Latin. He is more cowardly, too, than most cats, for he’ll never attack either a man or a beast unless he thinks he has a good chance of coming off the victor. I have not forgotten an unpleasant morning I spent once up a tree, with a couple of lions and their cubs rampaging round me; and if it had not been for my father and Hendricks, I should have been there still, at all events my bones would, for nothing would have induced me to come down and be torn to pieces by the brutes. It was a day or two after Hendricks found you, Lionel, and our friends Mangaleesu and Kalinda made a wonderful escape from their enemies which you have heard of.”

“What do you mean by finding Lionel? I thought he was the son of Hendricks,” said Percy.

“So I am his adopted son,” answered Lionel. “At first Hendricks thought that my parents might be Dutch boers; when Denis however tried to teach me English, I remembered so many English words that he was convinced they were English people; but although he has endeavoured to discover them for my sake rather than for his own, he has never yet succeeded in finding even the slightest clue as to who they could be.”

“How very curious!” said Percy. “When I get home to my father and mother, I must tell them all about it. They will be much interested, and I hope, Lionel, that you will come and see them.”

“I should like to do so very much, if Hendricks will let me,” said Lionel. “But he wants me to accompany him on this expedition, that I may become as great a hunter as he is, and that is just what I should like to be. I am sure, therefore, that he will not allow me to stay with your family longer than the one night we shall outspan at the farm, as we have had so many delays that he is in a hurry to push on.”

The conversation was interrupted by a loud crashing of the underwood, and the lion was seen bleeding from numerous wounds, springing on over all impediments, with the buffalo in the distance, still pursuing him.

He took no notice of the party on horseback, except to turn slightly aside as he came near them. He was too far beyond range to enable either Denis or Gozo to hit him. Although the buffalo came much nearer, Denis would not injure the noble brute; but the Kaffir would have tried to kill her, had not he and Lionel shouted out to him not to fire. The lion had not made many bounds forward when he fell. He managed, however, again to get himself on his feet, and was once more going on when the buffalo got up to him, and striking his hinder quarters with her horns, sent him flying, heels over head; then dashing forward, she struck him again and again before he had time to bring his claws into play.

“Hurrah! she’s done for him!” cried Denis, as the brave animal was seen butting and then trampling on the carcase of the lion. “We had better let her enjoy her victory without interference; for probably, being in a combative mood, she may run a muck at us, and we shall be under the painful necessity of shooting her.”

Just as he was speaking, Lionel shouted—

“Look out! look out!” and the brave buffalo, catching sight of the horses, and probably fancying that they were fresh enemies, came dashing through the underwood towards them. Denis had only just time to throw himself from his horse, Gozo having already dismounted, when the enraged animal was close upon them. Percy galloped off on one side and Lionel on the other. Denis fired, aiming at the buffalo, as did Gozo immediately afterwards, but Denis’s bullet flattened against her hard skull, and although Gozo wounded her in the neck, she came on. Denis fully expected to be tossed into the air or trampled to death, when Lionel’s horse standing stock still, he raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the buffalo, and must have entered her heart, for she at that instant fell so close to Denis, that he narrowly escaped an awkward prong from her horns directed towards him.

“Bravo, Lionel! you did that well, and many thanks to you for it,” he exclaimed. “Hendricks will be as delighted to hear of it, as I am that you took so true an aim.”

“I am very glad I brought the beast down,” said Lionel, “though I would rather she had shown her discretion by keeping clear of us. Poor brute, she deserved a better fate.”

Gozo, however, who was influenced by no such feelings, immediately set to work to cut up the buffalo, and to preserve some of the more valuable parts of the meat, but Denis suggested that in consequence of the state of irritation the creature had been in, it could not be wholesome.

The Kaffir, however, laughed at this notion, and declared that it would make no difference. Denis begged that he would be quick about it, as Percy especially was suffering from thirst.

The Kaffir suggested that he should drink some of the blood, but Percy naturally shuddered at the idea, and declared that the very thought of it made him feel less thirsty.

“A proof that you are not dying of thirst,” observed Denis. “However, you are perfectly right. The chances are, had you followed Gozo’s advice, you would have been made very ill.”

The Kaffir having secured a portion of the meat in a tree, and covered it over with part of the hide, some boughs being placed on the top of all, they rode on as fast as their tired horses could go in the direction of the stream. They carried some of the meat, both of the buffalo and wildebeest, with them, but to eat it would have been impossible until they had quenched their thirst.

At last Gozo shouted out, “See, see! there is the water!” and they caught sight below them of a stream glittering in the sun as it wound its way through the broad valley. Their horses appeared to have seen it also, for they moved forward with more alacrity than heretofore. Presently, as they rounded a thicket, up sprang just before them a herd of waterbok.

“Whollop-a-hoo!” cried Denis, his usual hunting cry, and he dashed forward. “Venison will be better than tough wildebeest or heated buffalo meat.”

Reining in, as he was close to the animals, he fired, and brought one of them down.

“Hurrah!” cried his companions.

“We must have another!” he exclaimed. “Lionel, see what you can do. Gozo, stop and look after the beast I have shot;” and he rode forward, loading as he went.

Lionel got ahead of him, and also pulling up fired, and stopped the career of another of the herd.

“Capital!” cried Denis. “If we kill nothing else to-day, we shall have done very well.”

There was certainly no chance of their catching the rest of the waterbok, which, dashing down to the river, swam across, and were half-way up the opposite bank before the horsemen had reached the brink. A little higher up was a ford, and they might have crossed at once, but neither they nor their horses were inclined to do so without drinking. Their steeds rushing in, soon had their noses in the refreshing liquid. They all three dismounted, although they had to step into the water; but as the bottom was hard, no mud was raised, and they lapped up the liquid in their palms. They were soon joined by Gozo, who had thrown the second waterbok killed by Lionel across his horse. As he had no shoes, and his legs were bare, he walked farther across the ford, and he and his horse followed their example. Presently he shouted out in Kaffir, and Lionel exclaimed—

“He says that he sees a crocodile, and there may be more near. We had better get out of the water as fast as we can, or one of us or a horse may be caught hold of.”

Percy, who, although as brave as any fellow, had a great horror of the voracious creatures, quickly led his horse out of the water.

“Come away, come away!” he shouted. “I see one of the brutes on the opposite side eyeing us, and he’ll be making a dash in this direction presently, if we don’t get on shore.”

Lionel and Denis laughed, and deliberately led their unwilling steeds to the shore.

“Tell Gozo to make haste. The crocodile is moving—it is coming towards him. I’m sure it is!” cried Percy.

Gozo, looking round, seemed to think the same, for throwing himself on horseback, he urged on his animal to the bank. He was only just in time, for the crocodile came on rapidly.

“Shout, shout!” cried Denis, and they all shouted together.

He took also still more effectual means of stopping the animal by firing at its head; with what effect he could not tell, except that the creature swerved from its course, and away it went swimming down the stream, probably frightened as much by the shouts as by the tap of the bullet on its skull.

“Now I vote we have some dinner,” cried Denis. “We have plenty of food, that’s a good thing to be thankful for; but we will be prudent, and not pitch our camp close to the stream, or one of those gentlemen may take a fancy to interrupt us while we enjoy our meal, and make a meal of us.”

Matches having been introduced in those days, and there being an abundance of dry wood about, a fire was quickly lighted, a couple of hundred yards or so from the bank, on a stony spot where there was no risk of igniting the herbage. The horses were knee-haltered and turned loose, and the young hunters set themselves diligently to work to cook their venison and warm up some mealy cakes which they had brought in their saddle-bags; a small kettle was put on to boil, and tea was made. Pepper and salt were not wanting, and although they had no milk, they agreed that they could very well dispense with that luxury, especially as they had plenty of sugar.

“Well, this is what I call jolly,” cried Percy. “Although my throat now feels as if a flowing stream had run down it, pleasanter than being like a dust bin, I’ll trouble you, Denis, for another cup of tea.”

They were too hungry to wait until their meat was cooked, so they nibbled their cakes and sipped their tea while waiting, till Denis pronounced the venison fit for the table. It was very juicy, and certainly not overdone. Gozo had in the meantime disposed of a couple of slices before they were well warmed through.

“I say,” said Percy, “we must not spend much time here, if we are to get back before dark. I had no idea how fast time had gone by; it is two o’clock already. Fortunately we have more game than we can carry home on our horses, and we need not be ashamed of ourselves.”

“I should like first to knock over another wildebeest, or an elephant, if one were to come in our way,” said Denis. “The tusks would be of more value than all the meat we have obtained, as I have no doubt Hendricks will have brought in more than we shall.”

As he spoke, he leant back to enjoy that rest which a hunter can best appreciate.

“Still I advise that we should not delay,” said Percy. “Hendricks told us to get back before dark, and we promised to do so. It would be no valid excuse to say that we were tempted to stop longer than we intended, for the sake of hunting even the most valuable game.”

“Your are right,” answered Denis. “Just hand me another cup of tea, there’s a good fellow. I don’t feel I have had quite enough liquid to supply the amount evaporated during the morning.”

“That was a curious story you were telling me of yourself, Lionel,” observed Percy; “I am more interested than you may suppose. Should you like to find your real father and mother?”

“Indeed, I should,” answered Lionel; “for young as I was, I fancy I remember my mother. I have often in my sleep seen her standing by my bedside and watching over me. I was very fond of Aunt Susannah. Still I never looked upon her as my mother. She was very different to the lady I remember.”

“Then you think your mother was a lady?” asked Percy.

“I am certain of it,” answered Lionel; “and a very charming lady, too. I am as sure of that as I am of my own existence.”

While they were speaking, Gozo, who had been looking about him, cried out in a low voice, pointing to the river, “See, see!”

As they sat up, they observed a troop of elephants approaching the ford from the opposite side.

“We must try and get a shot at one of those fellows,” exclaimed Denis, looking round to ascertain where the horses were feeding. Satisfied that they were well away from the track the elephants were likely to take, he began creeping along towards some bushes close to the river, at no great distance from the ford.

“The young master knows what he is about,” whispered Gozo to Lionel, as they followed behind Percy, who had kept close to Denis.

They reached the bush without the elephants having observed them. The animals came on, and arranged themselves along the bank, some going into the ford, while others kept on dry ground, near enough to dip their trunks into the water. Having satisfied their thirst, they commenced squirting the water over their backs, so as to give themselves a pleasant shower bath that hot day, appearing to be in no hurry to proceed. The party in ambush began to fear that they would move back the way they had come, and that there would be no chance of getting a shot at them.

“The time is passing, and we ought to be on our way to camp,” whispered Percy. “Would it not be better to give up the chance of killing an elephant to-day? We could not carry home the tusks, and it would be a long distance to send for them.”

“Hendricks won’t mind that. We might carry them between us part of the way, and they are too valuable to be lost,” answered Denis; “but see, what is that fellow about?”

He pointed to one of the elephants who had gone farther into the ford than the rest. He was slowly moving across; now he stopped and looked back at his companions, then he went on again: from the way he lifted his legs it was evident that he was dragging something attached to one of them. Another elephant followed the first, the largest in the herd. As the former got into the more shallow water, near the bank where the young hunters lay concealed, what was their astonishment to perceive that he had a huge crocodile clinging to his leg, just below the knee! The saurian seemed to have fixed its sharp teeth so securely in the tough skin of the elephant that it could not withdraw them. At all events, it made no attempt to get free. Perhaps it held on under the idea that it would be able to bring the elephant to the ground and feast off its body. If so, it was greatly mistaken. The elephant seemed in no way alarmed, but went on dragging the creature along with it. When it reached the bank, it uttered a peculiar cry and stood still. On this the largest elephant came hurrying up, and winding his trunk round the body of the crocodile, which he pressed against his tusks—he dragged it by main force from the leg of his companion, then lifting it in the air, walked with stately pace—the creature vainly struggling to free itself—till he reached a stiff forked, thorny tree of moderate height, and without more ado, raising the crocodile as high as he could, he brought its body down with a tremendous crash on the pointed branches, where he left it impaled, struggling, but ineffectually, to free itself. Its escape was as hopeless as a poor cockchafer pinned by a cruel boy to a board.

The elephants regarded its struggles with evident satisfaction. They were little aware of the danger they themselves were in from the bullets of the hunters. The leader at length gave vent to a triumphant trumpeting, and moved on, followed by his companions, at a leisurely pace; but instead of coming near the bush where the hunters lay concealed, they turned in the opposite direction. To fire would have been utterly useless. The tough hide of an elephant will turn a bullet, unless discharged at a short distance, and even then it can only penetrate at certain parts with any chance of killing. The hunters waited still hoping that one of the hindermost elephants might turn aside and come nearer to them. But the last went by, following the footsteps of the leader, and all chance of getting a shot was over, unless they were to start up, and by going ahead of the herd, have time to conceal themselves in another ambush until the animals came past them.

Denis wanted to do this, but Percy reminded him that they were already late, and that after all they might miss the elephants.

“I suppose you are right,” answered Denis, reluctantly; “but I vote, before we start, that we take another slice of venison. I have scarcely had enough, and it may be a long time before we get any food in these wild regions. It is always better to eat when we can, in case we should have nothing to put into our mouths later. You will see that Gozo follows my principle.”

The fire had kept burning, and probably caused the elephants to turn aside away from it. As there was no necessity for further concealment, the party returned to their camp. Gozo proved that Denis was right, by cutting off some huge slices, which in spite of the quantity he had before eaten, he quickly stowed away in his inside. The horses were feeding at no great distance off, so that they could keep watch over them. They had hitherto been perfectly quiet, notwithstanding the proximity of the elephants, cropping such tufts of grass as they could find here and there, or the tender shoots of trees. Suddenly they began to move about uneasily. First one lifted up its head and gazed around, then another and another did the same Gozo observing them looked anxious and said something to Denis. At that instant, before they could rise to their feet, a dozen Zulus, who had crept up unperceived, suddenly sprang up as if from the ground, holding their assegais poised in their hands, and completely surrounded them.

Lionel, who was rapid in all his movements, lifted his rifle to fire.

“Don’t do that!” cried Denis, in time to stop him; “it would be the signal to them to kill us. We are in for it, and must try to make friends with them.”

Percy, who was looking towards the horses, cried out,—“They have got hold of them all.”

Several Zulus had in the meantime caught the animals, and were now leading them up towards the camp.

It was evident that an attempt to escape would be useless, so the young hunters sat still, as did Gozo, who looked very much astonished, not being able to make out why the Zulus had captured them. They were fierce-looking fellows, some of them being apparently chiefs, for they wore kilts of monkey or cat skins round their waists. Their breasts and backs were covered with ox-tails, while their heads were adorned with caps of monkey skins, in which were stuck tall plumes composed of ostrich and crane feathers. The rest of the men had very little clothing beyond a small kilt of skins round their waists. They all carried shields on their arms and a bundle of assegais in their hands. Denis was the first to recover from his astonishment, and turning toward one who appeared to be their leader, he asked in as quiet a tone as he could command—

“Why have you thus come suddenly upon us, while we were enjoying our repast? Such is not the way the Zulus behave towards their friends the English.”

“We knew not whether you were English or boers, and we found you hunting in our territory,” answered the chief.

“The English have never been prevented from hunting wherever they choose throughout Zululand,” answered Denis.

“That matters not at present,” said the chief. “You are our prisoners; you must accompany us to our king, and beware that you make no resistance or attempt to escape.”

Denis interpreted what the chief said to Percy, who was naturally anxious to know the result of the conversation.

“We must put the best face we can on the matter,” he added, “and I only hope that they’ll let us keep our guns.”

This seemed very doubtful, for from their looks the Zulus certainly did not regard their prisoners with any affectionate feeling. Lionel had not hitherto spoken, and as they found that Percy was unacquainted with their language, they supposed that he was so likewise.

“Don’t speak to them, Lionel,” said Denis. “I’ll act as interpreter, and then you may be able to find out why they have taken us prisoners, and what they intend to do to us.”

“It will be wise to do so,” answered Lionel; “and if I am able to get away, I will let Uncle Hendricks know what has happened, and he will very soon be down upon these gentlemen, and rescue you.”

“A good idea, and I hope that you may succeed,” said Denis. “In the meantime the best thing we can do is to pretend to be as much at our ease as possible. I don’t think the fellows intend to kill us, or to do us any harm.”

“They look fierce enough,” said Percy. “I only hope, Lionel, that you’ll be able to carry out your plan; but you must run no unnecessary risk. I should think that Hendricks is sure to search for us, when he finds that we do not return; whereas, should they find you trying to run away, they might, in very wantonness, send an assegai through you.”

“If I try to run, it will be at night, when there will be very little chance of being discovered,” answered Lionel; “I hear the men saying that they are about to carry us off. Should we be separated, we must keep up our courage, remember that.”

As he spoke, two Kaffirs seized each of the lads somewhat roughly by the arms, to make them get up, and at the same time snatched their rifles out of their hands. This done, the chiefs, squatting down, appropriated the remainder of the venison, which they quickly ate up, while their followers stood holding their prisoners at a little distance. The chiefs then rising, ordered the men who had charge of the horses to bring them up, and mounting, rode forward, while the rest of the party, holding fast the young Englishmen, followed behind.

They first ascended the hill, down which Denis and his companions had come, but they soon altered their course, and proceeded first to the south, and then turning due west continued their march.

“I can’t say that I quite like the way they are treating us,” said Denis. “It shows that they are not animated by any friendly spirit, or they would not have ridden our horses while they make us walk. It puzzles me to say to what party they can belong. I am nearly certain that King Panda and his son Cetchwayo would not treat us in this fashion, as they have always shown a tolerably friendly feeling towards the English.”

“I have been trying to listen to what the men have been saying, but I cannot make out what they intend to do with us,” observed Lionel.

“At all events, it is a comfort that we are allowed to keep together,” said Percy. “It strikes me that perhaps their object is to hold us as hostages for some purpose or other, but what purpose that is I can’t even guess.”

Poor Gozo looked very crestfallen, as he was led along at some distance from his young masters; he, apparently, fully expecting to be put to death.

They proceeded for some way at a rapid rate, which, active as the three friends were, they found it very difficult to keep up with. Occasionally the chiefs looked back to see that they were coming, and Denis thought he saw them laughing and casting scornful looks at him and his companions. They went on without stopping to rest or take any food; sometimes up hill, sometimes down, across valleys, and over rocky ground, until, as evening was approaching, the hum of human voices was heard. Some little distance ahead a kraal was seen on the side of a hill, while in the valley below were assembled a large concourse of men employed in various ways; some formed into regiments were marching here and there, others collected round fires were engaged in cooking, while a considerable number were employed in putting up huts.

“Who can they be?” asked Percy.

“I suppose that they must be Cetchwayo’s followers, and if so we shall find him there. He, at all events, is not likely to do us any harm, if, as is generally supposed, he wishes to be friends with the English. I know that he sometimes holds a sort of court by himself, away from the king, although he is said to have almost as much power in the country as his fat old father,” answered Denis. “I’ll try and find out from our guards.”

When Denis, however, put the question to the Zulus, they, not understanding, or not wishing to give him information, made him no answer.

“Never fear, it will be all right,” said Denis. “When Cetchwayo finds that we belong to Hendricks, whom he knows well, he will set us at liberty, and soundly rate our captors for carrying us off.”

They were still, however, left in doubt as to how they were to be treated. The chiefs on horseback proceeded down the hill, and directed their course towards one end of the valley, where a large hut had been put up, before which was seated a tall, rather stout personage, with several chiefs standing near him.

“That must be Cetchwayo,” said Denis, pointing him out to Percy. “I never saw the black prince, but he answers his description.”

On reaching the neighbourhood of the hut, the chiefs dismounted, and giving their horses to some attendants, advanced on foot. After going through the usual ceremonies, they stood on one side, and their leader making a sign to his followers to come forward with their prisoners, the prince cast a frowning glance at them; perhaps it was habitual to his countenance.

“Can either of you speak the Zulu tongue?” he inquired in a gruff voice.

“I can,” answered Denis in the same language, stepping forward. “What does the Prince require of us?”

“To whom do you belong?” was the next question.

“To Hendricks the hunter and trader. He is well known to you,” answered Denis.

“I care not for your relatives or friends. Whom do you hold to be the chief person in Zululand?”

“Surely who else but King Panda and his son Cetchwayo?” replied Denis, in a confident tone.

“In that respect you have not answered wisely. Panda is king it is true; but Cetchwayo, who is he?”

“I thought that you were Cetchwayo,” said Denis.

“In that you are mistaken, young Englishman; I am Umbulazi, a better man than Cetchwayo, and have more right to be the prince than he has.”

“I beg your pardon,” answered Denis, in no way abashed.

“Understand, Prince, that we are travellers through the country, that we have come to trade and to hunt, but we do not pretend to have more affection for one ruler than another. We were on a hunting expedition to obtain some meat for our camp when your followers seized us and brought us here. All we now ask is to be set at liberty, and to be allowed to return to our friends who are anxiously waiting us.”

“Such cannot be allowed,” answered Umbulazi. “You will carry information of what you have seen to Cetchwayo, who will then be induced to attack us before we are ready for him.”

“We promise to give no information which will in any way injure you,” said Denis.

“I shall take very good care of that,” answered Umbulazi. “Whether the English intend to be friends to me or not, it matters little. I have many followers, some of whom you see here, and many more will join me ere long; so that we shall soon drive Cetchwayo out of the country, and Umbulazi will some day be king of Zululand.”

Denis had heard that a son of King Panda, Umbulazi, had been supplanted by a younger son, Cetchwayo, and that, being destitute of talents and ability, he was not likely to attempt to interfere in the affairs of state, but to remain quietly at his kraal, attending to his herds, and cultivating his mealy grounds. It was now evident that he was in open rebellion, and it was very important not to offend him; for, like other Zulu chiefs, he was utterly regardless of human life. Denis therefore feared that should he say anything to excite his anger, he might order his guards to cut him and his companions to pieces, or might give them leave to amuse themselves by throwing their assegais at them. He therefore assumed as humble a manner as he could, and replied, “When Umbulazi is king, all Englishmen who come into this country will pay him reverence, and abide by his laws, as I and my friends now wish to do. Again I ask that we may have permission to proceed on our way, as our leader, Hendricks, the great hunter, is waiting for us; and as we shall in a short time pass the borders of Zululand, we cannot trouble Umbulazi by our presence.”

The prince said something not very complimentary to the speaker, signifying that he was talking nonsense. He then ordered some of his attendants to carry the three prisoners to a hut close by, and to place a guard over them until he had determined how they should be disposed of.

Chapter Seven.

In the hands of the Zulus.

The three lads found themselves the sole occupants of a hut about seven feet in diameter, and of a height scarcely sufficient to enable them to stand upright, except in the centre. There was but one opening, through which they had been compelled to creep, and this was closed by one of their guards sitting down before it, with his knees drawn up to his chin, the only light and air they enjoyed being admitted through the small space above his shoulders.

“It isn’t altogether pleasant to be shut up like rats in a trap,” said Denis, as he surveyed the hut; “but it might have been worse if a party of Kaffirs had slept in it last night. As far as I can judge it hasn’t been occupied before.”

“If it had, there would have been mats and bundles of grass,” observed Lionel; “whereas we shall have nothing but the bare ground to lie on.”

“As the ground appears to be perfectly dry, we need not complain of that,” observed Percy, “I only hope that the chief will let us go in the morning.”

“There’s very little chance of that,” said Denis. “He intends that we should be of some use to him, or he would not have sent his people to capture us. I wonder whether he will send us some food.”

“I can’t say I feel very hungry,” observed Percy. “It is fortunate that we took a good dinner.”

They waited and waited, expecting that Umbulazi would think of them, but no food was brought. At last Denis spoke to their Kaffir guard, saying that they were very hungry, and would be much obliged if he would obtain some provisions; but no answer was returned to his request.

“I believe the fellow is asleep,” said Lionel. “Yes! listen, I can hear him snoring. I see his head nodding through the opening. If that’s the way he keeps guard, I think I can play him a trick; and the chances are the rest of the fellows are asleep also. It is now nearly dark outside. In a little time the whole camp will have lain down. We could easily make a hole under the wall of the hut, large enough for me to creep through, and once outside, if the guards don’t catch me, I could find my way to where the horses are feeding.”

“A capital idea,” said Denis. “I don’t think there will be much difficulty in carrying it out.”

“But you would run a fearful risk of having an assegai sent through you if you were discovered,” exclaimed Percy. “For your own sake I had much rather you did not make the attempt.”

“I am not afraid of that,” answered Lionel. “I’ll take good care not to be caught. I know the ways of the people, where they are likely to be sleeping, and where their guards are posted. The chances are they will be asleep in a short time, like that fellow who is acting as doorkeeper to us. If I can manage to reach our camp, Hendricks will soon come and set you free.”

“But suppose you were to meet a lion or leopard, as you have no rifle, how would you defend yourself?”

“I would keep out of his way, and shout and shriek at the top of my voice, you may depend upon that,” he answered.

Percy was at last induced, though not very willingly, to consent to Lionel’s making the attempt he proposed.

They all three sat down on the ground to talk over the matter, and agreed that it would not be wise to commence operations until later on in the night.

Fortunately Percy had a match-box, for the Zulus had not rifled their pockets, and striking a light, he ascertained that it was about eleven o’clock.

“We cannot have a better time,” said Denis, “so we’ll set to work immediately; but I say, we must keep talking, lest that black guard of ours should open his ears and suspect something.”

They accordingly all three began talking as if holding some exciting discussion, Denis every now and then giving way to a hearty laugh.

Percy tried to imitate him, but did not succeed very well, for he was exceedingly anxious about Lionel’s undertaking, which he thought more dangerous than it really was. Having no tools except their knives, the operation was a long one. They cut through the lower part of the twigs, and had to scrape away the earth with their hands. Only two could work at a time, and they took it by turns, the third sitting near the door to hide his companions or give notice, should the guard awake and look in.

“We shall be through in another minute!” exclaimed Lionel. “Hurrah, it is done now!” he cried out soon afterwards. “I can be through in a moment. What is the old fellow at the door about?”

“He is still snoring away,” answered Percy.

“Well, then, do you and Denis keep talking and laughing, and I’ll slip out.”

“But do come back if you find any difficulty in making your way to the horses,” said Percy. “It would be far better that we should submit to whatever the prince intends than that you should run the risk of being killed.”

“No fear,” answered Lionel, as he shook hands with his companions. “Depend upon it, I shall be safe with Hendricks before the morning. Good-bye!” and he began to crawl through the opening. He stopped, however, before he was quite through, and backing in said, “Remember to close the hole, Denis, before the morning, so that, if possible, the Zulus might not discover how I got out.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Denis, and Lionel again crawled through the opening. Not the slightest noise was made, so that the guards at the entrance of the hut, even if they had not been asleep, would not have heard him. Denis, as soon as he had gone, lay down with his head to the opening to listen. No sound reached his ears. He then crept partly through, but could see nothing. Not a person was stirring, not even a dog barked. “Lionel will get clear, I hope,” he said, as he drew back into the hut. “He is a wonderfully sharp, clever little fellow. As he lived so long among the Zulus, he knows all their ways. Even if he meets any one, he will be able to pretend to be a young Zulu, provided it is still dark, though of course his dress would betray him in daylight. I almost wish that we had gone too,” said Denis. “If he succeed, so might we.”

“Not so sure of that,” observed Percy. “Three objects moving along the ground would be more likely to be discovered than one; and if I were addressed, I, at all events, could not pretend to be a Zulu boy, whatever you might do. Still, it would have been satisfactory had we all got free; but then, what would have become of poor Gozo? They would have assegaid him in revenge. Depend upon it, we were wiser to remain. Perhaps, after all, Lionel is hiding, and may find it necessary to come back.”

They waited anxiously, almost fearing to hear Lionel’s voice. Time went on, but he did not make his appearance. At last Denis thought that he might venture to stop up the opening; so he began shovelling in the earth and replacing the twigs; he knew, however, should any one examine the outside, it must be discovered that a hole had been made; but it was just possible that it might not be observed, and he amused himself by thinking that if so how puzzled the Zulus would be to account for the disappearance of Lionel.

“I’ll pretend not to know what has become of him, and to be as much astonished as they are,” he said, laughing. “I’ll suggest that he might have vanished through the roof, or that he was not put in at all, or that he has evaporated, although, to be sure, they won’t know what that means, and I don’t know how I could well explain it, as the Kaffir tongue has nothing equivalent to the term. However, I’ll do my best to mystify them.”

“I would rather not make the attempt. I always hold that we ought to tell the truth and stand the consequences,” said Percy. “He had a perfect right to run away, and he exercised that right. I would rather you said what had happened, and that he had gone only for our sakes, to let our friends know what has become of us.”

“Well, we’ll see how things turn out,” said Denis. “Are you not beginning to feel hungry?”

“Indeed I am, and sleepy too,” answered Percy. “I would rather have something to eat; but as we cannot get that, the best thing we can do is to go to sleep. I’ll try, although our couches are not of the most luxurious description.”

Percy lay down, as did Denis. They felt various creatures crawling over them; but they knew that they must bear such annoyances patiently. Their eyes in a short time closed, and they went fast asleep. They were aroused at early dawn by the shouts and cries of hundreds of voices. The Zulu gaoler no longer stopped up the doorway by his black body. They concluded that he was not afraid they would attempt to escape during daylight, as they would certainly be seen.

Denis therefore crawled out of the hut to look about him. The sun was just rising over the hills to the eastward. The whole valley, at the farther end of which they were, was filled with warriors formed into regiments of four or five hundred men each. Some little distance off, in front of his hut, stood the chief, Umbulazi, surrounded by his counsellors and other wise men.

Suddenly all the men commenced performing the most extraordinary antics, leaping, and whirling, and twisting, and turning, at the same time uttering the loudest shrieks and cries at the top of their voices.

“What are they about?” asked Percy, who had crept out after Denis.

“They are simply dancing a war dance in honour of their chief. We shall have an opportunity of witnessing their performance.”

The chief and his attendants were so busily employed in watching the troops, that they did not observe the young Englishmen standing outside their prison.

Presently the leading regiment began to move forward, the men still leaping, twisting, and turning, shaking their shields, quivering their assegais, and shouting all the time until they approached to where the chief stood, when halting for an instant they redoubled their efforts, and then passed on (it cannot be said they marched) to give room for another party who went through the same style of performance.

When the whole had passed in review, they dispersed in different directions, some to bring in wood, and others to slaughter some oxen which had been driven into the camp for the purpose.

So occupied had Umbulazi been with this extraordinary review of his troops, that he had apparently forgotten all about his prisoners, who meantime stood watching the proceedings, much interested with the curious spectacle. Denis at length proposed that they should make off, catch their horses, and gallop away. Percy was opposed to this, as it was nearly certain they would be seen and followed.

“I’m afraid you are right,” said Denis; “and there’s another strong argument in favour of staying—I’m so desperately hungry, that I don’t think I could ride far without food; and as these fellows will soon be having breakfast, I conclude that they will have the grace to offer us some. If they don’t, I shall make bold to go and take it, for they won’t object, even though they may intend to assegai us directly afterwards.”

They waited until the review was over. Denis then advised Percy to go back into the hut, while he set off on a foraging expedition.

“If we two were to go together, they would wonder what had become of Lionel, but if I alone appear, they will suppose that you are both inside the hut,” he said. “The chances are, they don’t put in their heads to find out; for everybody is so busily employed that they won’t trouble themselves about us.”

Percy agreed to the proposal, and creeping in, sat down to wait the return of Denis.

“There’s nothing like putting a bold face upon the matter,” thought Denis; and seeing Umbulazi standing in front of his hut, he walked boldly up to him.

“Unigane!” he said, saluting him in the Kaffir fashion.

“Saka bona,” answered the chief, equivalent to good morning. “What is it you want, my friend?”

“My companions and I were made prisoners by your people, but I conclude that you do not wish to starve us, and we want some breakfast,” answered Denis.

“You should have remained inside the hut where you were placed, and it would have been brought to you,” said the chief, apparently just recollecting all about his captives. “How dare you come out?”

“To obtain some fresh air, and to see you review your magnificent army,” answered Denis.

“And you think that my soldiers are fine fellows?” said the chief, evidently well pleased. “They will be able to drive Cetchwayo and all his followers out of the country, so that none will be left to oppose me.”

“I have not seen Cetchwayo’s army, so that I cannot reply to that remark,” answered Denis. “What is in the future no man can tell.”

“Ah! but I have engaged a famous enchantress who knows all things that are going to happen. She is to come to me this morning, having spent the night in looking into the future, and will tell me what is to be my fate, whether I shall be defeated or gain the victory and become king of the Zulus.”

“If you become king of the country, you will wish to be friends with the English, as Panda is. Now it strikes me, the best way to show your friendly intentions is to treat well those who fall into your power. I hope therefore, after we have had some breakfast, that you will restore us our rifles and horses, and allow us to return to those who are waiting for us.”

“Go back to your hut, and wait until I send for you!” answered Umbulazi, making a grimace from which Denis drew no favourable augury. He thought it wise to obey.

“What news?” asked Percy, as he entered.

“One certain piece of news is that Lionel got off safe; but what the chief intends doing with us is more than I can say. I hope he will send us some breakfast; if not, we must forage for ourselves. The fellows down there will soon have their meat cooked and their mealy cakes baked. Before they have eaten them all up I will go down to one of the fires and claim a portion.”

They waited for some time.

“I can stand this no longer!” cried Denis at last, and he got up intending to proceed to the nearest fire, when just as he crawled through the opening a Kaffir woman appeared carrying a basket on her head.

“The chief has sent you this,” she said; “you are to eat it and be thankful; but he bids me tell you that if you attempt to run away you will be killed.”

“We are much obliged to the chief,” said Denis, as the girl placed the basket on the ground. “Tell him that we wish to remain friends, and that when he gives us permission we will bid him good-bye.”

Denis, however, was too hungry to say more, and taking up the basket entered the hut. It contained a gourd of whey, some mealy cakes and cooked buffalo flesh.

“This isn’t bad, after all,” observed Denis as they fell to. “We have got Lionel’s share as well as our own; however, we may stow that away in case we want it.”

They had just finished their meal when their attention was attracted by a loud hubbub outside.

Denis crept out to ascertain the cause of the noise. Percy followed him, when they saw the whole Zulu army collected in two long lines, extending to the farther end of the valley. In the distance appeared one of the strangest figures imaginable. It was that, as the dress betokened, of a woman. Slowly she advanced up the centre, between the two lines of warriors, followed by a dozen men or more, carrying large shields, against which they beat with their clubs, making a sound like that of drums. As she drew near it was seen that she was bedecked in the most curious fashion. Her nose was painted white, as was one of her eyelids, while the other was dyed with red earth. Her long hair was plastered together by a mixture of grease and clay blackened with charcoal. Round her neck were suspended coils of the entrails of animals stuffed with fat, while her hair was stuck over in all directions with the gall bladders of animals. Several dried snakes, a human skull, and the heads and claws of birds, hung suspended from her shoulders, besides which she wore a necklace made of human finger bones, and rings of the same description round her ankles, her only actual garment being a short kilt hanging from her waist. In her left hand she held a wand with long tails at its end, which she flourished vigorously above her head as she advanced with prancing steps up the valley. In her right she carried her magic rattle, which she shook violently, now on one side, now on the other. The men drew aside to let her pass and to avoid being struck either by her wand or rattle, evidently holding her in great awe. On she came, however, disregarding their terror, and showing no inclination to denounce any of them as evil-doers, the service wizards and enchantresses are generally employed in rendering to the governing powers. As she got near to Umbulazi, she increased the rapidity of her movements, springing forward in the most wonderful manner, now turning to one side, now to the other, and bounding high in the air, while the charms she wore rattled and bumped against her body. Umbulazi and the chiefs round him watched these proceedings with intense eagerness, wondering what she would next do. Presently her eye fell on Denis and Percy.

“I think we should be wise to get into our hut,” exclaimed Percy. “I don’t like the look of that hideous creature.”

Before, however, they could do so she was up to them, and flourishing her magical wand she struck them both on the shoulders. Although the blows did not hurt them, the effects were likely to prove disastrous. In another instant she had bounded away, and was apparently about to retire between the lines of soldiers. She had not gone far, however, before Umbulazi shouted to her to return.

Almost directly she had delivered the blows, several of the Zulu warriors, chiefs and others, rushed with threatening gestures towards the two captives. Denis, who was well acquainted with the customs of the Zulus, fully expected that a cruel death was instantly to be their lot; but mustering all his courage, he put on as determined a look as he could assume.

“We’re in for it, Percy,” he said, “so you must be prepared for the worst; but I’ll try what I can do with these abominable savages.”

Then looking boldly at the surrounding chiefs he addressed them in an undaunted tone.

“What are ye about to do, my friends?” he asked. “Because that strange woman struck us, are we to be treated as if we had committed some crime or were your sworn enemies?”

But no reply was deigned; all the expostulations he could offer were without the slightest effect. He and Percy were dragged up to the hut of the chief, before whom the woman was standing. He had just put the important question for her to answer—whether if he went to war he should obtain success over his enemies.

“Success will attend those who are the bravest and most numerous. See yonder host spread out before you. Can you doubt, O Prince, that victory will be yours?” she replied, in a loud chanting tone.

Umbulazi looked highly pleased at this answer.

“You hear what the wise woman says?” he exclaimed, turning to his chiefs.

“We will fight, we will gain the victory,” they shouted.

Denis and Percy were all this time watching the proceedings with the greatest anxiety, wondering what would happen to them.

“What would you have me do with these white boys?” asked the chief.

“They have come as spies into your camp. They are the sons of those who have often tried to dispossess you of your lands. Let them, before the sun sets, be pierced through with assegais, and become as the dust of the earth.”

“What does she say?” asked Percy, observing the expression of Denis’s countenance.

“Something not very pleasant to us. She advises these fellows to kill us. But she has made a mistake, and not for the first time in her life; for she declares that we came into the camp to act as spies. Now the prince and the rest of the chiefs know perfectly well that we were brought in prisoners, and I should think they will have wit enough to see that she knows nothing about the matter.”

From the remarks made by the chiefs, and the fierce glances they cast at him and Percy, Denis however felt anything but sure that they would do so.

“I’m very thankful that Lionel escaped,” said Percy. “He will tell Hendricks where we are, and if we do not return, he will know what has become of us. Still I can scarcely fancy that these fellows will really put us to death.”

“I don’t think they would if they were left to themselves,” said Denis; “but that dreadful old woman has so wonderful an influence on their superstitious minds, that she can induce them to do anything she likes. Now I suspect that she is in the interest of the other party, and she thinks that if these fellows can be induced to kill us, they will make our countrymen their enemies.”

“If they are to die, the sooner they are put to death the better,” exclaimed Umbulazi. “We will then, my brave warriors, set forth, sure of victory, to fight our foes.”

Just at this juncture a large band of warriors was seen approaching the camp, led by a chief, who could be distinguished as such by the plumes in his head-dress, his cloak, and kilt of skins, and the ornaments on his oblong shield. He hastened on with his followers towards where Umbulazi was standing. As he drew near, Denis exclaimed—

“I am much mistaken if that young chief is not Mangaleesu, who was for so long living near Maritzburg. He was always a great friend of Lionel’s and mine, and I’m sure he would not see us massacred without trying to save us.” Denis however waited until the fresh arrivals had paid their respects in the usual fashion to the prince. He then shouted out in English, “Mangaleesu, Mangaleesu! come and save us. These people accuse us of being spies, and threaten to kill us, although the prince himself knows we were brought into the camp against our wills, and that our only object is to get back to Hendricks, with whom we are travelling.”

Mangaleesu, on hearing his name called, came up to them, and at once addressing their captors, inquired what crime they had committed.

No one could at first answer him, but at last one of them observed that the great enchantress declared that they had come into the camp as spies.

“But you all know that they were brought into the camp, and I will answer for it that they have no evil intentions against the prince or any one else. If we were to kill them, we should make all the white men in Natal our enemies,” answered Mangaleesu.

His arguments appeared to be prevailing, when the savage old hag, fearing that her influence would be lost, should her orders not be obeyed, shouted out in a croaking voice—

“Kill them! kill them! If they are allowed to live, you cannot gain the victory.”

“If they are killed,” cried Mangaleesu, “neither I nor my followers can unite with those who allow so cruel an act. The English have always been my friends, and I will not see them ill-treated, notwithstanding what that old woman says. It was not long since that she was seen paying a visit to Cetchwayo, and who can tell that she has not been sent by him to betray us?”

The hag, who heard all that was said, began to move uneasily, and gradually drew back from the crowd, until she joined the men who had accompanied her into the camp. So deeply steeped in superstition were the minds of the Zulus, that they could not divest themselves of the idea that her predictions would be fulfilled, in spite of all Mangaleesu had said. Denis and Percy were therefore kept strictly guarded in their midst.

They could see the old witch at some distance gesticulating violently, waving her arms about, occasionally leaping from side to side in the most extraordinary fashion. Now and then she pointed to them in a way which made them fear that she was still urging the chiefs to put them to death. Mangaleesu was the only one who held out. Had he not arrived, it seemed very probable that the savages would have plunged their assegais in their bodies. Even now their lives hung in the balance. For some time she was seen talking to several men, among whom were those who had been their guards during the night. Presently she advanced, and as she waved her wand, and pointed towards them, Denis heard her exclaim—

“There were three of them! Where is the third? Without him the number is incomplete.”

The prince, who seemed to have forgotten this fact, on hearing her speak, exclaimed—

“You are right, most sagacious prophetess. There were three. Bring him forth, that he may suffer the doom of the others.”

Instantly several of the young chiefs rushed to the hut, and were seen, one after the other, crawling in.

“They’ll be mighty puzzled when they find that he’s not there,” said Denis. “I’m doubly thankful that he got off if we are to be killed, and there seems a great chance of that.”

“Do you think they’ll have the barbarity to put us to death?” asked Percy. “What object can they have in doing so?”

“Those fellows think no more of killing a man than we do of snuffing out a candle. If Mangaleesu cannot persuade them to let us go, we’ll have a poor chance indeed of escape.”

It seemed that Denis was right in his conjectures. The dreadful old witch was evidently bent on their destruction. Still, while there’s life there’s hope, and Percy did not give way to despair. They both maintained as calm a manner as they could command.

Again Mangaleesu addressed the prince with a boldness which astonished the other chiefs, who regarded the dreadful old impostor with the most profound awe; but he was again out-talked, both by her and the other chiefs. Presently the men who had gone into the hut to look for Lionel returned with the astonishing announcement that he was not to be found, declaring that they could not account for his disappearance.

“What has become of your companion?” asked Umbulazi.

“We were not set to watch him, and if he’s not there, it’s clear that he’s gone,” answered Denis, adding in English, “and I hope you are much the wiser for the information.”

“How did he go?” asked the prince.

“If he walked, he went on two legs,” answered Denis.

“But how did he get out of the hut?” inquired the Prince.

“The guards who had us in charge should answer that question,” said Denis, in the same tone as before.

“Where are the guards? Send them here!” cried Umbulazi, in an angry tone.

Denis feared that the poor fellows would lose their lives, and unwilling to have them put to death, he cried out—

“They are not to blame. He is but a small boy, so he crept out by a hole, through which a large man could not have forced his way. He is with our friends long ago, I hope, so you need not trouble yourselves about him.”

This answer, however, did not save the unfortunate guards, who soon approached, looking very downcast.

“I gave three prisoners into your charge; here are two, but where is the third?” asked the prince.

The three guards could not reply. At last one of them asked permission to go and search the hut. The prince told them that they might do so, but must come back and be killed, if they did not find the boy.

As may be supposed, they were a long time in making the search, and although the Zulus are very indifferent to death, yet they were naturally unwilling to go back and be killed. Denis earnestly hoped that they would try and make their escape, for he justly feared that should the prince once see blood flowing, like the savage tiger, he would be even more ready than before to shed theirs.

At last the prince, growing impatient, ordered some men to go to the hut and bring out the guards, either with or without the prisoner. The unhappy wretches were quickly dragged forward.

“Where is the boy?” asked the prince.

No answer was given.

“Kill them!” he exclaimed; and in an instant some heavy clubs descended on their heads, and each man lay in his blood, pierced by a dozen assegais.

“It will be our turn next!” cried Denis. “Are you ready, Percy?”

“As much as I can be. How thankful I am that Lionel escaped!” As he spoke, a dozen warriors with their assegais uplifted, still dripping with the blood of their former victims, approached; but at that moment there was a cry that some white men were coming, one of them waving a flag.

“Hold!” exclaimed Umbulazi. “It will not be wise to kill the prisoners just as their countrymen are coming. I would rather have them as friends than enemies.”

Denis, who heard him speak, felt his heart bound.

“I don’t think we shall die just yet,” he said to Percy, “for here come Hendricks and Crawford and Umgolo, with a dozen armed men close behind them.”

Chapter Eight.

The escape.

Denis and Percy, taking advantage of the excitement which the arrival of Hendricks and his party caused among the Zulu warriors, rushed out from their midst, and before any one could stop them, they darted away in the direction their friends were coming. Lionel, who was among the first to see them, uttering a shout of joy, galloped forward, followed by Crawford.

“Jump up behind me,” he cried to Denis, stretching out his hand. “We possibly may have to run for it, if Hendricks and Umbulazi don’t agree.”

Percy at the same moment sprang up behind Crawford, while Hendricks, ordering his party to halt, rode forward alone towards the prince, keeping however his horse well in hand, and his rifle ready for instant use.

“I come to salute you, Umbulazi, and to ask you why you detained my young companions; but as they have been restored to me I will not enter into that subject,” he said, drawing up at such a distance that he might, without difficulty extricate himself should it be necessary.

“Do you come as a friend or a foe?” asked the prince.

“I come as a friend, for such I am to all the Zulu people,” answered Hendricks.

“Well, as a friend I invite you to dismount and partake of a feast which will speedily be prepared to do you honour,” said the prince.

“I cannot at present delay my journey,” answered Hendricks, who, his keen eye having observed the expression on the countenances of several of the chiefs, greatly doubted the sincerity of the prince. He also recollected the treacherous way in which a large body of boers had been massacred a few years before by a relative of this very man, having been beguiled by a similar invitation.

Again, however, the prince pressed him, assuming so courteous an air, that he was almost persuaded to yield, when the old prophetess, disappointed at not seeing the boys put to death, came whirling up, shaking her rattle and waving her wand, and crying out to her countrymen, “Beware of the strangers! Beware of the people with pale faces! They are no friends of the Zulus. Now you have them in your power, kill them! kill them all!”

Mangaleesu on hearing this cried out to Umbulazi, “Be not deceived by her. The white men wish to be friends with the Zulus. Harm them not. If injury is done them, the Zulus will be the sufferers.”

Hendricks, who of course understood all that was said, saw that it would be the height of folly to put himself in the power of Umbulazi and his followers, and therefore, thanking Mangaleesu, whom he now recognised, for his good intentions, replied to the prince’s invitation, that his mission being accomplished, he and his party must take their departure.

He was anxious for another reason to get clear of them as soon as possible; for, knowing the jealousy which existed between Umbulazi and Cetchwayo, he felt convinced that the former was about to make war on his more favoured brother, and would very likely try to detain him and his people for the purpose of compelling them to fight on his side. He therefore, uttering an “Usaleke,” the usual Kaffir salutation at leaving, turned his horse’s head and rode back to his companions.

“Keep ready for a start,” he said; “for although we have one friend among them, I cannot depend upon the rest. Show no hurry until I give the word.”

They rode on slowly, Hendricks ordering the rest of the party to go on ahead, while he brought up the rear. He had got to a short distance when Mangaleesu was heard shouting—

“Go on, go on! they try kill! No time lose!”

These words, spoken in English, were mixed up with Kaffir expressions, hurling abuse at their heads, evidently for the purpose of deceiving his countrymen.

Hendricks inwardly thanked Mangaleesu for the warning he had given; still he knew that it was important not to exhibit the slightest alarm, as by so doing he should only the more speedily tempt the Kaffirs to follow. The old witch, now finding that her intended victims were likely to escape her, or rather, that her traitorous plan for committing Umbulazi with the English—for such there can be no doubt she entertained—was a failure, shrieked out to the warriors—

“What! are you going to let the dogs escape? Come on! come on! we shall be even now in time to overtake them. Never mind what Umbulazi says. He will thank you for destroying his enemies.”

At this time she was some distance from the prince, so that her remarks were not heard by him, and no one would have ventured to repeat them. Several of the chiefs had already been influenced by her, and a large number of the men, excited by her denunciations against the hunter and his party, uttering loud shouts, rushed forward with their assegais quivering in their hands, bent on their destruction.

Hendricks, who had been carefully noting what was occurring among the people, even before they made an onward movement, knew what was about to happen. He now saw that not a moment was to be lost.

“On, on, my lads!” he shouted; “keep straight ahead up the hill.”

Crawford, who had gone ahead, with Denis behind him, dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks. Lionel and Percy followed close to him. The rest of the party were not far behind. Hendricks brought up the rear, keeping his rifle ready to shoot down any warrior with a fast pair of heels who should come near enough to hurl his assegai. When once he had got a good start, he had no doubt about keeping well ahead. But the hill had to be surmounted, when the men on foot would have the advantage of the horses. He turned for a moment to take a glance at his pursuers. Excited to fury by the howls and shrieks of the old hag, they were exerting every muscle of their lithe bodies to spring over the ground, and were coming on at a rapid rate. The well-trained steeds bravely pressed up the hill, as if they were perfectly aware of the threatened danger. Several of the Zulus had already got up to within fifty yards of the fugitives. A couple of assegais came whistling through the air, but they fell short of Hendricks, who now urging on his horse, made the animal spring ahead. The rest of the party were by this time almost on level ground. A few more bounds, and they were on the brow. There was now no probability that the Zulus would overtake them. Hendricks might have punished their pursuers by shooting down one or more, but he had no desire to kill any one, and the extreme danger passed he rode on to the head of his party. Still he could not venture to slacken his speed, for before them was another valley with a good deal of rough ground, and some of the more active Zulus might even now approach near enough to hurl their assegais. The desire he felt to avoid bloodshed made him still more anxious to keep ahead; for he and his companions might otherwise, by halting, have received their pursuers with a fire which would effectually have stopped their career. It was satisfactory to know that the Zulus had no horses, for none had been observed in or about the camp, so that when once they had got well ahead there was no risk of being overtaken.

What all this time had become of Gozo? Denis and Percy had not seen him during the morning, nor had he made his appearance after Hendricks’ arrival at the camp. It was hoped therefore that he had escaped, although it was too possible that he had been put to death by the Zulus.

As the party gained the brow of the slope which led down to the next valley, they saw below a herd of cattle, among which were several horses feeding, attended by a few Zulus.

“The chances are our horses are among them,” cried Denis, as they rode down the slope; “yes, yes, I see them! I am sure they are ours; and, hurrah, there too is old Gozo safe and sound. He has caught sight of us, and, depend on it, is planning how he can best get clear of those fellows near him.”

“You are right,” said Hendricks, and he shouted his follower’s name.

The herdsmen, thinking the strangers were about to make a raid on their cattle, began to drive them off, on which Gozo, throwing himself on the back of one of the horses, caught the two others, and galloped on to join his friends. Some of the herdsmen, seeing what he was doing, hurled their assegais at him; but, experienced hunter as he was, he avoided them by bending down over the neck of his horse, and escaped. He was quickly up to his friends.

“Hurrah! here he comes,” said Denis. “I will relieve you, Crawford, and mount my animal.”

“But he has no saddle,” said Crawford.

“Oh, never mind that; I’ve ridden many a mile without one; and your horse will go all the faster for not having my weight on his back,” answered Denis, as he threw himself off and quickly mounted one of the horses Gozo brought up.

No time was lost in asking Gozo questions. Lionel, who was as well accustomed to ride without a saddle as was Denis, at once climbed up on the back of his own horse.

Again the party set off, allowing the herdsmen to escape with their cattle; and looking back, they saw the Zulus in considerable numbers on the top of the hill they had just crossed; but the slope on the opposite side was not very steep, and pushing on they gained the summit before their pursuers had reached the bottom of the valley. Waving an ironical farewell, they galloped forward. Still it was prudent not to pull rein as yet, and on they went at a rate which soon carried them far out of reach of their enemies.

“I wish that Mangaleesu had not joined Umbulazi; for though the prince fancies he will succeed, there is every probability that he will be defeated, as, besides being supported by the king, Cetchwayo has by far the larger number of people with him,” said Hendricks, addressing Crawford. “Had I found an opportunity, I would have spoken to Mangaleesu on the subject, and urged him to retreat while there was time.”

While the two elders of the party were conversing as they rode on together, the three boys were galloping alongside each other and exchanging remarks in somewhat disjointed sentences, as people are wont to do when going at a fast rate on horseback, especially if their steeds are without saddles, as was the case in the present instance with two of the lads.

“I cannot tell you how glad I was to see you come back with Hendricks, for I was much afraid that you had been caught by the Zulus and killed,” said Percy, turning to Lionel. “How did you manage to escape?”

“It was not so difficult as you might have supposed,” answered Lionel. “When I got out of the hut, I crept along, keeping as much as possible under the shadow of bushes and rocks. If I heard the slightest sound, I stopped and lay flat on the ground, just as the Zulus do when approaching an enemy or trying to escape. The guards were off guard, supposing, I fancy, that none of Cetchwayo’s people were near enough to reach the camp. I saw two or three in the distance, but none came in my way. My chief fear was that I might fall in with a prowling lion or leopard, or encounter a snake of some sort crawling along. I did not, however, allow myself to be troubled about such matters, I only thought how I had best act should I meet with either of them. On and on I went; but it was somewhat fatiguing work, as I could never venture to stand upright, and had generally to make my way on all-fours, although sometimes I ran on my feet, bending low down; but even in that position I could not run fast. I at last reached the side of the hill up which I had to climb. There were several open parts, where, had the Zulus been keeping a bright look-out, I must have been seen, although they might have taken me for a jackal or a lion. I crawled along as fast as I could, not stopping even to look behind me, until I reached the brow of the hill. On getting to the other side I saw a number of cattle, with several horses among them, cropping the grass. Before I could venture on I had to try and ascertain whereabouts the men herding the cattle had posted themselves. I was pretty sure that they would be under shelter somewhere, and as the night wind was chilly, they would be either seated beneath the rocks, or would have built themselves huts of boughs. I feared that if by chance I should creep near one of them, I might be seen, when the fellow would to a certainty hurl his assegai at me, as he would take me for a wild beast of some sort. At last, unable to discover any one, I crawled down the hill, prepared at any moment to take to my heels, should I be discovered. No sound reached my ears, and I at length found myself close to several horses. As they were not alarmed, I guessed that they were our own, which the Zulus had taken from us. I knew that my beast would come to me, as I had taught him to do, could I venture to call him. I whistled low. I saw one of the horses lift his head. I could just distinguish him against the sky. As I lay on the ground, I whistled again, and he began to move towards me. The third time I whistled louder than the first, when, to my infinite satisfaction, he trotted up. He had the rope bridle still round his neck. Slipping it into his mouth, so as to be able to guide him, I grasped his mane and leapt upon his back. Just as I reached it and found myself firmly seated, I heard a shout, and looking round, caught sight of a Zulu rushing out from beneath a thick bush, where he had ensconced himself. I did not stop to inquire what he wanted, but urging on my animal with my voice and heels, I galloped off across the country. I was breasting the opposite hill when several other Zulus joined the first. Whether, even then, they had made out that there was anybody on the back of the horse, I was not certain. I think they did not; for, as I bent low down, they might have supposed that the animal had been suddenly seized with a desire to return to its former companions, and that the others would probably follow, which of course they wished to prevent them from doing. When once I was on the top of the hill, I knew that there was little chance of the Zulus overtaking me. I galloped forward, soon getting beyond the sound of their voices, while I knew that they could not distinguish even the clatter of my horse’s hoofs at the distance I was already from them. I had a long ride before me; but as my horse was fresh, and had had a good feed, I had no doubt that I could accomplish it. I guessed, more or less, the direction of our camp, and hoped that I was steering a straight course by the stars, which shone brightly. My steed fortunately could see his way better than I could, or I should often have been greatly puzzled. At last the moon rose. Although it dimmed the stars, it afforded more light, and enabled me to see the outline of the hills, by which I knew that I was going right. I was galloping along, when my horse started and began to tremble. Presently a loud roar saluted my ears. Looking ahead, I saw, to my dismay, a lion just emerging from a thicket. Had I had my rifle, I would have tried to shoot the brute. To gallop either to the one side or the other would have been madness, as the lion would have been up to me in a few bounds; for, heavy as the creature looks, he can, I assure you, move for a short distance faster than the fleetest horse. Could I have induced my steed to move forward, I would have ridden at the lion, taking care, you may be sure, not to get within range of his paws; but the poor animal, trembling with fear, stood stock still. At first I was not quite certain that the lion was looking at me. Presently, however, he roared again. In return I shouted at the top of my voice. This seemed to encourage my horse, and patting him on the neck, I tried to soothe him and get him to advance a few paces. I was in a very dangerous predicament, I knew, but I did not despair. Presently I saw a pack of jackals run by, with a lioness at their heels, when the lion turned and joined her. From this I knew that he must have killed a deer, or some other large animal, and had been calling to his mate, and that his roaring was to keep the jackals away. People often declare that the jackals are the lion’s providers; but such is all nonsense. I did not stop, you may be sure, to see how either the lions or jackals were employed, but rode on as fast as I could out of their way. I was not certain of the distance I had gone, and was very doubtful whether I should hit the camp. I was afraid that I had passed it, and should suddenly find myself in front of some kraal, whose inhabitants might not be amiably disposed. Still it would not do to stand still. It at last appeared to me that my horse had a strong inclination to move to the right, and on reaching the summit of a hill I caught sight of two fires in the distance. I rode towards them, feeling sure that they were at our camp. As I approached, I shouted at the top of my voice. In an instant all the dogs came out barking, followed immediately, to my great satisfaction, by Hendricks himself on horseback.

“‘I was just setting off to look for you boys, for I feared some accident had happened,’ he exclaimed. ‘Where are the rest?’

“I told him.

“‘You must have some food while I make arrangements for our expedition,’ he observed.

“Very glad I was, I can tell you, to get something to eat. Meantime he sent for Umgolo, and directed him to order as many men as could be spared to get ready. He wanted me to stay behind, but I begged to accompany him, though I asked for a fresh horse, which was likely to carry me better than my own after his hard gallop.”

By the time Lionel had finished his account, the party had come in sight of the camp, where they were welcomed by the men in charge, who, having heard reports of the approach of Umbulazi’s forces to attack Cetchwayo, feared that they might have been detained if not cut off. The fires were made up, and the remainder of a buffalo killed in the morning was quickly cooked to satisfy the hunger of the party Hendricks had taken with him, as they had had nothing to eat since they left the camp in the morning. They had, unfortunately, no other meat; and it was necessary, before they could proceed to any distance, to obtain a further supply. Still Hendricks was anxious, as quickly as possible, to get out from between the two contending forces, one of which was on his right hand and the other on his left.

As soon as the meal was over, sentries being placed round the camp, and careful watches, to keep a look-out on the oxen, the rest of the party lay down with their arms by their sides, ready to start in the morning, as soon as there was sufficient daylight to enable them to see their way clearly. Scarcely had Lionel, with his young companions, placed their heads on the saddles or rolls of cloth which served them as pillows, than they were fast asleep, dreaming of the antics they had seen played by Umbulazi’s dusky warriors on the previous day. Even the howls of the hyenas and jackals failed to disturb them, nor did the roaring of a lion, which came up close to the camp, and made most of the Kaffir servants start to their feet.

Before daylight, Hendricks, whom no exertion could fatigue, was on foot, when he quickly aroused his followers. Being in a hurry to set off, he did not wait for breakfast, but ordered the horses to be saddled and the oxen to be inspanned, and the men taking their accustomed places on each side of the waggon, the journey was commenced, just as the first streaks of day appeared over the distant hills. The road was well known, or it would have been difficult to find it in the gloom of morning; but as soon as the sun rose, there was light enough and to spare, as well as more heat than was pleasant, especially in the opinion of the young English travellers. Moving on for some miles, they came to the edge of the plateau, or rather to a broad valley which ran across it. As they gazed down from their elevated position, it appeared sprinkled with clumps of mimosa of various sizes, springing up from a sward of soft green grass.

“That will be delightful for a gallop!” exclaimed Crawford, as they halted for a short time to secure the drags to the waggon wheels.

“Wait until we get down to it,” observed Hendricks, laughing. “We shall find that seeming sward a tangled network of long coarse grass, as high as our waists.”

Such indeed was proved to be the case, although the oxen managed to tramp through it.

“Look out for snakes!” cried Denis. “I saw a big fellow wriggling through the grass just now. He seemed more afraid of us than we need be of him; only remember, Crawford, that you don’t step upon one, if you can help it.”

No accident, however, happened, and the waggon in a short time was ascending the opposite height. Some further distance had to be traversed before water was reached, when the travellers outspanned for their morning meal, as also to afford the oxen rest after the toils they had gone through.

The travellers had but meagre fare, as no meat had as yet been obtained, but mealy cakes and bowls of tea were sufficient to satisfy their hunger for the present. Scarcely had they begun breakfast, however, when Umgolo, who had gone to the top of a slight elevation in the neighbourhood, came hurrying back with the report that he had seen in the far distance a herd of buffaloes, and he proposed setting out immediately to shoot some. The meal was therefore hurried over, and Hendricks and Umgolo, with two other Kaffir hunters, accompanied by Crawford and the three lads, set off on foot, hoping to bring back a sufficient supply of meat, not only for present consumption, but to turn into beltong. The party first made for the hill, that they might take a look over the country, and observe the direction in which the buffaloes were moving, as also the quarter from whence the wind was blowing, so as to approach the herd on the lee side, and thus avoid being discovered by the keen-scented animals.

Far off to the right was a wood, towards which the herd was travelling for shade and rest; but as the wind blew from where the hunters then were towards the wood, it was necessary to make a long circuit before they could approach from the desired quarter. So bright and pure was the atmosphere, that distances seemed almost as nothing. The buffaloes, which were in reality miles away, appeared so near that Crawford and Percy, who were less accustomed to the country than the rest of the party, fancied that they should be up to them in a quarter of an hour or less. As it was, they had a weary tramp, the sun beating down on their heads with intense force until they reached a wooded part of the country, where they enjoyed some shade; but owing to the tangled roots and creepers, they were compelled to make even slower progress than before.

“Silence now, lads,” said Hendricks, “no talking: we must creep up, and not let our footfalls be heard. I bring you for the sake of giving you a lesson. Remember, none of you are to fire until Umgolo and I have brought down a beast, but then you can exercise your skill.”

Saying this, he and Umgolo set off, followed by the rest of the party, who imitated their example, stepping cautiously, and stooping down when they had to cross an open space where they were exposed to view. They could catch glimpses of the buffaloes moving slowly along, cropping the grass as they went, an old bull acting as their leader and guardian. At length a spot which afforded shelter and concealment was reached inside the wood. Hendricks and Umgolo searched round carefully, lest it should prove that a lion or some other savage animal had made its lair thereabouts, and might spring out upon them.

Satisfied on that point, directed by Hendricks, they took up their positions, and then commenced creeping forward as noiselessly as mice. Presently Hendricks pointed in front, and made a signal to prepare for instant action. By moving aside some of the boughs with the greatest caution, the whole herd was seen, magnificent-looking fellows, some standing, others lying down, and several snoring away, enjoying their noonday siesta. The old bull, the leader of the herd, stood, however, looking out, as if suspecting danger, yet perhaps not sufficiently satisfied that it was near to warn his companions. Hendricks had got within ten or a dozen yards of him; Umgolo had crept up to about the same distance from another fine-looking brute. The younger hunters had each selected an animal, but, obeying orders, refrained from firing. Presently Hendricks, who was kneeling, raised his rifle, and a loud report was heard. Almost at the same instant Umgolo fired, when the rest of the party, deeming themselves at liberty to act as they thought fit, discharged their rifles. As soon as the smoke had cleared away, three fine animals were seen on the ground, while the rest of the herd were scampering off in full flight across the plain. One fell before they had got far, showing that two of the younger hunters had fired with effect; but which had been the successful shot, neither of them could be very certain, though each claimed the honour.

Umgolo, followed by the other Kaffirs, sprang forward, eager to cut up the carcases. Hendricks had ordered two of the men left in camp to bring up the horses by a direct path to carry back the meat. They soon arrived, and the animals being loaded with the more valuable portions of the slain buffaloes, the whole party set off to return in triumph with the spoils of the chase. They were scarcely out of the wood, when suddenly, from behind the bushes and tall grass, a hundred Kaffirs, with assegais in hand, which they shook as if about to hurl them at the hunters, sprang up, and almost completely surrounded them.

“We’re in a fearful predicament,” exclaimed Percy, as looking round he saw no means of escape. “Good-bye, Lionel, good-bye, Denis. I suppose these black fellows will run us through with their ugly-looking spears before many minutes are over.”

“Sure, I hope they’ll not be after doing anything of the sort,” said Denis; “they’re only quivering them just now to frighten us.”

“I don’t like their looks,” said Lionel; “but I hope, as many of them know Hendricks, they don’t intend to kill us.”

“What means this?” exclaimed Hendricks, advancing towards the nearest. “We are friends of the Zulus, and desire to traverse their country in peace. You know me; I have often been among you.”

“Yes, we know you well,” said a chief, stepping forward.

“We have no desire to injure you or your companions; but you must accompany us to our Prince Cetchwayo, who desires to see you. It is known that you have been at the camp of Umbulazi, and he wishes to know the object which took you there.”

“I went there from necessity, to rescue some of my followers who had been made prisoners. I succeeded, and carried them off, tarrying not a moment longer with Umbulazi than I was compelled to do.”

“The prince will hear what you have to say, and will act according to his judgment,” said the chief. “Yield yourselves as prisoners.”

“If you insist on our going, we have no choice in the matter,” said Hendricks, looking round at the large band of savage warriors which had surprised them. “But perhaps the assurance I give, that we are friends to Cetchwayo, and are simply travelling through his country, will satisfy him.”

“The prince wishes to see the great hunter face to face,” answered the chief; “and he and his followers, with his waggon and cattle, will accompany us forthwith. The word has been spoken. The order must be obeyed.”

“We must submit to these fellows,” said Hendricks, turning to his English companions. “But load your rifles, and be prepared to act as I may direct you, though there is, I fear, but little chance of making our escape.”

The Zulus had now gathered closely round their prisoners, whom, however, they did not ill-treat, but allowed them to walk as they liked.

“I fear that my people in the camp, when they see you coming, will take to flight,” said Hendricks to the chief. “Let me go on first, and I will tell them that you come as friends. Will you trust me?”

The chief looked at him. “Yes,” he said, “I know that I can trust the word of a white chief, and you may go forward.”

“Halt here, then, for a few minutes, to give me time to get ahead of you,” said Hendricks, “and I will trust you also with my people, that you will not injure them.”

The chief, on this, ordered his followers to halt, while Hendricks went on with rapid strides towards the camp. On his arrival, he found his people in a state of great consternation, they having just caught sight of the Zulus, and they confessed that in another minute they would have fled, believing that he and those with him had been killed.

He managed, however, to quell their fears by the assurance that Cetchwayo would not injure them, though he might delay their journey. This was of greater consequence to him than to them. In a short time the Zulus were seen advancing. On their arrival, the chief told Hendricks that he must at once inspan and proceed towards Cetchwayo’s camp, which was much nearer than had been supposed. On Hendricks, however, representing to him that he and his people had been without meat the whole day, the chief consented to their waiting until some had been cooked, observing that he would take charge of the remainder. He did so, by dividing it among his followers, who forthwith lighted several fires, and cooking it after their barbarous fashion, quickly ate the whole of it up, scarcely leaving a few scraps for the hungry dogs. This was not a little provoking to the hunters, but it allowed them some time to rest and recover from the fatigue they all felt.

As soon as the feast was over, Hendricks gave the word to inspan. The chief somewhat demurred on seeing his prisoners preparing to mount their horses, naturally fearing that they would try to make their escape, but on Hendricks assuring him that they would accompany him to Cetchwayo’s camp, he consented to their riding, though he took good care so to place his people on either side, that they would have found it a difficult matter to get off, even had they been so disposed.

Chapter Nine.

King Panda.

The band of Zulus, with the captives in their midst, were compelled to move at a slow pace; for the Hottentot drivers of the waggon, uncertain of the reception they might meet with at the end of their journey, would not hasten on the oxen even when the ground was level, and it was frequently rough, with steep hills to ascend or descend, so that a quicker pace was impossible. The warriors belonged to a regiment of unmarried men or boys, as could be seen from their heads wanting the ring at the top, which is the mark of those who have been allowed by the king to take to themselves wives. As they marched along they shouted and sang songs descriptive of the deeds they had performed, or of those they intended to do, referring sometimes to their prowess in having captured a party of white men, who had not ventured to strike a blow for freedom; while they boasted especially of the way they intended to annihilate Umbulazi and his followers. Some gave way to their exuberant spirits by leaping and dancing in a fashion which offered a curious contrast to the march of a regiment of life guards. They shrieked, they quivered their assegais, and clashed their shields together, until Crawford, who had never before seen an exhibition of the sort, began to fear that they might take it into their heads to kill him and his companions.

“I think we should be prepared for an attack from these savages,” he said to Denis, gravely. “For my part, I hope that we shall sell our lives dearly, if they attempt to take them.”

“No fear of that for the present,” answered Denis; “they are only in somewhat high spirits at the thought of having soon to engage in battle. You see Hendricks rides on as composedly as ever, so does Lionel, who perfectly understands what they are saying. They don’t intend us any harm. However, I confess that it is possible their mood may change, and it would be as well not to do anything to offend them. Hendricks knows them better than most people, and will take care to keep them in good humour. I shall be very glad when we are out of their company notwithstanding.”

“So say I,” exclaimed Crawford. “I confess that had I known what savages they are, I should not have been so eager to come into their country.”

“As to that, I do not suppose they are worse than other tribes,” said Denis; “they are certainly more intelligent and brave. My chief regret is that we shall have further delay in going in search of my father. I wish that you were to accompany us instead of stopping with Captain Broderick, although I daresay Percy will be very glad of your company; and he has some sisters, who won’t be ill pleased to have an English gentleman to talk to, as they must lead a somewhat monotonous life in that out-of-the-way spot, with only an occasional visit from a Dutch boer and his frau, or, when the weather is not too hot, a gallop through the wilds.”

“I am half inclined to ask Hendricks to let me accompany him on his expedition into the interior,” said Crawford. “I am afraid I should get tired of the sort of life you describe. However, I shall be able to judge better when I have seen the place.”

“Or the young ladies, eh?” observed Denis; “I fancy something will depend upon that, won’t it?”

Crawford made no reply.

This conversation caused the journey to appear shorter than might otherwise have been the case. Lionel and Percy, who generally kept together, amused themselves by talking away in a lively fashion, while Hendricks rode ahead, thinking over his plans for the future, and considering how he could best get free from King Panda and his son, the Prince Regent, for such was the rank held by Cetchwayo at that time. At length a kraal was seen on the slope of a hill, rising gradually from the plain. It was at present the habitation of Panda. The warriors raised a shout, intended as a compliment to the king, and again beating their shields and shaking their assegais, they made signals to the drivers to urge on the waggon at a faster speed than heretofore. The Hottentots, observing their threatening gestures, obeyed, and the ground being even, the oxen pulled away, incited by the lash of the drivers, which came down with incessant whisks on their flanks.

Hendricks, knowing the customs of the country, put his horse into a trot, Crawford and Denis and the two boys imitating him, and thus the warriors and their captives appeared to be rushing forward eagerly towards the palace of the king. The chief who had captured them hurried on first to announce the success of his expedition. Just before he reached the kraal he was met by a tall stout chief, evidently a person of much consideration, for as he approached he bowed again and again, and then crouched down to the ground, apparently not daring to look up at his face. The tall chief wore, like the others, a cap stuck full of ostrich and crane feathers, with lappets of monkey skins, a kilt of the same skins round his waist, and a sort of cloak hanging over his shoulders, fastened in front by numerous white ox-tails. His features were handsome for a Kaffir; in height he towered above those surrounding him; and though still young, he was remarkably stout. He was evidently also a powerful man, and he possessed the supposed attributes of high birth—wonderfully small hands and feet for a person of his size.

“Who can he be?” asked Crawford.

“A whopping big fellow, at all events,” answered Denis; “I’ll ask Hendricks.”

“That is no other than Cetchwayo, the real ruler of Zululand,” said Hendricks; “he has come here probably on a visit to his father, and he it was who ordered our seizure. I have always been on good terms with him, and must try and induce him not to detain us. It will not do, however, to approach him on horseback. We must show him some respect, though we need not bow and cringe as that fellow is doing.”

When the party had approached to about a hundred yards or so from the prince, a halt was called, when Hendricks, dismounting, summoned Umgolo, and leaving the horses in charge of the other attendants, they proceeded together towards the prince.

Hendricks saluted him in Kaffir fashion, and having paid the usual compliments, begged to inquire why he and his party had been summoned. The prince replied that he wished to see him face to face. That no harm was intended him, but that he required his services for an important object. Hendricks asked what that object was, saying at the same time, that he should be always ready to do anything to serve him.

“That is well!” answered Cetchwayo; “but you are equally ready to do anything to serve Umbulazi, to whose camp I find you have paid a visit.”

Hendricks replied that he had been compelled to visit the camp for the purpose of rescuing some of his followers who had been made prisoners, and that he had neither promised his assistance nor expressed his approbation of the proceedings of Umbulazi.

“You must show which side you espouse by joining me, and assisting in defeating the traitor who is planning to deprive me of my father’s favour, and to rule the country in my stead,” said Cetchwayo.

In vain Hendricks pleaded that although friendly to Cetchwayo, he was anxious to proceed on his journey for an important object, and that it was not becoming in white men to interfere in the quarrels of the natives, with all of whom they wished to be at peace.

Cetchwayo smiled grimly, remarking, “That whether Hendricks and his followers fought or not, they must accompany him to see the way in which he would punish his enemies.”

When he pleaded still more earnestly, the prince began to grow angry, and hinted that if his white friend did not accompany him willingly he should be compelled to use more powerful arguments.

Hendricks, seeing that it would be imprudent to press the point further, had at length to submit, and Cetchwayo then told him that he might camp where his waggon stood, and that wood, water, and food would be sent to him.

The oxen were accordingly offspanned, the horses were knee-haltered, and the other usual preparations made. In a short time a party of boys appeared bringing firewood, which they deposited near the waggon. They were followed by the same number of girls, who came along laughing and singing, bringing some large calabashes of water on their heads. Finding that no meat appeared, Hendricks did up a packet of blankets and other articles, and bidding one of his men accompany him, proceeded to the chief kraal. Percy and Lionel followed at a short distance, as they said to each other, to see the fun. As they got near the kraal, they observed a number of half-naked blacks dragging at what looked like a huge gun carriage, but which proved to be a hand-waggon, very similar to a big chest on wheels. In it was seated an immensely fat man. As he approached, the people who were standing outside immediately went down on their hands and knees, shouting out, “Bayete, bayete!” or King of all other kings; “Zulu-lion, Monarch of the world,” and similar complimentary cries.

“Why, who is that fat old fellow?” asked Percy.

“Who should he be but King Panda, to be sure?” answered Denis. “He is too fat for his legs to support him, so he has to be dragged about in that fashion.”

The king looked about him in a complaisant manner, and gave some order, when half a dozen of the courtiers darted off as fast as their legs could carry them, eager to obey it. On seeing Hendricks, he desired him to approach. The hunter advanced without considering it necessary to make a salute in the style the black king’s subjects adopted; but taking the bundle of blankets from his attendant, he offered it, saying that he had brought a present which he hoped his Majesty would deign to accept.

The king, on seeing the blankets, which were ornamented with gay-coloured borders, expressed his great satisfaction, and without referring to the way in which the hunter and his party had been taken prisoners, inquired the news from Natal, the price of cattle, and talked about other similar subjects.

Hendricks, knowing that it would be useless to plead with Panda against Cetchwayo’s decision, having answered his questions, simply expressed his pleasure at seeing the king look so well.

The old fellow grimly smiled, and stroked his stomach as if he considered himself still capable of swallowing an unlimited quantity of beef and mealy cakes. Yet this mountain of flesh had unlimited power over the lives of his subjects, which he showed before the day was over by ordering one of his courtiers, who had offended him somehow or other, to be put to death. Some thirty of those standing round darted off with their assegais in their hands. Just at that instant the unhappy offender appeared, coming to ask pardon of the king, and to explain the reason of his apparent negligence. He was met by the executioners of the king’s pleasure, and before he could open his mouth he was pierced through and through by a score of assegais. When his dead body was dragged up to the waggon, the king simply nodded his approval of the act. The body was then dragged off again to be buried. None of the man’s relatives or friends dared to utter a word of complaint. Soon after Hendricks and his companions had reached the waggon, an ox was driven towards them by some of the attendants of the king, who had sent it as a return for the presents he had received. It was at once slaughtered, and the meat was spitted, and placed before the fire to cook, greatly to the satisfaction of the Kaffir and Hottentot servants, who had begun loudly to complain of being starved. Hendricks had still some hopes that Cetchwayo would allow him to continue his journey the next morning; but the prince sent word that he must remain another day, as he was not prepared to commence his march.

This was a further trial of temper to Hendricks, and by the way he bore it he set a good example to his young followers. Guards were placed round the camp by Cetchwayo’s orders, so that no one could leave it without permission. It was thus very evident that he intended to adhere to his first intention, of compelling the white men to accompany him on his expedition against his brother. There was no help for it. The whole party turned in to sleep, satisfied, at all events, that they were not likely to be disturbed by a lion or rhinoceros, or any other wild beast, making an inroad into the camp.

Next day a messenger from the king made his appearance, and presented an invitation to the great white hunter to dine with His Majesty, and to bring his young white companions.

Hendricks groaned. “I know what that means,” he observed to Crawford. “We shall have to drink beer and eat beef until we are ready to die of repletion. I would thankfully avoid the honour if we could possibly do so; but if we were to refuse, the king might grow angry, and perhaps confiscate our goods, if he did not order us all to be put to death.”

“Let us go by all means,” said Crawford. “It will be great fun, and we shall, at all events, be able to boast that we dined with the king of Zululand.”

“We must go, I fear, but I doubt if you or any of us will find it much fun,” answered Hendricks.

He then turned to the messenger, who, of course, had no conception of the remarks which had been made, and begged him to inform the great king that his white friends would do themselves the immense honour of obeying his commands.

At the appointed time Hendricks and his four companions set off, leaving the waggon under the charge of Umgolo, with directions to keep a strict watch upon it, lest any of Cetchwayo’s brave soldiers should take it into their heads to appropriate the contents. They then proceeded towards the kraal at the side of the hill. The heat was excessive, the sun beat down with intense force upon their heads, so that they were not inclined to move very fast. Having arrived at the kraal, they were ushered into the outer circle, where, in a hut considerably larger than those inhabited by the common people, they found the king seated on a pile of mats, he being utterly unable to squat down in the fashion of his less obese subjects. Hendricks saluted him in due form, and Crawford and Percy imitated their leader as well as they could. They then arranged themselves so as to form part of a circle on one side of His Majesty.

Panda looked at Lionel. “That boy knows how to behave,” he remarked, observing the proper Kaffir salutation which he made on entering.

“Yes, O King! I have long lived in Zululand, and I know good manners,” answered Lionel, with perfect gravity, while Denis turned away his head to indulge in a quiet laugh, to which he could not openly venture to give way.

Presently several girls appeared, each carrying a bowl holding about a gallon of beer, one of which they set down before each of the guests. Others then brought in wooden platters, huge pieces of beef, large masses of which an attendant cut off with an assegai, and handed to the king, who munched away at them with infinite satisfaction. The guests were desired to help themselves with their knives which they carried in their belts. There were, in addition, baskets of mealy cakes, which Percy declared were more to the purpose than the tough half-roasted beef. The king every now and then looked round the circle, exclaiming, “Eat! eat!” The guests did their utmost, but were very soon satisfied.

“Pray tell him that I can do no more,” said Crawford. “This hot day I should prefer some cold lamb and a salad, but this coarse beef beats me.”

Hendricks apologised as best he could.

“Tell them to drink, then,” said the king, “if they cannot eat. The beer will slip down without any difficulty. Don’t you like beer?” asked the king, when he saw that after taking a few mouthfuls they stopped.

“Pray tell him that we like beer in moderation, but shall never be able to finish off one of these bowls,” exclaimed Crawford.

Hendricks assured the king that his young companions were anxious to please him; but that Englishmen’s insides were not of the same magnificent capacity as His Majesty’s, and that therefore it would be impossible for them to do as he desired.

A frown gathered on the king’s brow. “Drink, I say, drink! They must drink,” he exclaimed.

“Tell the king that I’ll see him at Jericho first,” said Denis; an observation which set Percy off laughing.

“Command yourselves, lads,” said Hendricks, turning to them. “This may become no laughing matter. Although you cannot drink, and I don’t wish you to do so, you must show the king that you desire to please him.”

“Sure I’ll do that,” said Denis, putting the bowl to his mouth, and pretending to swallow a huge draught, and then placed it on the ground and gasped for breath. “Please tell His Majesty, that unless he wishes to kill me, he’ll let me off this time,” cried the irrepressible young Irishman. “Poor Percy and Lionel will burst outright if they have to swallow this stuff.”

“That I shall,” exclaimed Percy. “I’ll not swallow another drop to please him or all the nigger kings in Africa.”

Lionel did not venture to make any remark, but looked as resolute as the rest not to turn himself into a beer barrel.

Hendricks began to wish heartily that he had left his companions in the camp, but had now to get out of the difficulty in the best way he could. He therefore reminded Panda that they were very young, and that English manners were not like Zulu manners, but he hoped the next time they visited the country, should the king give them the honour of an invitation, that they would behave themselves better.

Both Hendricks and Crawford had already swallowed more of the beer than they liked. Although its intoxicating qualities were very weak, the latter declared he felt its effects in his head, and that should he take much more, he could not answer for himself.

At last Hendricks thought of an expedient which might possibly prove successful in enabling his companions to escape from a further infliction of the king’s hospitable intentions. “The Lion of Africa” (such was one of the titles the obese old savage delighted to be addressed by) “was inquiring about affairs in Natal,” he observed. “Not long ago, there lived in England,—which, as your Majesty is aware of, is a long way off,—a man named Jones. He was a worthy man, and had he been born in Zululand, he might have become a great warrior. But Jones was a man of peace. He had a family of ten children, six boys and four girls, very like him in all respects. Jones had a brother, and Jones’s brother had twelve children, they were equally divided between boys and girls. As there was every prospect of there being a good many more little Jones’s born, they agreed that the country might not be large enough to hold them, and they therefore determined to come out to Natal. Jones’s brother came in a ship called the Swan, while Jones himself embarked in one named the Duck. They sailed almost at the same time. When the sea was smooth, the little Jones’s were tolerably well, but when it grew rough, they became very sick, and wished that they had not come.”

Hendricks, while he was speaking, kept his eye on the king, who, before he had got thus far, began to nod. He continued, therefore, in a low voice, giving the history of the Jones’s, which, as it would be uninteresting to most readers, was especially so to the king, who, therefore, before the hunter had got much farther, fell fast asleep.

“Now my lads,” said Hendricks, turning to his young companions, “you may take the opportunity of slipping off. Make a bow to the king as you leave the hut, more to please his attendants than His Majesty, who will certainly not see it, and I will follow.”

His directions were obeyed, and they all breathed more freely when they found themselves in the open air. They guessed that the courtiers would not let the king discover that any beer had been left in the bowls, by drinking it up themselves, and they therefore were not troubled on that account.

“It is the first time I ever dined with a king, and it’s the last, I hope, ever to have that honour—at least with a black one,” exclaimed Denis, as they strolled back towards the waggon. “I wish we could send Cetchwayo to sleep as easily as Hendricks has done his fat old father, and then we might at once continue our journey.”

Cetchwayo, however, was not a man to be sent asleep by any amount of Kaffir beer, whatever might have been the effect of half a dozen of London stout. He visited the camp in the evening, to have a talk, as he said, with his friend the great hunter.

He intended, he said, to commence his march at daylight the next morning, to attack Umbulazi, and he should depend upon his friends to afford him the assistance of their rifles.

“Do you wish, O Prince, to destroy me and my companions?” exclaimed Hendricks. “Know you not that I am subject to the laws of my country? Those laws forbid me to kill my fellow-creatures, except in self-defence, or in such warfare as is sanctioned by my government. If I were to kill any of Umbulazi’s people, who have not attacked me, and who are at peace with my country, I should make myself liable to the penalty of death. Remember, O Prince, that although your warriors are brave and numerous, yet Umbulazi has a strong force, and should the fortune of war turn against you, your women and children would be exposed to great danger. Now if you will place them under my charge, I will undertake to defend them, and will fight to the last, rather than allow them to be killed.”

To this proposal Cetchwayo would not consent, but at last he agreed that Hendricks and his men should remain in the reserve, and that in the event of any of his regiments being defeated, they should afford them protection, and enable them to rally, so as to renew the attack.

Very unwillingly Hendricks was compelled to consent to this arrangement, for he feared being drawn into the conflict, which he especially desired to avoid. Next morning, at daybreak, the army began its march. The main body advanced so slowly, that the waggon was able to keep up with it; but active scouts were sent ahead, to feel every inch of the way, while the rest kept themselves concealed, so that there was no possibility of their being taken by surprise. For three days they advanced, when it was supposed that they were approaching their enemies; but the scouts brought in word that they had retreated to a position nearer the border. This showed that Umbulazi was not so confident of victory as he had appeared to be—possibly he had discovered that his forces were far outnumbered by those of his brother.

On receiving this information, Cetchwayo ordered his whole army to advance. Hendricks was in hopes of being allowed to remain behind, but the prince would not hear of it.

“I will grant you this favour,” he answered. “I will leave two of your people, and six of my own, who are sick, to assist in taking care of the waggon; but you and the rest must accompany me on horseback, and view the battle, even if you do not take a part in it. I want to show you how we Zulus fight, and how we treat our enemies when we gain the victory.”

Chapter Ten.

A battle in Zululand.

Cetchwayo’s army, like a devouring host of locusts, advanced across the country in an extended line, burning the kraals belonging to the chiefs who had sided with Umbulazi, or were supposed to have sided with him, trampling down their mealy fields, and destroying their crops. Old men, women, and children were indiscriminately put to death when found within the huts. The greater number had fled to die in the woods of hunger, or to be devoured by wild beasts. No mercy was shown to those who were captured. The warriors believed victory was certain, for the prophetess had declared that all the auguries were favourable. One more preliminary performance had to be gone through—a grand war dance of the whole army, to excite their enthusiasm, and to warm up their courage to the highest pitch. The scouts had brought the information that the enemy were still some distance in advance, and that there was no fear of the performance being interrupted. The army had been drawn in on purpose, and were assembled on a level plain backed by a hill to the eastward, which they had just crossed. On either side were woods, while a stream ran in front. On the slope of the hill, Cetchwayo took his stand, with Hendricks and his other prisoners—for such they were compelled to consider themselves—near him.

The regiments, headed by their respective chiefs, or colonels, as they really were, advanced from the woods on either side in due order; the tall plumes of the chiefs, their skin cloaks, and ox-tail adornments, fluttering in the breeze. They advanced, singing a monotonous chant, describing the heroic deeds they were about to perform, till each regiment in turn came in front of Cetchwayo, when halting, the men formed a semi-circle, and began slowly moving their feet and arms. As they grew more excited, their action increased in energy and fierceness, and their songs became louder, until at length there was a perfect storm of singing, yelling, and stamping. At the same time the utmost regularity was kept up; their feet, for they did not move from their positions, leaving deep dents in the ground. Notwithstanding the turmoil and apparent disorder which prevailed, they kept perfect time with their voices, arms, and feet. At length, when well-nigh exhausted from their exertions, having received the approval of their general, they moved on to give place to another regiment, which performed precisely the same manoeuvres, except that the men endeavoured to outdo their predecessors in loudness of voice and vehemence of action.

Ten regiments were thus passed in review, forming a force of as many thousand men.

“I suspect poor Umbulazi will have very little chance against these fellows, if they once come up with him,” observed Denis to Crawford. “His best chance will be to escape across the border, where I do not suppose that Cetchwayo will venture to follow him.”

“From your account, he and his followers are perfect savages, and these fellows are much of the same description,” answered Crawford. “For my part, I wish we were out of the country. I am surprised that Captain Broderick should have ventured to settle in the neighbourhood of such people. I had formed a very different notion of them before I came out.”

“Of course they are very much like other Kaffirs,” said Denis. “They have no more regard for human life than they have for that of the animals they chase. They have become formidable from the way they have been trained by a succession of clever chiefs like Cetchwayo, though I don’t suppose that old Panda has ever done much to maintain good discipline in his army. However, as Cetchwayo is well disposed towards the English, he will not give much trouble to the colony.”

“Not as long as he considers it to his advantage to keep friends with the English,” remarked Crawford. “But suppose they offend him, how will he act?”

“A few red coats and our colonial militia would soon keep him in order, should he show any inclination to quarrel,” said Denis.

The conversation was interrupted by a loud shout from Cetchwayo ordering the army to advance, when they spread out as before, forming one vast semi-circle, that is, the wings were in advance of the main body, so that should an enemy be encountered, they might close in and surround him. In this order they advanced until dark, when they halted, each man carrying his provisions, so that there was no necessity for forming a camp or lighting a fire, which would have shown their position to the enemy. Our friends, who had also brought some food in their holsters, lay down on the ground near Cetchwayo.

The night passed quietly, with only an occasional alarm from wild beasts, who however speedily decamped on finding themselves in the neighbourhood of so vast a concourse of people, and at early dawn the army again advanced. In a short time much excitement was caused among the ranks, for scouts came continually hurrying back with information respecting the movements of the enemy.

A line of hills of no great elevation rose in front, extending north and south for a considerable distance. These had to be surmounted, when Cetchwayo told Hendricks that he expected to find Umbulazi’s force on the other side. Not a word was spoken along the whole line; for although the warriors themselves could not have been heard by the main body of the enemy, the scouts might have discovered their advance.

Cetchwayo now told Hendricks and his companions to dismount and lead on their horses, keeping a short distance in the rear of the army.

The Zulu warriors advanced in the same order as before, as fast as the nature of the ground would allow, concealing themselves as much as possible, by taking advantage of the trees and bushes and tufts of tall grass, so that a person standing on the summit of the hill, if he had perceived them at all, would have had no conception of their numbers. Whenever shelter was wanting, they stooped down, and very often crawled along the ground like snakes amid the grass.

The two wings could now be seen creeping up the hillside. Shortly afterwards the main body reached the bottom, and also began to ascend. Occasionally a herd of deer or smaller game, driven out of their coverts, started off, some making for the hill, others darting to the one side or the other, probably to fall victims to the noiseless assegais of the warriors.

Hendricks, although as resolved as ever not to engage in the fight, was still compelled to move forward. The hill covered with trees afforded as much shelter as the lower ground had done. On gaining the summit, in the rear of the troops, he was able to obtain a view over the country beyond. It was a comparatively level region, with a broad river running across it. On the nearer side of the river, and at no great distance from the bottom of the slope, could be seen the forces of Umbulazi. It was tolerably evident from the movement among them that they had just obtained information of the approach of Cetchwayo’s army. The chiefs were marshalling their men, some facing the hill, some preparing for the assault on either side, but it appeared to Hendricks that they were uncertain in what direction they might be attacked.

Slowly, and still keeping themselves concealed, Cetchwayo’s warriors descended the hillside. Nearer and nearer they drew to the foe, the wings being gradually extended, and at the same time closing in towards each other.

Thus, even before the attack had commenced, Umbulazi’s force was almost entirely surrounded. It had probably been Cetchwayo’s intention completely to hem in his enemies; but before there was time to do so, they had discovered his right wing, and apparently supposing it to be the main body, advanced to meet it. On this he gave the signal to his whole force to commence the attack, and in an instant, from the hitherto silent woods and thickets, hideous shrieks and yells arose, and the warriors, no longer taking pains to conceal themselves, rushed on at headlong speed, clashing their shields and quivering their assegais.

The rear of Umbulazi’s force was completely taken by surprise. To fly was impossible, either to the right hand or to the left; their own people engaged with the enemy in front, preventing them from moving in that direction. Their only resource was to face about and endeavour to drive back their assailants, or to defend themselves to the last. Now the main body appearing rushed down on what had been their right flank, and the slaughter commenced.

Vastly outnumbered and completely surrounded, they fought with the energy of despair. Some few of the younger men, seeing relatives and friends among their assailants, pleaded for mercy, but they pleaded with those to whom mercy was unknown. The sharp assegais of Cetchwayo’s warriors did their death work rapidly and surely. His victorious bands pressed forward, closing in on their victims.

Hendricks stood observing the battle through his telescope, which he occasionally handed to Crawford and Denis. The scene enacted on the ground near the foot of the hill could be clearly observed with the naked eye, but through the glass alone could be distinguished what was taking place in the distance.

One path leading towards the river alone remained open, and towards it a few who had been posted in that direction were seen endeavouring to make their escape. The greater number were pursued and overtaken; but one warrior, who had exhibited wonderful activity, kept those chasing him at bay, and hurling his assegais with unerring aim, brought one after the other to the ground; then once more resuming his flight, he gained the river, and, plunging in, was no more seen.

“Well, I’m glad that poor fellow got off,” exclaimed Denis, who had been watching him anxiously. “I hope he’ll make his escape; for he must be very brave, or he would not have turned round and fought his enemies in the way he did. It is dreadful to see what is going on below us.”

The battle-field had now become a scene of indiscriminate slaughter. Here and there a few groups could be discerned standing amidst their fallen comrades, supporting one of their chiefs, and hurling back the assegais aimed at them, which they had caught on their shields, and which had fallen at their sides; but the numbers in these groups were rapidly diminishing: first one man fell, then another, then another, until several were seen to fall together, and at last their enemies, rushing on with triumphant shrieks, and hurling their assegais, brought the remainder to the ground, finishing those who had fallen with repeated thrusts of their sharp weapons. At length but one group remained in the midst of the corpse-strewn field. They gazed fiercely round them, well knowing that ere long they must be like those lying dead at their feet. Still they fought on, keeping their assailants at bay. In their midst was a chief, known by his tall plume and stalwart figure, a very Ajax in appearance. Cetchwayo, seeing the determined resistance offered, and that numbers of his men were falling, summoned a company of his own regiment, and led them on to the attack. The struggle was fierce, but of short duration. Scarcely a minute elapsed before he was seen to sweep over the spot, trampling on the bodies of the slain, into which his followers were fiercely plunging their weapons. Of the adherents of Umbulazi, who in all the pride of manhood had a short hour before occupied that now blood-stained field, not a man remained alive.

“Now is our time to make our escape from this fearful scene of slaughter,” exclaimed Hendricks. “The savages will be too much engaged in rejoicing over their victory to think of us, and we are not bound to remain here longer than we choose.”

Their guards, it should have been said, excited beyond all control at the scene of bloodshed, had rushed down to join in the work of slaughter. Not a moment was to be lost. Tightening their saddle-girths, the party mounted. “You go ahead, Denis, and lead, and I will bring up the rear,” said Hendricks. “We shall gain the waggon, and be able to push on towards the border, before Cetchwayo sends in pursuit of us, if he thinks it worth while to do so. Having gained a victory, he will be in an especially good humour; but if we remain now, he will perhaps take it into his head to detain us for the purpose of compelling us to witness his triumph.”

This was said as the party were preparing to mount. They had retained their arms, and as their horses had moved only at a slow pace, and had had plenty of time to feed, they were prepared for a long ride.

Hendricks gave the word, and Denis leading, off they started. They were soon down the hill and across the plain which they had before traversed, making a direct course for the spot where the waggon and its guards had been left. Hendricks occasionally turned his head to ascertain if they were pursued; but as no one was to be seen, he felt satisfied that Cetchwayo had not discovered their flight, and the probability was that he would not do so for many hours to come. As much of the ground was level, they did not spare their steeds until they reached the waggon, some hours before sundown.

The Hottentot and Kaffir servants welcomed them with every sign of joy. Not aware of the superiority of Cetchwayo’s army over that of his rival, they had feared that he might have been defeated, and that the pursuing enemy had attacked them in revenge for their being associated with him.

Hendricks instantly gave the order to inspan, and bestowing presents on the Zulus who had been left to assist in guarding the waggon, he advised them immediately to return home.

They, without demur, took their departure, well satisfied with the presents they had received, and the oxen were urged on at as rapid a rate as they could be got to move. The ground was fortunately level, so that good progress was made, and several miles were got over before sunset.

They camped in a hollow, the ground round which was covered with trees, so that the light of their fire could not be seen to any distance.

The chirrup of the cricket on the hearth is not more familiar to the inhabitants of an old country house in England, than is the roar of the lion to the ears of the traveller in Africa. Our friends had become so accustomed to the low mutterings, as well as to the loud roars of the king of beasts, that, provided the sounds came from a distance, they scarcely interrupted their slumbers. Occasionally, however, when a brute more savage and hungry than usual, ventured up to the camp, evidently on a foraging expedition, it was not only difficult but impossible for any one to sleep; indeed, common prudence required that all should be on the watch, with their weapons ready to defend themselves or the cattle, should they be attacked.

As there was still nearly an hour of daylight to spare, Hendricks, with Lionel and Denis, who were always ready to start on a hunting expedition, went off in search of game, accompanied by the dogs, who, although they have not often been mentioned, had always faithfully done their duty in giving due notice of the approach of strangers or any animals.

They had not got far from the camp when Hendricks shot an antelope, and to save the necessity of returning at once, it was hoisted up on to the branch of a tree to prevent its being eaten by the jackals and hyenas which would quickly have found it out. They went on for some distance farther, when Lionel, looking ahead, exclaimed—

“See, see! the grass is moving; there is some beast within.” And scarcely had he spoken, than out sprang a lion, which, however, instead of coming towards them, made its way in the direction of the camp.

“It’s as well we secured our game, or the brute would have had it,” observed Denis, as they followed the lion. “I only hope our friends in camp will be on the look-out, or that brute will be among them and do some mischief.”

As soon as the lion had turned tail, the three dogs set off in pursuit, Hendricks and his companions following. The lion at first went along leisurely; but when he heard the barking of the dogs and the shouts of the hunters, who wanted him to turn so that they might get a shot at him, he increased his speed.

In a short time Fangs got ahead of the other two dogs, and at length almost reached the heels of the lion. This showed his courage more than his discretion; for had the lion turned suddenly, he would have paid dearly for his boldness; but probably the lion was scarcely aware how close his pursuer was to him. On coming to the antelope in the tree, he stopped and evinced a strong inclination to try and pull it down. He saw, however, that it was beyond his reach, and again went on, until he was in sight of the waggon and oxen; but fortunately he was seen, and the Hottentots and Kaffirs began shrieking and shouting to drive him off, while Crawford and Percy seized their guns, ready to fire as soon as he should come near enough.

Fangs had kept all this time close after the chase, but well knew that one kick from those powerful hind-paws would send him flying into the air with a cracked skull.

Still, carried away by the excitement of the chase, he was on the point of springing forward to throw himself on the lion’s quarters, when the latter became aware of his being so near, and making a bound forward, stopped, turned, and crouched. Fangs saw his danger, and turned to flee, barely in time to escape the claws of the lion who sprang after him. Away Fangs went, however, fleet as the wind, followed by the lion, with his mane flowing, his ears pricked forward, and his tail erect. The dog took the direction in which his master was coming; but the lion apparently did not perceive the hunters until he was within range of their rifles.

“Now, my lads, show what you can do!” cried Hendricks. “I will reserve my fire in case you should miss, you couldn’t have a finer opportunity. Denis, do you fire first.”

Denis, highly pleased, raised his rifle and fired. His bullet merely grazed the back of the lion, which at that instant, taking alarm, turned aside and bounded off up the hill. The dogs made chase after him; but Hendricks, fearing that they would perhaps encounter the lioness and come to grief, called them back. Unwillingly they obeyed, and although even Fangs, the bravest, would not have ventured to encounter the lion face to face, they were all eager to go in chase of him when turning tail.

Getting down the antelope, they now returned to camp. As it was very probable that the lion would come back as soon as darkness set in, an additional fire was lighted. The horses were secured to the waggon wheels, and the oxen were brought in and also made fast. The antelope flesh was cooked, and eaten with good appetites by the travellers. Scarcely was supper concluded when several roars were heard, some on one side at a short distance, some on the other, close to the camp. Directly afterwards the horrid chorus was increased by the howl of hyenas and the crying of jackals, more numerous than at any previous occasion during the journey. There was no necessity to order the Hottentots and Kaffirs to be on the watch; for they all well knew the risk they ran of an attack from the lions. Even the animals seemed aware of their danger. The men replied to the roars by shrieks and cries, every now and then firing off a rifle in the direction from which the sounds proceeded. Hendricks, however, considering that three of the party were sufficient to keep watch, ordered the remainder to lie down, either under or close to the waggon, and thus the first part of the night passed unpleasantly by.

Chapter Eleven.

A succession of disasters.

In spite of the wild uproar made by the savage brutes encircling the camp, some of the guards began to doze after they had been on the watch two or three hours. Crawford had undertaken to keep watch while Hendricks turned in. Now that he was getting accustomed to the country, he was anxious to take a more active part than he had hitherto done. With rifle in hand, he continued walking up and down, keeping inside the fires and watching to see that all had sufficient fuel to cause the flames to burn up brightly. Both the horses and oxen were naturally restless while within sound of their dreaded enemies.

He had stopped to look out, when, at the end of the waggon farthest from that to which the horses were secured, he heard the tramp of feet, and looking round, by the light of the fire, he saw one of them loose and trotting away. He instantly called to some of the men to secure the animal, but they either did not hear, or did not understand him, and it was some time before any of them were on their feet, when the horse had disappeared in the darkness.

“You must go and bring it back,” he shouted, and was himself about to set off in chase of the horse, when Umgolo, who had been awakened, stopped him, and gave him to understand by signs and such few English words as he could speak, that he would run a great risk of being attacked himself, and would to a certainty not recover the animal that night.

“If he escapes the lions, he may come back, or we may find him in the morning,” said the Kaffir.

Crawford, acknowledging the wisdom of this advice, remained in the camp, looking out occasionally, however, in the hopes of seeing the horse return. After some minutes Umgolo touched him on the arm.

“Hark! do you hear that sound?” he asked.

Some suppressed growls reached their ears.

“The horse is dead, and the lions are gnawing his bones. They are growling at the hyenas and jackals who have gathered round to join in the feast, but the lions won’t let them until they have eaten their fill.”

Presently to the growls of the lions was added the howling, shrieking, chattering, and barking of the hyenas, mingled with the cries of the jackals, producing a most unearthly chorus.

“Come, let us try and kill the brutes,” said Denis, and he and Crawford walked out a few yards from the camp; but, although they fired several shots, no effect was produced; and Umgolo calling to them to come back, lest a lion should pounce upon them, they returned to the camp. The sound of the shots had awakened Hendricks, which the howlings of the wild beasts had failed to do. He rated Denis and Crawford for their folly in leaving the camp.

“In spite of your firearms, you might have been seized in the darkness by one of those savage brutes, who would not dare to face you in daylight,” he observed. “Never, if you can help it in these wilds, be away at night from the light of a fire.”

It was found in the morning that Crawford’s horse was missing. On searching round the camp, two leg bones and a few pieces of skin were discovered, the sole remains of the unfortunate animal, the rest had been carried off by beasts of prey. As soon as the oxen had been watered and had had time to pick up some grass, the party inspanned and proceeded on their journey.

Fortunately Hendricks had a couple of spare horses, one of which he lent Crawford, who would otherwise have had to march on foot, or have been indebted to his friends, who would undoubtedly have insisted on his getting into their saddles while they walked. For three days they travelled on as fast as the oxen could move. Hendricks, being as anxious to get as far as possible from Cetchwayo and his warriors, instead of taking a circuitous route, as he had at first intended, through a fertile and thickly inhabited district, proceeded on a direct line across a wild and barren region with which he was but little acquainted. It abounded, however, he knew, in game, and he hoped that water, sufficient for the wants of the oxen and horses, would be found. Scarcely half an hour passed, that a herd of grotesque gnus, with the heads of bisons and horns of oxen, or of graceful quaggas, swift blesbocs, or light and elegant springbocs, did not pass in sight, in hundreds, or rather in thousands, across the plain. Although it was no easy matter to get up with them, still Hendricks was too experienced a hunter to be baffled, and he never failed, when he went out for the purpose, to bring back an ample supply of meat for the party. Water, however, was becoming scarce. The supply which had been brought for the use of the men was well-nigh exhausted, while the holes in which it was expected there would be enough for the animals, were found to be dry. The country they were traversing was level, thinly scattered over with trees and small bushes, and there was abundance of grass; so that cattle and horses were able to obtain food, and such moisture as the grass afforded, but had had for two days not a drop of water; still, as the only hope of obtaining any was to push forward, they moved on as fast as the animals could drag the waggon. Hendricks, the Kaffirs and Hottentots, accustomed to privations of all sorts, uttered no complaints, but the younger members of the party began to suffer greatly from thirst.

“I’d give a guinea, if I had it, for a thimbleful of water,” exclaimed Denis, “for I feel as if I could drink the Liffy dry.”

Night came on, and they were compelled at length to outspan, when the poor oxen lay down overcome with fatigue. To move during the night was impossible, and the whole party sat round their fires in no happy mood. They attempted to take supper, but few could swallow a particle of food. The fires had been lit to keep off the lions heard roaring in the distance, but some time passed before any came near enough to cause disquietude to the oxen, which invariably show their dread of the savage brutes. A vigilant watch was kept, but the night became very dark, and the fires, which for want of fuel had sunk low, scarcely shed their light far enough to show the oxen lying down a short distance off. Most of the party had turned in; but Hendricks himself, with Percy, who had offered to assist him, were keeping the first watch.

“How soon do you think we shall reach Falls Farm?” asked Percy.

“In five or six days, possibly, if we are fortunate enough to find water,” answered Hendricks; “but I fear that the cattle will become so weak, they will scarcely be able to drag on the waggon. If we don’t discover any to-morrow, we must set off to search for it in different directions. I propose letting Denis and you explore to the north-west, while I ride ahead with Lionel, and Umgolo, with Crawford, if he choose to accompany him, can go off more to the north-east. We shall thus, I hope, fall in before long with what we so much require. The waggon can in the meantime proceed onwards as fast as the poor oxen can drag it.”

“We can’t fail in that way, I hope, to find water,” observed Percy. “So I suppose that I may count on getting home in the time you speak of.”

“Are you tired of the journey?” asked Hendricks.

“Oh, no, on the contrary,” answered Percy. “But I think my father and mother will be growing anxious at our not appearing so much longer after the time they expected us; otherwise I should like to accompany you through the whole of your expedition into the interior. I like the life much better than I fancy I shall being planted down on a farm, and not seeing any one for months together, except my family, though I am sure I shall be very happy with them.”

Just then one of the oxen bellowed loudly.

“Get a lantern from the waggon, Percy; we must see what is the matter,” said Hendricks.

Percy quickly brought the lantern, and they advanced towards the spot; but scarcely had they got half a dozen paces, when a rushing, trampling sound as of many feet was heard, and three of the oxen dashed into the camp, almost through the fire, others apparently taking an opposite direction. At the same time stifled groans reached their ears.

“One of the oxen must be hurt,” observed Percy.

“Yes, but those groans are not made by the poor beast. They are the sounds produced by the lion as he devours his prey, and I must try to interrupt him,” said Hendricks.

As he spoke, he advanced a few paces farther. At that moment Percy caught sight of an animal, certainly not an ox, springing by. Hendricks fired, and the next instant every one in the camp had jumped up, asking what was the matter.

“The matter is, that a lion has killed one of the oxen, and he may destroy several others if we don’t stop his career,” answered Hendricks, rapidly reloading.

He now led the way to where the oxen had been lying down, while the Hottentots secured the three which had come into camp. None of the other oxen were to be seen, except one, which lay motionless on the ground, with its neck broken. In their eagerness to overtake them, the men, in spite of the darkness, would have set off in pursuit, had not Hendricks called them back.

“It would be useless in the dark, and you would run a great risk of being caught by the lion,” he observed. “You must wait till morning, when we will go in search of them; and we may, perchance, find water at the same time, as they will probably head towards it, if they escape from the lion.”

This was the most severe disaster which had yet occurred to the travellers; for in that wild district it would be impossible to replace the oxen, should they not be found.

The men, on being summoned, returned to the camp, but none of them were inclined again to go to sleep, for all were suffering greatly from thirst, and at any moment another lion might pay them a visit.

Morning at length dawned. The body of the ox killed by the lion was discovered about a hundred yards from the camp, a part of the hind-quarters only eaten, the brute having evidently been frightened away by the shot Hendricks fired, though whether it was wounded or not it was impossible to say.

Although they had gone supperless to bed, so parched were their throats that they were unable to take any breakfast. The horses had been secured to the waggon, or they to a certainty would have gone off with the oxen. Most of them, however, were too much knocked up to exert themselves. To recover the cattle was of the first importance. Hendricks therefore found it necessary to alter his plan. The rest of the party undertaking to go on foot in search of water, he selected the only two horses fit for travelling, and rode away with one of the Hottentots to look for the missing cattle, while Crawford and Umgolo, as had been arranged, proceeded in a north-easterly direction. It had been decided, as soon as the oxen were recovered, should they be able to travel, that the waggon was to continue on due north, that they might have no difficulty in again finding it.

The morning was fresh, almost cold, and the air pure; so that had not Denis and Percy, who, accompanied by Gozo and two dogs, were the first to start, been suffering from thirst, and very much from hunger also, they would have been able to march merrily along. As it was, by chewing some grass which they plucked as they went on, they somewhat lessened their sufferings. They kept their eyes about them for any signs which might indicate water. Though here and there shrubs, and even trees of some size, grew out of the sandy soil, yet no moisture could be discovered. Fewer animals than usual were seen, but occasionally a herd of gnus or antelopes bounded across their path, but too far off for a shot.

As the sun rose the heat increased, but that made them still more anxious to discover water. The poor dogs suffered even more than they did, as they followed at their heels; for even the sight of game did not induce them to scamper off as they would have done on other occasions.

“It will never do to give in,” said Denis, as Percy proposed sitting down under the shade of a tree to rest, where the dogs had already sought shelter.

“I don’t wish to give in; but if we cannot find water soon, I fear that it will be impossible to get on,” answered Percy.

“Look at poor Gozo, he seems to be suffering even more than we are, though I should have supposed that he would have held out the longest.”

The old Kaffir threw himself down in the shade, and lay on his back gasping. “I shall die, masters, I shall die!” he said; “I cannot go farther.”

“Don’t be saying that, Gozo; you’ll get up after a little rest, and we’ll find water before long; if not, we may fall in with some juicy roots: I have heard that such grow in some parts of the country where the soil is sandy, and so we are likely to discover them here.”

“It won’t do to stop here long,” said Denis. “We must up and away; the sooner we set off, the sooner we shall find water. Come along, rouse up, Gozo; you will be better moving along than lying still.”

The Kaffir thus incited to exertion got on his feet. The party set off, the dogs dragging themselves after their masters, for their instinct told them that there would be no safety for them alone. On and on they went, Denis and Percy doing their best to keep up each other’s spirits. Poor Gozo, however, complained more and more. He had drawn his hunger belt tighter and tighter round his waist, until it looked as if it would cut him in two. His throat, he said, felt as if a hot iron had been run down it; yet, encouraged by Denis, he staggered on. It was too evident that he was growing weaker and weaker, and he declared a last that he could not carry his gun.

“But without it you will not be able to defend yourself, should we be attacked by a lion or lioness,” said Denis.

“No matter: I must die then,” answered Gozo.

“Well, if I carry your gun, will you come on?” asked Denis.

“I’ll try, master, I’ll try,” answered the black as Denis took the gun.

“I must help you to carry it,” said Percy. “I cannot do much to assist the fellow along, but I hope that his weakness is more fanciful than real, and that now he is relieved from the weight of his gun he will move on more briskly.”

For a short distance Gozo staggered on faster than he had done for some time previously, but again his feet moved slower and slower, until coming to a tree he begged that he might lie down under it in the shade and rest.

“But rest means delay, and every minute we are becoming more and more thirsty,” said Denis.

Still Gozo insisted on lying down, and Denis and Percy had to agree to his doing so. As they could not leave him, they sat down by his side.

After remaining a few minutes, however, Denis started up. “Come, this will never do,” he exclaimed; “push on we must; we shall be as exhausted as he is, if we do not soon find water, and we shall not find it by sitting here.”

“I am ready,” said Percy; but when they tried to induce Gozo to rise, he declared that he was utterly unable to move.

“Leave me here, masters,” he groaned out. “If you find water in a short time, come back, but if not go on, for it will be useless to return, as I shall be dead.”

Again and again they endeavoured to induce him to get up, but in vain were all their efforts. At last Denis said, “We must leave him, I fear, though he runs a great risk of being destroyed by some wild beast.”

He then turned to the unhappy native. “We will do as you wish. We will leave you your musket to defend yourself, but I would urge you not to give in; and if you feel yourself stronger, follow us. You will easily distinguish our spoor, and we will fire off our pieces to show you our whereabouts, should we find water,” he said.

With much regret they left poor Gozo, having strong doubts whether they should find him alive on their return. They set off slightly refreshed by their rest. They had not gone far when they caught sight of a single wildebeest, or gnu, scampering along at a great rate, and going almost in the direction they were pursuing.

“Perhaps that animal is making its way towards water,” observed Percy.

“I fear not,” answered Denis. “If so, it would not be alone. It has been separated from the herd; and see, there are some creatures chasing it. They are wild dogs; you can just distinguish their heads moving along the grass in single file; the leader is close at the heels of the poor wildebeest.”

As the dogs came nearer, a whole line amounting to several score could be seen, following exactly one behind the other. Presently the leader took a leap, and alighted on the haunches of the affrighted gnu. Another and another followed, until, borne down by numbers, the gnu was dragged to the ground.

By this time Denis and Percy were near enough to fire with effect. Denis knocked over one of the dogs, and the rest, frightened by the report, turned tail and scampered off. The lads rushed forward, eager to obtain some of the flesh of the gnu. The animal was already dead, so they were saved the trouble of shooting it. They at once cut off some slices, while the two dogs, who had refused to remain with Gozo, ate a hearty meal.

“We must take some of this back to the poor fellow we left under the tree,” said Denis.

Percy agreed; and much revived themselves, they set off by the way they had come. They hurried on, hoping to find Gozo still alive. As they approached they shouted out to give him notice that they were coming. The dogs on this ran forward; but as they got near to the spot, stopped and gazed towards it, and then came back.

“What can have happened?” asked Percy. “Surely Gozo cannot have died during the short time we have been absent, yet otherwise the dogs would have remained.”

They hurried on to find Gozo lying at full length where they had left him. His eyes were open, but staring meaninglessly. Denis called him by name. He made no reply. He lifted his hand, it felt cold and clammy, and fell as he let it go; his heart had ceased to beat. Notwithstanding this, he pressed some of the juice from the flesh they had brought, into his mouth. They lifted up his head, they rubbed his feet, but all in vain. They saw with sorrow that they had been too late to save him. To remain longer would be useless, and already the journey back had occupied some time.

“We must hurry on to save our own lives,” said Denis; “if we don’t find water in an hour or two, we shall be badly off indeed.”

They therefore left the body of the Kaffir where it lay, his rifle by his side, but they wisely carried off his ammunition, in case their own should run short. Sometimes they thought they saw shrubs which could only grow near water, but on getting up to them they were disappointed at not finding the slightest signs of moisture. Although the flesh of the gnu had greatly revived them, still in a short time their thirst returned. They pressed onward as before, the dogs ranging on either side, apparently aware of what they were in search of, or prompted by instinct to look out for themselves. Still there were no signs of water. They went on for fully an hour more, during which time they could have got over only between two or three miles, for they could not walk very fast.

They had gone some way farther when Percy caught sight of some objects moving over the plain, now stopping, now going on again.

“They are small animals of some sort,” said Denis, to whom he pointed them out. “We must try and get near them without putting them to flight. Depend upon it they are not likely to be far from water.”

There were some bushes at a little distance, to which the lads made their way, in order to get near the creatures without being seen.

“Why, I believe they are baboons!” cried Denis; “the Kaffirs call the creature the chacma. They are hunting for babiana root, which is always full of water. We can drive them off just as they have begun to dig, and before they have got hold of the roots we shall secure as many as we want for ourselves. Had we seen them only a few hours ago, poor Gozo’s life might have been saved.”

They were now getting near to the bushes, and the baboons, being very busy, had fortunately not perceived them. They crept on cautiously until they had got within fifty yards of the animals. There were a couple of dozen at least. Some had got hold of roots which they were eagerly eating, others were busily digging away in the sand. The lads had some difficulty in keeping back the dogs; for as soon as they saw the baboons they made efforts to rush at them, and very probably would have suffered severely in consequence.

“Now,” whispered Denis, “I see three or four have been digging away not far off, evidently expecting to find roots. In a few seconds we’ll fire, then shout, and let slip the dogs.”

They did as he proposed. The baboons, frightened at the unusual sounds, and seeing the unknown creatures coming towards them, scampered off as hard as they could go. Denis and Percy rushed forward to the holes which the baboons had made, and digging eagerly with their hands, each of them soon came to a root, and rubbing off the sand which adhered to the outsides, put them to their mouths. Perfectly refreshing and cool was the pulpy substance, full of the purest water. The dogs eagerly gobbled up the portions they threw away. They went to another and another hole, in each of which a root was found. The effect was almost instantaneous; they at once felt refreshed and strengthened. Having satisfied their own thirst, they found two more roots, which they gave to the dogs; but the baboons had already extracted the roots from the other holes, and after searching for some time they could find no more. Although they themselves felt revived, they did not forget the object of their expedition, and resolved to continue on; but it occurred to Denis that as the baboons had come to the place to obtain roots, it was not likely that they would find any water in the neighbourhood.

“That makes it more important that we should push on as fast as possible,” said Percy; “but I say, Denis, do you think there’s any chance of our getting back to the waggon to-night? It is already late.”

Denis looked at the sun, which was sinking towards the west.

“Faith! I was not thinking how time was passing,” he answered; “and, to say the truth, I’m pretty sure we shan’t get back, and we must make up our minds to camp out. If we keep up a good fire to scare away the lions and other savage beasts, there will be no danger and no great hardship.”

Percy, who did not like the thought of passing the night in the wilderness, proposed that they should strike away to the right, or about due east, in the expectation of falling in with the track of the waggon, which he hoped might have been able to move on. Denis was of opinion that there was no chance of their getting as far before nightfall, and that it was very possible the oxen might not have been found, or if they had been found, that they would have been able to make much progress towards the north.

“We shall be wiser if we continue our search for water, and look out for some food; for now—thanks to the roots—my thirst is quenched, and I am getting very peckish,” he added.

“So am I,” said Percy; “but I am too anxious to get back to the waggon to think much about my hunger.”

“You’ll not be so indifferent about food before long, let me tell you,” observed Denis. “You’ll then feel that you’d rather bring down a springboc, or gnu, or any other animal we may come across, than see the waggon moving ever so merrily along. I know what it is to be starving, and to feel that one’s life depends on bringing down the game one is chasing. Come, move on! we will keep our eyes about us on the chance of finding something to shoot. When the sun gets lower, we will look out for a clump of trees or bushes which will shelter our camp from the night wind, and give us fuel for our fire.”

“I would rather find a stream or water hole,” said Percy.

“So would I, provided we could afterwards get something to eat and fuel to cook it; but if not, we must make the best of circumstances. Many people have been in a worse situation than we are, so don’t let us begin to complain yet,” said Denis.

His indomitable spirits encouraged Percy, and they trudged on in the direction they were before going, looking eagerly about them, both for signs of water and for any animal which might appear near enough to give them a chance of shooting it. Denis was sure that Hendricks, should he find water, would at once set off on horseback in search of them in the direction he had desired them to take, and by his experience would quickly come upon their spoor and follow them up, or if he could not come himself, that he would send Umgolo. They were, of course, very sorry for the loss of poor Gozo, who would have been of great assistance both in obtaining food and searching for water, if any existed in the neighbourhood. Meantime the sun was sinking lower and lower, but neither game nor signs of water had they discovered. In vain Raff and Fangs ranged widely on either side of them, as eager as they were to find it.

Some way to the left there appeared a wood. The trees were not very high, but they would afford them the shelter and fuel they required, and Denis proposed that they should make towards them.

“It cannot be helped; we shall have to go without our suppers, I fear; but we must hope to find something for breakfast,” said Denis.

Percy groaned. He had become, as Denis guessed he would, very hungry, and the lower limb of the sun had almost reached the horizon. They knew that soon after it had set darkness would come on, when it would be difficult to select a suitable spot for camping, or obtain time for collecting fuel. They had not gone far when Percy exclaimed, “Hallo, what’s that? What an enormous bird!” And Denis, looking to the right, in which direction Percy pointed, saw an ostrich scampering away across the plain.

Both the dogs instantly started off in chase, but the ostrich quickly outstripped them; and Denis, fearing that they might lose themselves or get exhausted to no purpose, called them back.

“Did you mark the spot it started from?” he asked eagerly. “We must try to find it. The chances are it was sitting on its eggs, and if they are tolerably fresh, they will serve us for food and liquid too.”

“I think I can calculate the whereabouts of the place it rose from,” said Percy; and they hastened on, keeping a little apart, that they might be able to examine a wider extent of ground than if they had been together. Denis could see nothing like a nest, and he began to fear that the ostrich had been merely resting after being chased, and that their hunt would be fruitless.

“It can’t be helped; we must make for the wood, or we shall not be able to see our way,” he shouted to Percy.

Just then the latter exclaimed, “Hurrah! hurrah! five magnificent eggs!” and he held up one of them with both hands.

Denis hurried to the spot. There, sure enough, resting in the centre of a clump of dry grass, with otherwise very little protection, were four large white eggs besides the one Percy had in his hand, each large enough to afford a good meal to them both.

Their hunger would have prompted them then and there to sit down and eat the contents raw, but Denis wisely advised that they should restrain their appetites and hasten on to the clump of trees. They accordingly each secured two in their handkerchiefs and Percy carried the fifth in his hand.

Although the sun had sunk by the time they got close to the wood, there was still light sufficient to enable them to collect a supply of broken branches and leaves for their fuel.

“Take care that you do not catch hold of a snake, fancying you are about to pick up a stick,” cried Denis. “I nearly did so just now. Fortunately the creature wriggled off more frightened at me than I was at it.”

“You may trust me for that,” said Percy; “but what do you say, instead of sleeping on the ground, to climbing up into a tree? I see one with the branches sufficiently low to enable us to get into it without difficulty. We should at least be out of the reach of lions.”

“Yes, I agree with you it will be the safest place, although not the most comfortable, and we must remember to carry our guns with us, or we may chance to be besieged there as I once was,” answered Denis, coming along with a bundle of sticks. “We’ll light our fire first, and cook an egg. If that is the tree you propose, let us pitch our camp beneath it;” and he threw down the sticks, while Percy hastened to bring those he had collected and left at a little distance.

“Holloa! I saw one of the branches move in a curious fashion,” he exclaimed, looking up at the tree in which they proposed to form their resting-place for the night.

“A branch! why that’s a boa or snake of some sort, big enough to eat us both up, if so disposed,” cried Denis.

They had fortunately not gone sufficiently close to enable the creature to spring down upon them, or the consequences might have been serious.

“We must dislodge that fellow, if we are to get up the tree,” said Denis, raising his rifle. “I can see his head.” And he fired.

The huge snake gave some convulsive struggles, trying to coil itself round and round the branch, but its folds speedily relaxed, and its head hung down towards the ground, still it clung on by its tail, the folds of its huge body twisting and writhing in a manner truly terrific as seen in the dim light beneath the deep foliage of the tree.

“We must put a stop to that fellow’s performances, or he may be doing us some mischief still,” cried Percy; and raising his rifle he fired. In a few seconds down fell the big snake to the ground; its tail, however, still kept moving, and Denis, who had reloaded his rifle with small shot, stepping forward, discharged it at the tail end of the body. The effect was instantaneous—its struggles ceased—the huge snake lay dead.

“I only hope there may not be more up the tree. You see we might have been in as much danger among the branches as on the ground,” said Denis.

They both looked up, going round and round the tree, but could discover nothing moving, so they came to the conclusion that the boa had been its only occupant.

“It won’t be pleasant to have this fellow close under us, as the hyenas and jackals will to a certainty collect to feast off him before long,” said Denis. “We must drag him off as far as we can. To be sure, if we hadn’t found the ostrich eggs, we should have been thankful to get some steaks off him; as it is, we may as well cut a few for ourselves, in case the eggs should not be as fresh as we might desire; while Raff and Fangs will have no objection to as many as we like to give them.”

“You don’t mean to say that we may have to eat some of that horrible snake!” cried Percy.

“I mean to say it is possible that we may be very glad to eat a good junk of it,” answered Denis. “We may fancy all the time that we are banqueting on a magnificent sturgeon.”

“Oh, do let us get the fire lighted first, and cook an egg,” cried Percy. “Without food I am sure I could not drag that snake a dozen feet.”

To this Denis agreed. Having match-boxes in their pouches, they quickly lighted their fire, but they had to wait till some ashes were formed before they could begin to cook one of the eggs. In the meantime Denis cut some slices from the thicker part of the snake’s body, and some hunches which the hungry dogs very speedily disposed of. He then began to drag it away, but alone he could scarcely move it, so that Percy, in spite of his hunger, was obliged to assist him. They did not get far, however, but hurried back, pretty well exhausted, to cook the eggs they were longing for. Denis performed the operation in a scientific manner, by making a small hole at one end, and then putting in some pepper and salt which they had brought with them, and stirring the inside about with a stick till the egg was cooked. It was soon done in this fashion; and greatly to the satisfaction of Percy, who dreaded having to sup off the snake’s flesh, it was found to be perfectly sweet. Although they had no water, they were able from the liquid nature of the egg to eat a small portion of the biscuit they had in their pouches. The meal greatly restored their strength, as well as Percy’s spirits.

Having made up the fire to give them light, they dragged the body of the snake still farther from the camp. Denis was inclined to remain under the tree, where he could stretch himself at full length on the ground. Percy entreated him to come up into the branches.

“But supposing we were both to go to sleep, and the fire was to go out, and a lion was to come prowling this way, what would become of us?” asked Denis. At last he agreed to do as Percy wished, and making up the fire so as to give them plenty of light, they climbed into the tree with their guns and four ostrich eggs.

“We must get up the dogs also, or some wild beast or other may carry them off,” said Denis. “Come along, Raff, old fellow, catch hold of this;” and Denis, leaning down from the lowest branch, held out his handkerchief, which Raff, clearly understanding what he was to do, caught hold of, and was quickly hauled up. Nothing however would induce Fangs to follow his example, and at last they were compelled to abandon the attempt to get him up, he having evidently made up his mind to pass the night at the foot of the tree—probably that he might enjoy at his leisure a further meal off the snake. Greedy Fangs, like many human beings, influenced by sinister motives, he was doomed to suffer severely for his folly.

They soon selected for themselves and Raff three tolerably secure places among the forked branches, where they hoped to be able to pass the night, if not in a very comfortable manner, at all events without the risk of being pounced upon by a hungry lion.

Chapter Twelve.

In search of water.

After the fatigue and anxiety they had gone through, it was not long before Denis and Percy began to feel excessively drowsy.

“Take care you don’t fall off, Percy,” said Denis; “or let your gun drop either. I’ve fastened mine to my neckerchief, and I’d advise you to do the same.”

“I have jammed myself and my gun between two branches, so that there is no chance of falling,” answered Percy; “but I’ll make fast my ostrich eggs, for I would not lose them on any account, lest we should have to breakfast off that horrible snake.”

“Little chance of that,” murmured Denis. “By to-morrow morning there won’t be a scrap of it left.”

Denis said this in a very drowsy tone. His eyes were fixed on the fire, which seemed to him sometimes to flare up with unusual brightness, then to flit about, then totally to disappear, for the best of reasons, his eyes were closed. Percy was also just going off, when his ears were assailed by a hideous uproar of shrieks and howls and barks.

Looking out from his leafy covert, he could see a number of creatures moving about in the direction of the spot to which the body of the snake had been dragged. He guessed what they were, and was very thankful that he and his companion were safe up the tree.

“Do you hear those brutes, Denis?” he asked; but there was no answer. He could see the place where he supposed his friend lay, but could not reach him. At first the dreadful idea occurred that he might have fallen off, and he was about to crawl along the branch to feel for him, when the light from the fire flickered on one of his arms, and he knew that he must be fast asleep. He had not the cruelty to awaken him, and indeed after he got accustomed to the hideous chorus raised by the hyenas and jackals, his own eyes began to close. He could just make out Fangs by the light of the fire, crouching down close to the trunk, and every now and then giving vent by a low growl to his anger as he watched the savage creatures devouring the snake on which he had intended to breakfast.

Percy had scarcely shut his eyes, when he was startled by hearing a terrific roar, and looking towards where the hyenas and jackals had been holding their revels, he saw them scampering away in every direction, while the glare of the fire fell on the head and shoulders of an enormous lion. The king of brutes, however, looked disappointed at finding only a few scraps of a mangled snake, instead of the repast he expected, and not deigning to touch the leavings of the jackals, he advanced a short distance towards the tree. Afraid to approach nearer the fire, he stopped and began to roar loudly.

“Roar away, old fellow,” cried Percy. “You’ll not get hold of us.”

That was true enough so far as he and Denis and Raff were concerned, but the case was very different with regard to poor Fangs. Between him and the lion there was only a small fire, which the latter might spring over at a single bound. He prudently neither barked nor growled, but shrank closer and closer to the trunk, while the lion stood within a dozen yards of him, every now and then uttering a terrific roar.

To Percy’s surprise, Denis slept on in spite of the roaring. He was probably dreaming about it, but it had not the effect of awakening him. Percy thought of shooting the lion and trying to save Fangs, but found that he could not fire without changing his position, and he was afraid, in attempting to do so, that he might fall to the ground, he therefore contented himself with watching the lion. The animal evidently suspected that there was something up the tree, and having roared for some minutes, he began to circle round it, keeping, however, at a respectful distance. Would Fangs escape his scrutiny? Percy could no longer see the dog, for the fire was getting low, and he was concealed by the roots. Presently there was the sound of a rush, of a heavy blow struck, but not a growl nor a cry was heard, and then the lion bounded off with something in his mouth.

No sooner had he gone, than the hyenas and jackals came back, but they too in a short time, having probably finished the snake, also took their departure. Percy had too much reason to fear that poor Fangs had become the prey of the lion; but his thoughts began to wander, and overcome by fatigue, he was soon fast asleep.

The night passed quietly by. Denis was the first to open his eyes. It was broad daylight. On looking up through the branches, he observed that the sky was completely obscured.

“Hallo! we must have had a long snooze,” he exclaimed. “Are you all right, Percy?”

“Somewhat stiff and sore, but I shall feel better when I have stretched my legs, I daresay,” answered Percy. “Dear me! the fire has gone out.”

“Then the sooner we get down and light it the better,” said Denis.

They descended from their roosting places, Denis carefully handing down the guns to Percy, who went first. They then helped Raff to reach the ground.

“Take care! I saw a lion close to the tree, just before I went to sleep, and he may perhaps be in the neighbourhood,” observed Percy.

“You dreamed about one probably, as I did,” said Denis, “and a fearful roaring I fancied he made.”

Percy assured him that he had seen a real lion, and described it so minutely, and the visit of the jackals and hyenas, that Denis was almost convinced. He was thoroughly so when, on looking towards the spot where the snake had been, he saw that not a particle of it remained.

“Hallo! what has become of Fangs?” he exclaimed.

“The lion, I fear, has carried him off,” answered Percy.

Of this there could be no doubt, for no trace of the poor dog could be discovered, except a few drops of blood close to the base of the tree where he had been lying down.

“The chances are, the lion has gone to a distance, and won’t come back at all events until we have lighted a fire,” observed Denis, as they set to work to collect fuel, when without loss of time they cooked another ostrich egg for breakfast. They then started on their tramp, fancying that, although there was no sun to guide them, they could easily make their way by continuing the same course as they had followed on the previous day.

After going a short distance, still unsuccessful in their search for water, Percy again suggested that they should keep to the right, so as to fall in with the waggon. To this Denis agreed, and they accordingly turned, as they supposed, to the east. As, however, there was no wind, they could not be certain that they were keeping in a direct line. Had there been any prominent objects by which they could steer, their minds would have been more comfortable on the subject. After going some distance, Percy declared that he thought they must be up to the course the waggon was to take. Seeing a tall tree a little distance ahead, they made towards it, and agreed to climb into the topmost branches, that they might take a look-out, hoping that they should see the waggon coming along. Percy, who was well accustomed to climbing, offered to mount the tree, while Denis took charge of his gun and one of the remaining ostrich eggs which he had carried. The tree was more difficult to get up than he had supposed, but he managed at length to reach a high bough, from whence he could obtain a wide view around.

“I can see nothing of the waggon,” he shouted. “The country looks everywhere equally arid and barren, except to the northward, and there I see some trees, which from their bright green hue must grow near water.”

“Well, then, come down, and we will make towards them,” said Denis; and as soon as Percy had descended, they set off in the direction he had indicated.

They were getting very thirsty. Had the sun been shining, they would have suffered even more than they did; but as it was, their throats were parched and dry, and they eagerly pressed forward, in the hope of speedily obtaining water.

Their disappointment was proportionally great when, arriving at the trees towards which they had been directing their course, no stream or pool could be found.

Percy, who had hitherto kept up bravely, threw himself on the ground, almost in despair.

“Oh, I am so thirsty! What shall we do?” he cried.

“I’ll tell you what we must do—get up and push along,” answered Denis. “I fancy that I see some more trees, much greener than any we have yet passed, and the chances are we shall find water near them.”

Percy, thus encouraged, got up. He had no wish to give in as poor Gozo had done. It was very trying, but the lads had stout hearts, and kept up bravely. They reached the trees at last, once more to be disappointed. Accompanied by Raff, who was suffering as much as they were, they ran here and there, attracted by a shrub looking fresher than usual, then by a depression in the ground.

Percy, who had gone some distance, shouted, “Hurrah! here are signs of water.”

Denis hurried to the spot. The ground sloped down to where Percy was standing, looking into a deep basin or hollow. The bottom was moist. They both jumped down, digging away with their hands. Though the sand was wet, no actual water could they see. They somewhat allayed their burning thirst by putting the moist sand to their mouths. The appearance of the moisture encouraged them to hope that they might get to good water at last. Still they dug and dug with the same result as before. At length Denis stopped.

“The sand is getting drier instead of moister, and I am very much afraid that this is merely a hole once full of rain, which being low down and sheltered has not been dried up by the sun.”

Percy agreed with him, and all they could do was to suck some of the still moist sand, and to place it on the back of their necks, which gave them temporary relief. It was very evident that all their labour had been in vain.

“It cannot be helped,” cried Denis. “Forward is the word, and on we must go. Perhaps before long we shall find another hole with water at the bottom, or some more roots, though unless some baboons help us, I don’t know how we shall discover them.”

“I wish that we could feel a little more certain we are going in the right direction,” observed Percy. “If the sun would but come out, I should be more happy in my mind on that score.”

The clouds, however, hung as thickly as before from the sky. Had they sent down their contents, the wanderers would have been relieved from the burning thirst from which they were again suffering.

Although there was no sun, the air was hot and oppressive, and they began to feel much fatigued from their long tramp. Still they felt that it would be folly to halt while they had strength left to go on. So they pushed forward mile after mile. Denis declared that he was certain they were going in a north-westerly direction, from the appearance of the bark on the trees, which on that side was dry and perfectly free from moisture, while on the other, whence the rain generally came, here and there a few fungi and a little moss could occasionally be discovered. Percy did not like to express doubt about the correctness of his friend’s opinion, but he was not convinced that he was right.

Another night was approaching. Percy, less inured to fatigue than his companion, felt that unless he could obtain water and rest, he could scarcely hope to live through it. Still he struggled on, Denis doing his best to encourage him.

“Lean on my shoulder, and let me carry your gun,” he said; “you’ll get on better then; and when we camp, and you have had another ostrich egg, you’ll find your strength restored.”

“If I can manage to eat it,” murmured Percy, “but I much doubt whether I can get even that down my throat.”

“Never fear; I see some thick bushes, and I fancy some rocks beyond. We’ll camp there, if you find yourself unable to go farther; and we shall have plenty of fuel for our fire, and who knows but that we may find water?”

Denis said this in a no very confident tone, for he was almost beginning to despair of discovering what they were so eagerly in search of. Still he hoped that rest and food, and the cooler air of night, might restore Percy, and that they might push on for another day, at all events.

Raff continued creeping after them, the very picture of misery, his tongue hanging out, and his head down. Every now and then he would look up to their faces in the most piteous manner, as if to ask when they were going to find water. The poor dog was suffering from hunger as well as thirst; for although he had licked the ostrich egg shells clean, he had got but little nourishment out of them. At last the bushes seen in the distance were reached, and Percy, sinking on the ground, declared that he could go no farther.

“Well then, we will camp here,” said Denis; “and while you rest, I’ll collect some wood for our fire.”

Raff crouched down by the side of Percy, though his eyes followed his master while he was employed as he proposed. He was not long in collecting a sufficient supply of sticks to commence a fire.

“I’ll get more while the egg is cooking,” he said, throwing down the bundle. The fire was soon burning up brightly, and an egg was put on. Percy had just strength enough to watch it, while Denis collected some more sticks. He then came and sat down by the side of Percy, to whom he kept talking, while he stirred the egg. “I think it must be done now,” he said. “Come, eat away, old fellow, and you’ll soon be yourself again.”

“It’s water I want! it’s water I want!” murmured Percy.

“But as we haven’t water, the egg is the next best thing you can take,” said Denis, helping him.

But poor Percy could scarcely gulp it down. All the time Raff was looking up as much as to say, “I wish you’d give me some of that; I’d eat it fast enough.” Denis could not resist the imploring looks of the poor dog, and gave him a portion of his own share.

The usual noises of the African wilds were absent,—not even the note of a bird was heard. Suddenly Denis lifted his head in the attitude of listening.

“Hark, Percy!” he said. “I heard a peculiar murmur. Yes, I am nearly certain it is the sound of falling water. Do you listen.”

“I pray Heaven that you are right. I think so,” said Percy.

“Well, then, do you stay here by the fire, and I’ll go and look for it alone, if you are not able to come with me,” said Denis. “Keep your gun on the cock, and your eye about you, in case any brute of a lion or leopard should come near, though I don’t suppose there’s much chance of that.”

Percy tried to rise, but declared his inability to move farther, so Denis set off. The moment Raff saw him going, he crawled after him. Denis had taken both his own and Percy’s water bottle. No sooner had he got round the clump of bushes than he saw before him some rocks, beyond which the ground rose, covered with shrubs, extending away to a considerable distance; but no signs of water could he perceive. He stopped and listened. The same sound as before reached his ears. He could not be mistaken. He went on, until, to his unspeakable joy, he saw a spring of bright sparkling water rushing out of the cliff, falling from rock to rock, but instead of forming a rivulet, it was almost immediately lost in the sand, of which the bottom of the gully was composed. There was one part, however, which he could reach by climbing without much difficulty. Poor Raff, who had followed him thus far, was unable to get up to it, and looked wistfully at him, evidently entreating to have some given him without delay. Denis, having quenched his own thirst, filled the water bottles, and then, looking down at poor Raff, he filled his hat also, and brought that to the dog, who quickly lapped up the contents. Losing as little time as possible, he hastened back to Percy.

“Hurrah!” he exclaimed, as he came in sight of the fire, “I’ve got some water. You’ll soon be all to rights, Percy.”

But Percy did not reply; his heart sank. Could anything have happened? He rushed forward. Percy lay gasping on the ground. He lost not a moment in lifting his friend’s head, in moistening his lips, and then pouring some water down his throat.

Percy at length opened his eyes, and said, “Thank you, thank you; oh, how delicious!”

Denis gave him another draught of water. “There, now I think you can eat some more egg,” he observed. “I propose that we cook the last one. We are sure to fall in with game. If we take plenty of food now, we shall the better be able to go in chase of it.”

At last Percy sat up and managed to eat the remainder of the first egg cooked, and some of the other; then he took another draught of water. He felt that he could drink any quantity of that. It was now too late to continue their journey; indeed, Denis had only time to collect a further supply of sticks before darkness came on. They made up the fire in a semi-circle, and lay down as close to it as they could venture to do without risk of burning themselves, hoping thus to be secure from the attacks of wild beasts, while Raff took a post near them, to act as sentinel.

Poor Percy was soon fast asleep. Denis did his utmost to keep watch; but he also, having made up the fire, soon dropped off. He had been asleep some time when he was aroused by hearing Raff growl and bark. He started up and looked about him, but could see nothing. Indeed, the fire had burned so low, that its embers cast but a faint light to a short distance. Fortunately, he had reserved some sticks, which he immediately threw on the fire. As they burned up, he took another look round, when he saw the dim outline of some animal passing by. Whether a lion, leopard, or hyena, he could not make out. Percy was sleeping so soundly, that he did not like to awaken him; but he determined not to go to sleep himself again if he could help it.

Raff had ceased growling, so he concluded that the animal, frightened by the flames, had gone off. He hoped that it would not return. Had he not been aroused at the moment by his faithful dog, he and his companion might have lost their lives, and he felt grateful for their preservation. He husbanded the remaining sticks with care, for he was afraid that they might not hold out until the morning, and he employed himself by stirring up the embers when they grew dim, and raking them together. At length the sticks were exhausted. He dared not move from the camp to collect more; indeed, he would have had to go to some distance, as he had already picked up all those near at hand.

The fire grew dimmer and dimmer, until at last but a faint semi-circle of embers remained. Shortly afterwards, however, he became aware by seeing shrubs and rocks, which he had been hitherto unable to distinguish, that the light of day was returning, but the clouds still hung so densely around the horizon, that he was unable to ascertain the direction of the east. This he had hoped to do, that they might with greater certainty direct their course. At last the light became sufficient to enable them to proceed. He called Percy, who at once got up, saying that he was greatly refreshed and ready to go on as well as ever, though he wished they had another ostrich egg on which to breakfast.

“We can’t eat our loaf and have it too,” answered Denis, “but I hope we shall have something as good.”

They first made their way to the fountain, where they refreshed themselves with a draught of pure water, and having given as much to Raff as he could drink, they filled their water bottles, washed their faces and heads, and then pushed on, their spirits cheered with the hope of soon obtaining some game, and of falling in with the waggon before the day was over.

They trudged on, and although they saw some animals in the distance, they could not get near enough to distinguish what they were. It showed them, however, that there must be water in the neighbourhood, and they hoped therefore before long to come upon it. Percy had for some time been walking with much less elasticity than when they first started. At last he proposed that they should stop and eat the remainder of the biscuit they carried in their pouches. Having a good supply of water, they could now swallow it, which they could not have done on the previous day. They made towards a tree which would afford them shade, and on reaching it sat down and took their frugal breakfast, but poor Raff had to go without any, as Denis knew that it would be folly to give him any of the biscuit, which would not have satisfied his hunger. Again they went on, looking out anxiously for the tracks of the waggon wheels, or other signs which might indicate that their friends had been that way. Denis at last had to confess that he felt somewhat anxious. The day wore on, and though very thirsty, they husbanded their water for fear of not finding any before night.

They were almost in despair of falling in with game, when they caught sight, issuing from behind a wood in the distance, of a troop of pallahs coming in their direction. Looking about eagerly for some cover behind which they could conceal themselves, until the pallahs came near, they observed a thick bush a short distance ahead; they made for it, and got under cover, they hoped, without having been seen. The animals moved slowly along, feeding as they came. When within a hundred yards of the bush, they turned aside, to the bitter disappointment of the young hunters.

“We must be after them,” said Denis; “and if we can still find cover, we may get near enough to have a shot. Come, let us put our best feet forward. Stoop down as low as you can. Heel, Raff, heel!” he whispered to his dog, who was too well-trained to disobey him, and kept close behind him.

The pallahs kept moving on, sometimes slowly, at other times much faster. Percy felt but little able to follow, though he did his best. On and on they went. Before them they saw a grove of tall trees, towards which the pallahs were directing their course.

“The chances are there’s water not far off, and if the animals go down to drink we shall have a good chance of shooting one,” whispered Denis.

The pallahs reached the wood, but stopped to graze outside it. This enabled Denis and Percy to creep up towards it, at a part some distance from where they were feeding. They thus hoped, by making their way through the wood, to be able to get near enough to the animals to obtain a good shot. They had cautiously crept on for some way when Percy stopped, and seizing his companion’s arm, pointed up to the branch of a tree under which they were about to pass. There, extended at its full length, ready for a spring, lay an enormous leopard. Its eyes were turned away from them, watching the pallahs. They stepped cautiously back, having no doubt that had they attempted to pass under the bough, the leopard would have been down upon them, and probably killed both, as they were close together. They retreated behind a tree, where they stood watching for what would next occur. Denis well knew that should they wound the leopard, and not kill it, it would become a terrible foe.

The pallahs, unsuspicious of danger, at last moved towards the tree, several entering the wood almost together. One approached the fatal bough. Like a flash of lightning, the leopard sprang upon the unfortunate creature, and in an instant it lay dead, struck down by its powerful claws.

“Now is our time,” whispered Denis: “let us fire together; I’ll aim at the leopard’s head; do you fire at its shoulder, and then, without stopping to see if we have killed it, we’ll retreat behind the tree and reload.”

The plan was perfectly carried out. Before the smoke cleared away they had sprung back to their places of concealment, and had begun rapidly reloading. The instant Denis was ready, he cautiously stepped out from behind the trunk.

“Hurrah!” he shouted. “We did better than I expected.”

There, within twenty yards, lay the leopard and the deer, both dead. Under other circumstances they would have been eager to possess themselves of the leopard’s skin, which was of considerable value, but as it was they were far more anxious to obtain a supply of meat. They therefore set to work to cut off as much as they could carry from the pallah, without stopping to skin or disjoint it, while Raff enjoyed an abundant meal from the pieces which his master threw to him. The rest of the pallahs had taken to flight.

“We must remember this spot; and if we find Hendricks before long, he will be glad to send for this skin, supposing it is not torn to pieces in the meantime by the rascally hyenas and jackals.”

After the excitement of the chase, they were tempted to stop and take a draught of water, which nearly exhausted their stock. Anxious to obtain a fresh supply, they made their way through the forest in the hope of coming across a stream, towards which they supposed the pallahs had been bending their steps.

“There’s the water!” suddenly exclaimed Denis; “I see the animals drinking at it.”

The animals were there, but as the young hunters approached they took to flight. Having meat enough, they did not feel justified in firing a shot after them.

On reaching the spot, great was their disappointment to find that although there had been a little water, the pallahs had drunk it almost dry, while the remainder had sunk through the bottom, in which their feet had trampled. Not a drop could they obtain.

The wood formed an oasis in the wilderness; for farther on the country assumed the same barren, arid aspect as before.

“We must either go back to the fountain we left this morning, or push our way over this stony ground as fast as we can,” said Denis.

“Let us go on,” answered Percy; “we may find water again before long, or may fall in with the waggon.”

“Then I vote we fortify ourselves first with some meat,” said Denis; and collecting some wood, they speedily had a fire lighted, and some of the venison roasting before it.

Eager to prosecute their journey, after a short rest, they again set off. Night overtook them, however, and they had only just time to reach some bushes, which afforded but slight shelter and a scanty supply of firewood, before darkness came on.

They laboured in collecting sticks as long as the light lasted, and then, having made up their fire, cooked and eaten their supper, and drunk the remainder of their water, they lay down close to it, fatigue preventing them from troubling their minds as to what might happen during the night.

Chapter Thirteen.

The journey continued.

Overcome by fatigue, both the young hunters fell fast asleep. Watched over by a merciful Providence, no savage animals came near them. Not a growl or bark did Raff utter during the night; and when morning broke, Denis, who was the first to awake, was somewhat dismayed to find that the fire had completely gone out. He was not long in scraping the ashes together, and with the remainder of the sticks he had gathered relighted it and put on some venison steaks to cook.

When sufficiently done, he roused up Percy, who was greatly astonished to find that night had passed away. They did not fail to return thanks to God, who had taken care of them during the hours of darkness; for they felt, as any persons with the least sense of religion in them must have done, how utterly helpless they were under such circumstances. “Oh, how I wish I had some water!” poor Percy kept saying, as he tried to get down the meat. They neither of them could eat much, and Raff came in for a larger share than he would otherwise have obtained.

The clouds had cleared away, a bright sun was shining. According to their calculation, they had hitherto succeeded in keeping the course they had intended. The country to the east, however, looked so barren and uninviting, that they agreed to travel northward, where there appeared to be a better prospect of obtaining water, without which they could not hope to get on. As the sun rose in the sky, the heat became more and more excessive. Not a breath of wind cooled the atmosphere, and they consequently suffered more than ever from thirst. As before, poor Raff crawled along at their heels, with his tongue hanging from his mouth. In vain they looked out for trees of sufficient height to afford them shade.

“It won’t do to stop here,” said Denis, whom no suffering could daunt; “the faster we move, the better chance we shall have of finding water.”

Percy agreed with him, and did his best to push on. The same rocky ground, with shrubs growing amidst it, appeared ahead. At last they saw before them a clump of mimosa bushes.

“Oh, do let us rest there for a short time,” exclaimed Percy. “I think I shall then be able to get on better. I am keeping you back, I know, but I cannot help it.”

“Don’t let that trouble you. I feel pretty tired myself,” answered Denis; and they directed their course towards the bushes.

Their meat was rather high by this time, but they had no inclination to eat, and were too tired to collect wood for a fire. Percy threw himself on the ground in the shade, where Raff had already lain down. Denis seated himself by his side. He had scarcely been there a moment, when he started up, whispering—

“I hear some animal moving on the other side of the wood. It may be a deer, and I must not lose the chance of killing it.”

He stole cautiously among the bushes, endeavouring to discover the animal he fancied he had heard. He had got a hundred and fifty yards or so from his friend, when what was his horror to see rushing towards him a huge black rhinoceros! The creature did not see him, and perhaps would not have observed Percy, had not Raff started up and begun barking furiously. This aroused Percy, who, getting on his feet, thus exposed himself to the view of the rhinoceros. He would have been more prudent had he remained perfectly quiet. The rhinoceros looked at him savagely, when Percy levelled his rifle, but instead of waiting till the animal had got near him, fired; the bullet grazing the creature’s head, excited its rage, and on it rushed, with its horn lowered, directly towards the hapless lad. In another instant that fearful weapon would have been plunged into his body. Denis trembled for the safety of his friend; for he knew, should he fire, that his bullet was more likely to wound him than the rhinoceros. Percy’s death seemed certain, when at that moment, bursting through the wood, a young Zulu warrior appeared, with rifle in hand, shouting and shrieking to attract the animal’s attention. This had the effect of making the savage brute turn its eyes towards him. He fired. The rhinoceros was still rushing on, when its knees bent, its head sank down, and its horn ploughed along the ground. In another instant it would have been up to Percy, had not the Zulu, bounding forward, seized him in his arms, and carried him a few paces from the spot where he had been lying, which the rhinoceros reaching, it fell over on its side, and lay motionless.

“Thank you, whoever you are,” said Percy. “You have saved my life; for the animal’s horn would have run me through, had you not come to my assistance.”

Though the Zulu might not have understood what Percy said, he comprehended by the tone of his voice that he was expressing his gratitude.

Denis in the meantime, dreadfully alarmed, was hurrying on, scarcely expecting to be in time to save Percy, when the Zulu made his appearance. At first he was unable to tell whether he came as a friend or a foe, until he saw him fire, and knock over the rhinoceros.

“Thank heaven, he is safe! But who can that be? What, Mangaleesu!” he exclaimed. “Thank you, my friend, thank you! You have indeed come at the right moment. We feared that you were among those slaughtered by Cetchwayo and his followers.”

This was said partly in Zulu, and partly in such English as the young chief understood. Denis had grasped his hand, and pressed it warmly to express his gratitude.

“I had a narrow escape; but I slew six of my pursuers, and got off free,” answered Mangaleesu. “I could not, however, make my way directly into Natal, as I had left my wife, when I joined Umbulazi, in a kraal, with some of her relatives in this direction. On reaching it, I hurried her away, for I knew that ere long our enemies would attack it. Scarcely had we concealed ourselves in the woods overlooking the kraal, when a party of Cetchwayo’s forces appeared, and burnt it to the ground, destroying all who remained within. We have since been journeying on, but have been compelled to proceed cautiously, for fear of being discovered; for, being known as opposed to Cetchwayo, I might have been captured, and delivered up to him.”

“And where is your wife?” asked Denis.

“She is in a cave at no great distance, where I placed her while I came out to hunt; for, as game has been scarce in the country through which we travelled, we have been sorely pressed for food; but now we have this rhinoceros meat, we will at once return to her, as she will be frightened at my long absence.”

Saying this, the chief, who had just placed Percy on the ground, commenced cutting through the tough hide of the rhinoceros, and was about to slice off some of the flesh, when, observing how ill Percy looked, he inquired what was the matter with him.

“We want water,” answered Denis; “and he will die, I fear, if it cannot soon be obtained.”

“I will at once fetch some for him then,” said Mangaleesu; and taking the two empty bottles, he started away in the direction of some rocks seen in the distance.

Percy continued murmuring, “Water, water!”

“It will come soon, and you’ll be all right, old fellow,” said Denis, sitting by his side, and supporting his head while he fanned his face.

Raff was, in the meantime, smelling round and round the rhinoceros, and would evidently have liked to get at the meat, but the tough hide resisted his efforts.

With deep thankfulness Denis observed Mangaleesu returning, this time accompanied by another person, whom he recognised, when they got nearer, as Kalinda. She seemed much concerned at seeing the condition in which poor Percy lay, and placing herself by his side, she fanned his face, while Denis poured the water down his throat. She continued tending him while he went to help Mangaleesu cut into the rhinoceros. A supply of meat was soon obtained, and Denis proposed to light a fire and cook it. To this, however, Mangaleesu objected.

“In this open spot we may be seen, for we cannot tell what enemies there may be in the neighbourhood,” he observed. “Let us at once move on to the place where I concealed Kalinda. It will hold us all, and we shall there be safer than we are here, while there is water at hand, and we can light a fire in a hollow, without risk of its being seen in the distance.”

It was very evident, however, that poor Percy, although somewhat revived, was utterly unable to walk. “Kalinda and I will carry him then,” said Mangaleesu, “while you take his gun.”

“But I cannot impose that task on you, for I ought to assist in carrying him myself,” said Denis.

“No, no, you are not strong enough; we will easily manage it.”

Mangaleesu and his wife set to work to construct a litter, which they quickly formed with some poles, and fastened together by creepers. They then placed Percy on it, and set off, stepping along at a brisk rate, showing that they considered him alight burden. Denis carried his gun; and Raff, to whom he had given some water, as well as an ample supply of meat, trotted after them perfectly revived. Reaching the rocks, they passed through a narrow defile, into which another smaller one opened, and at its farther extremity they came to some thick bushes, which Mangaleesu pulling aside, the mouth of a cavern was discovered.

“Here no one is likely to find us, and if they do we can defend ourselves against greatly superior numbers,” said Mangaleesu. “Your friend therefore can remain in safety until he has recovered and is able to proceed on his journey.”

The cavern was dry and of considerable height, so that a fire could have been lighted within; but as the smoke would have been annoying, Denis suggested that they should light it outside, as the neighbouring bushes afforded plenty of fuel. This was soon done, and the rhinoceros meat put on to cook.

Mangaleesu and his wife, not being very particular as to its being well done, were soon able to commence supper. Denis preferred waiting a little longer, when he took some in to Percy, who was by this time well able to eat it. They pronounced it rather tough, but remarkably well flavoured; indeed, the rhinoceros being an herbivorous animal, its flesh is not to be despised.

As soon as the meat was cooked, the fire was put out. “We need not keep up one during the night,” observed Mangaleesu, “for no wild beast can make its way through the bushes which I will draw in front of the cave, and should any one come near, your dog will give us ample notice.”

Among the first inquiries Denis made of Mangaleesu was whether he had seen the waggon, or could in any way calculate how far they were from it. Mangaleesu replied that he had not seen it or fallen in with any tracks to show that it had passed in that direction. On learning whence they had started, he led Denis to suspect that he and Percy had wandered much farther to the north-west than they had supposed, and that they were not likely for several days to meet with the waggon, supposing it had moved on.

“There is, however,” he observed, “a white family living on the borders, the only one for many miles round, not more than two days’ journey from this. As soon as your friend has recovered his strength, if you start at daybreak, and walk on briskly, you may reach it on the evening of the second day. Kalinda and I will accompany you, and we will then go into Natal, and bid farewell for ever to Zululand.”

On telling Percy of the account given by Mangaleesu, he exclaimed, “Why that must be Falls Farm, where my father lives. I thought we were still a long way from it. How delightful! I wish that I could get up and set off immediately. I am sure by to-morrow morning I shall be strong enough.”

Denis was as anxious as his friend to start; for Percy had often spoken to him about Falls Farm and its inmates, and he thought that it would be very pleasant to spend a day or two with them. Hendricks, if he had recovered the oxen, was very likely to be there, or would arrive shortly.

Denis and Percy were thankful to be able to rest securely without the risk of being carried off by a lion or leopard, or trampled upon by an elephant or rhinoceros. A hunter in Africa has no easy time of it, either by night or by day. He has treacherous human foes and savage wild animals to contend with.

Although night had not commenced, Denis was glad to lie down by the side of his friend, so as to obtain a longer rest than he had enjoyed for many a night. Next morning Percy declared that he felt better, after he had had another meal off rhinoceros flesh and water. Still Denis saw that he was not at all able to walk far, and certainly not fit to attempt making a long journey. He persuaded him therefore to remain quiet, at all events for another day.

“I wish that we had something better than this rhinoceros meat,” said Denis to Mangaleesu.

“You shall have it,” was the answer; “but I must be cautious in going out, lest I fall in with any of my enemies. If I am killed, I will trust you to look after my wife. Let her accompany you to the farm, where I am sure the good white chief will take care of her, as he is kind, I am told, to all the people round.”

“I promise to do as you desire; but if there is any danger, it would be better not to go out,” said Denis. “We can rough it on the rhinoceros meat.”

Mangaleesu, however, observing that there would not be enough meat to last them another day, insisted on going out to find a deer or antelope.

Having closed the mouth of the cavern, and charged his companions not to venture forth, he set out. Denis and Percy passed their time mostly in sleep, to make up, as Denis said, “for their want of rest for so many days.” Kalinda sat watching them, having nothing else to do. A considerable part of the day had passed, and they began to grow anxious at Mangaleesu’s not returning.

Kalinda waited patiently, but she now frequently got up and went close to the mouth of the cavern, where she stood in the attitude of listening. Poor creature, she had long been accustomed to that state of anxiety, but now she had begun to hope that they would soon get across the border. They had taken into the cave a supply of water, and had cooked the remainder of the rhinoceros meat. As Mangaleesu did not return, the pangs of hunger compelled them to eat a portion, although they kept some in case he should come back without having succeeded in obtaining any game.

The day was drawing on when Kalinda, who was standing at the entrance, started and said in a low voice to Denis—

“He is coming!”

Presently the bushes were drawn aside, and Mangaleesu appeared, carrying a small antelope on his back. He looked tired and excited; and throwing the animal down, he hurriedly again closed the bushes, and sank exhausted to the ground.

“We must speak low, lest any one outside may hear us,” he whispered. “I have been seen and pursued, but eluded my enemies. They may not discover this retreat, for I pretended to go off in an opposite direction. As I came along I resolved that you, my young friends, should escape as soon as you can. If found with me, you may be killed; but if you are alone, should you be overtaken, and will explain where you are going, you will not be molested.” Such, at all events, was the meaning of what Mangaleesu said. “I would advise you to set off before daylight to-morrow morning,” he continued. “Make your way to the farm. With the directions I will give you, you will easily find it. You may very likely be seen and pursued: be not alarmed; invite these who overtake you to escort you to the farm.”

“But what will you and your wife do?” asked Denis.

“We will remain here in concealment until our enemies have grown weary of searching for us. I will watch them until I see them go away, and then we will set out and get across the border as fast as possible. The country is thinly peopled, so that we shall have no difficulty in escaping notice.”

Denis expressed his regret at having to go without his friends, but agreed that the plan would be the best to adopt.

Mangaleesu, before it grew dark, showed them the spring, and the direction they were to follow, and minutely described several points, so that they would run no risk of losing their way. The antelope meat was cut up, and a portion cooked at a fire kindled in the cave, which, though it created more smoke than was pleasant, was easily borne in consideration of the advantage obtained.

Mangaleesu and Kalinda, with the two white lads, sat round the fire, eating their supper of venison, washed down with cold water, and talking over in low voices plans for that future which it was very possible none of them might live to see. Raff, who formed one of the circle, watched them with the greatest gravity, as if he fully understood all that was said. They then lay down to seek the rest the two young travellers at all events so greatly needed.

The night passed quietly; and when they awoke, Percy declared that he was sufficiently strong to undertake a two days’ march, and having breakfasted, they set off, followed by Raff, a short time before daybreak.

Mangaleesu accompanied them some distance, to put them in the right way. They felt rather anxious about his getting back in safety to the cave.

“No fear,” he answered: “a Zulu can creep unseen where a white man would certainly be observed. Even if my enemies were near, they would not discover me; but they are some way from this, and you will, I hope, be a good distance on your road before they find you, so that they will not guess whence you set out.”

They shook the chief warmly by the hand, and again thanked him for the assistance he had rendered them. Scarcely had he left them a minute, when, as they looked round, they could nowhere see him.

They trudged on as fast as they could venture to go in the gloom of morning. When daylight broke, they increased their speed. Percy kept up bravely, and Denis declared that he had never felt in better trim for a long march. As they fell in with no hostile Zulus, they more than ever regretted that Mangaleesu and Kalinda had not accompanied them. From the rate they went they felt sure that they had accomplished half the distance. Having a supply of cooked meat, they agreed that it would be wiser to spend the night in a tree. As darkness approached, they looked about and found one with wide-spreading branches; into this they climbed.

“But I say, we must not run the risk of letting Raff be carried off as poor Fangs was; we must get him with us,” said Denis. “I cannot reach him as I did before with my pocket-handkerchief, but we’ll fasten our rifle slings together, and he’ll easily make his way up.”

This was done. Raff caught hold of one end; they hauled away, and he, helping himself up with his claws, was soon seated near them on the forks of a tree.

“But what if a leopard should think of coming up here, like the one we saw the other day!” said Percy.

“Raff will give us due notice,” answered Denis. “We’ll keep our rifles ready, and send him back again with a shot through his skull.”

Their beds were not very comfortable, but notwithstanding, knowing that Raff was keeping watch, they slept soundly till the next morning. Descending the tree, they breakfasted on the remains of their venison, and pushed forward, feeling in as good trim as they had when they started on the previous day.

Chapter Fourteen.

The first threatenings of danger.

A stream descending from the Drakensberg, that lofty range of mountains which runs across the whole of the south-eastern portion of the Transvaal, separates that province from the north of Zululand. The region is thickly wooded and picturesque, though in many places wild in the extreme, while the climate, from the elevation of the land, is pure and invigorating. The stream, after issuing from the mountain-side, increased by numerous feeders, rapidly assumes considerable proportions, and rushes on towards the edge of a precipice, over which it falls in masses of foam, to the depth of fifty feet or so, when it flows on towards the south in a more tranquil current, with a width which may well claim for it the title of a fine river.

“Those must be the mountains, and that must be the river, Mangaleesu told us we should see,” said Denis, as towards the end of the second day they stood on the height overlooking the valley into which they were about to descend.

“I have no doubt about it, from the description my brother Rupert has sent me,” answered Percy; “and I think we shall soon see Falls Farm, although on the opposite side of the river. From where we stand, it is hidden by the trees. Hark! I think I hear the sound of the falls. If we were more to the south, we should see them.”

“Well, then, let’s make haste, and we shall be able to get down to the bank before dark,” said Denis; “though how we are to cross is a puzzle.”

“Perhaps we shall see somebody, and get him to send a boat across for us,” said Percy. “Come along.”

They hurried forward, eagerly looking out for the house and the falls, which would assure them that they were not mistaken in their expectations.

“Yes, there are the falls,” cried Percy. “I see the water falling like a sheet of snow to the right, though it’s farther off than I supposed, and there’s a wreath of smoke rising above a clump on the opposite side, that must come from a house. Yes, hurrah! there’s no mistake about it. I see a verandah, or porch, peeping out on the slope of the hill.”

“All right. I congratulate you, Percy, as well as myself,” said Denis; “and now we must see how we can get across.”

They soon reached the margin of the river. It was apparently not very deep; but on the possibility of crocodiles existing in it, they were not inclined to attempt swimming across. Presently, however, they saw a person running along the bank. They shouted and waved to him. He saw them, and waved in return.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if that is my brother Rupert,” cried Percy, “though I shall not know him to a certainty, even when I see him close; it is so long since we parted.”

The person they had seen was lost to sight among the trees, but soon reappeared on board a boat, in which he quickly came paddling across.

“Who are you?” he asked, “though I am sure you are Englishmen.”

“Yes, I am Percy Broderick, and this is my friend Denis Maloney.”

“And I am Rupert Broderick,” said the person in the boat, leaping out, and shaking hands warmly with his brother and then with Denis. “I am delighted to see you, and so will father and mother be, and the girls. We were beginning to grow anxious about you. How have you managed to get here all alone? and what has become of Hendricks the hunter, with whom we understood you were coming through Zululand?”

“I’ll tell you all about it as we go along,” answered Percy. “I know Denis here is very hungry, and I confess that my joy in getting home has not quite taken away my appetite.”

“Well, get into the boat, and we’ll soon be at the house; it isn’t as grand a mansion as you might have expected to find, but it’s big enough to hold us, and a few visitors besides.”

They were soon across, Percy and Denis talking all the time, giving such bits of their adventures as they knew would be interesting to their hearer. No sooner did they land, than Percy set off running, eager to meet his father and mother and sisters.

“Stop, stop!” cried Rupert; “let me say that you are coming, or the sudden surprise may be too trying to our mother’s nerves.”

But Percy had been seen from the verandah, and a middle-aged lady and three young ones came rushing down the steps, followed by a tall, strongly built gentleman, who seemed well capable of wielding an axe or a broadsword, as occasion might require.

“Percy, Percy!” cried the lady. “I know you, my dear boy! It must be you. Say I am right!”

“Yes, mother, yes,” answered Percy, and rushing forward he was soon receiving affectionate embraces from his mother and sisters. His father was not long behind them, and then Rupert brought up Denis, who was received in the kindest manner, faithful Raff coming in for a share of their attention.

Another person soon appeared upon the scene. A gaunt woman, her grey hair destitute of cap, a red shawl over her shoulders, came rushing down the steps, a basting ladle in her hand, which she threw unconsciously to the ground, while she stretched out her arms as she gazed at Percy, and throwing them round him, exclaimed—

“Sure it’s Masther Percy himself come home at last. Welcome, welcome! It does my heart good to see you, although it’s a mighty outlandish country you’ve come to.”

“It’s home, however, Biddy, for I’m sure you must be Biddy Gillooly; though so many years have passed since you carried me in your arms, I remember you perfectly,” answered Percy, returning her embrace.

“Blessings on ye, Masther Percy, for saying that,” cried Biddy; “and who is the other young gintleman?”

“A countryman of yours,” answered Percy, introducing Denis. “He’ll be glad to have a talk with you about the old country, although he’s not seen much of it himself since he was a small boy.”

Biddy was delighted to find that Denis was actually born in her native village.

“Come, Biddy, the lads want supper as soon as possible, and the pots may be boiling over during your absence,” said Captain Broderick.

Biddy took the hint, and picking up her ladle, hastened back to her kitchen. As soon as the excitement of their first arrival was over, both Percy and Denis began to feel the fatigue of their long journey. Percy could scarcely keep his eyes open while he sat at table. Mrs Broderick advised that they should both go to bed, and they accordingly retired. Denis managed to attend to himself; but Percy could scarcely have got into his bed without the assistance of his mother and brother.

The next day Percy was unable to rise, and Denis did not turn out until the evening, when he declared that he felt sufficiently rested to start again, if it was necessary, although he had no wish to leave the farm. Percy was affectionately tended by his mother and sisters, and he assured them he hoped in another day or two to be all to rights. The three Miss Brodericks were very nice girls—Denis thought them especially so—but they were very far from being fine young ladies. Assisted by Biddy, their only domestic, they attended to all the household affairs, cooked and baked, milked the cows, made butter and cheese, fed the poultry, worked in the garden, but still found time to stitch, sew, and darn, and make their mother’s and their own dresses, as well as clothes for their father and brother, while they did not neglect the culture of their minds, aided by their father, who had brought a small library with him, which had been increased from time to time as he was able to obtain books from England. They were all cheerful and happy; but a shade of melancholy occasionally passed over the countenance of Mrs Broderick, as if her thoughts were reverting to some cause of grief during the past.

Captain Broderick had now been settled at Falls Farm about twelve years. He had selected it on account of the beauty of its situation and the fertility of its soil, but had not sufficiently considered at the time its distance from a market. He had been over-persuaded by the Boer, from whom he purchased it, that settlers would speedily gather round him, and that navigation would be established on the river, by which his produce could be conveyed southward. But neither of these expectations had been fulfilled. Having a small annual income, he had struggled manfully on, had got up a good house, had planted an orchard of fruit trees, and brought numerous acres under cultivation, while his herds of cattle and flocks of sheep and goats had greatly increased. He had done his utmost also to win the confidence and affections of the natives in his neighbourhood, who looked up to him as a counsellor and a friend, on whose assistance they could always rely. When they would work, and he had employment to give them, he justly paid them the wages he promised, which were equal to any they could obtain by going farther in search of them. While they were thus friendly and ready to protect him and his family, there were others at a distance beyond his influence, who were as savage as the generality of the Kaffir tribes, and addicted to predatory excursions on the property of their neighbours. The captain was an old soldier, and when building his house, had had an eye to its defence. He therefore had enclosed the acre or so of ground in which it stood with a high palisade, on the outside of which ran a deep ditch, and this could be filled by diverting a stream from the falls above, inaccessible to an enemy.

The stream served amply to irrigate the grounds and fields beyond, and neither did it nor the palisade appear to have been formed so much with the view of serving as a fortification, as for the object of preventing the inroad of elephants or other wild animals. The height, however, of the palisade was such that even a lion or leopard would have found it difficult to leap over. Within it could be penned also a considerable number of cattle and horses and sheep. The front was, however, left open, a drawbridge only crossing the moat; but materials for filling up the gap were kept stored on either side, so that in a few hours the whole circle could be completed. The planks were of such a thickness, that neither assegais nor bullets could pierce them, and certainly no force such as was likely to attack the farm would be provided with guns. Captain Broderick felt confident that he could rely, in case of an inroad, on the assistance of the neighbouring inhabitants, who would eagerly hurry to the farm for their own protection. Here and there were a few white settlers, but the greater number were Kaffirs, who did not owe allegiance to the monarch of Zululand. Had not Captain Broderick carefully studied the habits and customs of the natives, and ingratiated himself with them, he would have been unable not only to put up his house or the palisade, but even to have cultivated the ground, and found herdsmen for his cattle. He had two faithful followers, of whom a description will hereafter be given, as also three Hottentots, who lived in huts outside the farm; and he occasionally obtained the assistance of a couple of other white men; but the rest of the labour was performed by the Kaffir natives. Indomitable perseverance and energy had enabled him to overcome numberless difficulties, and had there been a market at hand, he would by this time have become a rich man. But the expense and loss of driving his cattle even to the nearest town was very great, and the profit very small after their arrival, while the trader who occasionally came that way could afford to give but low prices for animals which might never reach their destination.

Provisions, however, were abundant; and Captain Broderick and his son Rupert seldom failed, when they went out hunting, to return without a good supply of game, as they could always depend upon the assistance of the Kaffirs and any of the white settlers whom they invited to join them.

A couple of days had passed since the arrival of Percy and Denis, and they began to grow anxious at hearing nothing of Hendricks. It was difficult to account for his delay, unless he had lost so many of his oxen as to be unable to proceed with his waggon. This, however, was not likely. The natives were not hostile, as they were always glad to have traders come among them to purchase their produce, and from whom they could obtain the articles they required. The tsetse fly, although destructive in some parts to cattle, was not supposed to exist in the district through which he was passing, and although one or two of the animals might have been killed by lions, that would not have hindered him for any length of time, as he might easily have supplied their places, or travelled on with a smaller team. At last, Captain Broderick resolved to send out a couple of trusty men in the direction it was supposed Hendricks would come.

One of these, Conrad Vermack by name, whose chief characteristic was his intense hatred of the Zulus, had at one time possessed a farm of his own, but it had been destroyed by the savages while he was absent on a hunting expedition. He had returned to find his house burned to the ground, and his wife, five children, and two servants massacred. He had attempted to avenge their death, and had narrowly escaped with his own life. With three assegai wounds in his body, utterly ruined in purse, and his health broken, he had received shelter and kind treatment from Captain Broderick, who pitied his misfortunes. He had in time recovered his health, but had no desire or energy to attempt again setting up for himself, though offered some stock with which to commence. He declined the offer, saying that he would infinitely prefer devoting the remainder of his life to the service of one from whom he had received so many benefits; and he had thus remained on year after year, without changing his resolution, apparently contented, if not happy. In appearance he was unlike most of his countrymen. His figure was tall and bulky, his face long and rugged. A smile never illumined his countenance. A mass of long coal-black hair fell straight over his forehead and down his back, giving him a strong resemblance, except in colour, to a North American Indian. On all occasions he wore a short shooting jacket, his arms sticking considerably beyond the sleeves, while it was darned and patched in all directions, as were his trowsers, which had once been of blue cloth, but had been mended with pieces of so many colours that it was difficult to say what had been their original hue. Though Captain Broderick had given him a good suit which he wore on Sundays, and had offered him another instead of the one which has been described, he could never be induced to leave it off. He had worn a portion of it at his marriage, and he hoped to live and die in it, he said. He was a first-rate hunter, and was more frequently out with his gun than labouring on the farm, which was evidently not much to his taste, though when his services were absolutely required he worked as hard as any one, and amply repaid his host for the support he received.

The other man was a Kaffir, called Matyana. He belonged to a tribe almost exterminated by Dingan, the predecessor of Panda, and consequently hated the Zulus as much as did the Dutchman. Having made his escape from his enemies, though desperately wounded, he had been found by Captain Broderick in an apparently dying condition; but being carried to the farm, and carefully tended, he recovered. Although his people are generally supposed to be destitute of gratitude, he showed that he possessed that virtue by willingly remaining on with his protector, and rendering him all the service in his power.

Both these men, being well acquainted with the country, and thoroughly trustworthy, were selected by the Captain for the proposed expedition. They willingly undertook the duty, and set out well-armed and well mounted, promising to discover Hendricks and his party if they were still in the land of the living.

Denis begged to go with them, but Mrs Broderick interfered, declaring that he was utterly unable to undertake the journey; he indeed confessed to Percy that he scarcely felt up to a gallop, while he certainly was in no hurry to quit Falls Farm.

Percy agreed with him, and thought indeed that he showed his good taste in enjoying the society of his mother and sisters.

The young ladies found time, after the day was over, to play and sing and talk, although they had nothing to say about their neighbours, and especially to listen to the accounts Denis and Percy gave them of their adventures.

By the bye, the three fair daughters of Captain and Mrs Broderick, Helen, Rose, and Maud, ought before this to have been formally introduced to the reader. The eldest was about two-and-twenty, Rose was just eighteen, and Maud was a year younger than Percy. Miss Broderick recollected a great deal about England, and it is just possible might have preferred living there to existing in the wilds of Africa, at the same time that she was contented with her lot, which many young ladies would have thought a hard one.

As Percy was unable to walk any distance, on the evening of the day the men had been sent off to look for Hendricks, Rupert proposed to Denis to take him a row, and Maud, hearing of it, begged that she might go also. The boat was the same in which Percy and Denis first crossed the river. It was kept on the bank of the river, concealed in a thicket from the view of passers-by, a short way from the house. They had just reached the place where the boat was kept, and Rupert and Denis were busy preparing her, when Maud exclaimed, “There are two people on the opposite bank. They are natives, and are waving to us.”

Percy looking up cried out, “Yes, so there are, and they appear to me like Mangaleesu and Kalinda.”

The two natives continued to wave still more vehemently, occasionally looking behind them, as if they expected to see some one coming from that direction. They then both stepped into the water, about apparently to swim across.

Rupert and Denis on this made signs to them to wait.

“You remain here, Maud, with Percy,” said Rupert, as he shoved off the boat with his oar from the bank.

He and Denis rowed with all their might, for they saw that the natives were evidently in a great hurry.

“Yes, there is no doubt that the man is the Zulu chief who saved Percy’s life, and who helped us on our way, and that the other is his wife,” exclaimed Denis. “I would not have them on any account fall into the hands of their enemies, who would kill them to a certainty. Pull away! pull away!”

They quickly reached the opposite bank, when both Mangaleesu and his wife hurriedly stepping into the boat, sank down thoroughly exhausted.

“What has happened, my friend?” asked Denis.

“We are pursued by our enemies, and they will soon be here;” answered Mangaleesu. “Can the white chief give us shelter? or must we continue our flight? For myself I would not mind, but my wife is well-nigh exhausted, and I fear she would be overtaken.”

“You do not, either of you, look as if you were capable of continuing on much longer,” said Denis, as he and Rupert began to row back as fast as they could. “I am very sure that the white chief will protect you, especially when he hears that you saved his son’s life, and helped us both so greatly. I may say that, may I not, Rupert? I am sure that your father will protect them.”

“No doubt about that,” answered Rupert. “Pull away then; and if we can get them concealed in the house before their pursuers see where they have gone, it will save a great deal of trouble.”

There was not much time to settle any further plans before they reached the western bank. Immediately landing, they drew up the boat on shore, at a spot where she was completely concealed by the bushes.

Scarcely had they landed when a large body of Zulus were seen on the height of the opposite side of the river, waving their assegais, and rushing down as if they fully expected in a few minutes to come up with the fugitives.

“Come along, Mangaleesu. We must get into the house before those people out there see you,” cried Rupert, taking the chief’s hand.

Unfortunately they had an open space to cross. As they did so they were perceived by the Zulus, who broke into loud and savage shouts, which even at the distance they were off could clearly be heard.

“Don’t be afraid, Kalinda. They shan’t hurt you,” said Percy; “I am sure my father will not let them take you away.”

As they hurried on they saw the Zulus making signs to them to bring back the boat. It was evident that the savages had perceived how the fugitives had escaped them.

“You may beckon and shriek and howl as much as you like,” cried Rupert. “We are not going to allow you to murder these people if we can help it.”

Without paying further attention to the Zulus, they hurried on to the house, where they found Captain Broderick.

Percy at once introduced Kalinda and Mangaleesu to his father, telling him how much he and Denis were indebted to them.

“We come to crave your protection, O White Chief,” said Mangaleesu. “Our enemies are seeking our death, and if we are turned away I fear that we shall be overtaken.”

“I promise to afford it you, my friends,” said Captain Broderick. “They dare not drag you from my house by force, and I will not allow them to enter.”

“There is no time to be lost then, for they are very close to the bank,” said Rupert. “I will go and see what they are about.”

Captain Broderick led the chief and his wife into the house, while Rupert hastened to where he could watch the Zulus. They were doing as he feared they would; nearly half the band were already in the stream, stemming the current, shouting and shrieking, to keep away the crocodiles, while the other half were preparing to follow. The current was carrying them down, but not very rapidly, so that they would land at a point not far below that on the opposite bank from which they had started.

He at once returned to report what he had seen. Captain Broderick had by this time come back to the front of the house. There were fortunately two white men, as well as the Hottentots, and several faithful Kaffirs within call. He ordered Rupert at once to bring out the arms and put them into the hands of the Kaffirs, whom he knew he could trust. The white men had brought their rifles, and by the time the Zulus had landed, he had a dozen men, besides himself and Denis and his two sons, ready to defend those to whom he had promised protection, should their enemies attempt to take them. Having drawn them up on the inside of the moat in front of the house, he waited to see how the Zulus would proceed. As soon as they had landed and shaken themselves dry, they looked about as if expecting to see the fugitives; then guessing that they had taken shelter in the farm, they advanced towards it, until they came in sight of the force prepared to receive them. Their leader, a chief of some consideration, judging by the cow-tails hanging round his neck, and the feathers in his head-dress, advanced and began an address to Captain Broderick.

“The Zulus and the white men are brothers,” he said. “The enemies of the one are the enemies of the other. How comes it then that I see the white chief in arms against us? We have long been seeking one who is a traitor to his country, and who has defied our king Panda, the lion of the world, and I desire to know whether he is still flying across the country, or has been received into the house of our friend. If he has, we demand that he may be delivered up to us forthwith, to be treated as he deserves.”

Captain Broderick listened patiently until the chief had come to an end.

“I wish to be friends with the Zulus, as well as with all the people among whom I live,” said the captain. “I have no desire to protect any one because he is an enemy to the Zulus, but I cannot allow any injury to be inflicted on persons who have rendered essential service to those dear to me. There is no one in this house I can consent to deliver up to you, and therefore if you expect it you must go away disappointed. I have said it, it is useless to ask more.”

The chief, on hearing this, looked very angry, and muttered something which Captain Broderick could not understand. The Zulus appeared doubtful how to proceed; at length Captain Broderick spoke to them.

“To show you that I wish to be friends, if you are hungry, I will feed you,” he said. “You shall have a heifer, which I was going to kill to-night, but you must retire with it across the river, where you can feast as you desire.”

This promise had evidently a good effect on the Zulus. They saw, indeed, that they were not likely to gain anything by force from a white man, who was well prepared to repel it, and was not to be intimidated.

They accordingly shouted out, “Give us the heifer. We will go.”

On this Captain Broderick ordered one of the Hottentots to bring out the animal from a shed at a short distance off. The Hottentot obeyed the order with evident unwillingness; indeed, the poor animal seemed to know, by the way it walked, the fate prepared for it. As it approached, the Zulus rushed forward to seize it, for they considered it rather gained by their own prowess than as a gift.

“We take the heifer because we want food; but understand, we do not abandon the right of search for the fugitives who have rebelled and deserve death,” said the chief, turning to Captain Broderick.

Having thus delivered himself, he stalked off with his followers to the bank of the river, when, plunging in, they waded and swam across the stream, driving the heifer before them.

Rupert hurried down to watch them. They went on for some distance to a sheltered spot under the hill, where shortly a fire was seen blazing up, evidently for the purpose of cooking the heifer. As it continued burning brightly for some time after darkness had set in, there was no doubt that the Zulus were enjoying themselves, and intended to remain there till the morning. Captain Broderick was too well accustomed to Kaffir warfare to trust to them, and thinking it possible that they might attempt to surprise the farm during the night, he kept a vigilant watch, and ordered his little force to remain under arms until it was ascertained to a certainty that they had taken their departure from the neighbourhood.

Chapter Fifteen.

Unpleasant neighbours.

Some hours of the night had passed, but still the fire in the distance was seen burning as brightly as ever. It showed that the Zulus were awake, and probably banqueting on the meat of the heifer given to them. Whether they would go away or remain in the neighbourhood was doubtful. Although they had accepted the gift, Captain Broderick thought it probable that they had some treacherous intentions, and would, at all events, make an attempt to get hold of Mangaleesu and Kalinda: perhaps even now a party might be stealing across the river with that object in view, intending to make a sudden rush at the house, should they find the garrison off their guard.

Captain Broderick therefore ordered his men to keep under arms, while he sent two of the Kaffirs, on whom he could rely, to watch along the bank of the river. He had little fear of their crossing above the falls, as the current there ran with great rapidity, and they would have had to make a wide circuit over difficult, almost impassable ground. Still, to escape the risk of being taken by surprise, he placed a sentry to watch on the northern side of the palisade, where a platform had been erected for the purpose. Meantime Percy, who had wished to keep guard with the rest, was persuaded by his mother to go to bed.

“You will better be able to do your duty, should any work be required, when you have regained your strength,” she observed. “Should the Zulus attack us, which I don’t think probable, I will call you. You can then take your part in the defence.”

“And what are you and the girls going to do, mother?” he asked.

“We will load the muskets, and tend any who are wounded,” she answered, in a firm voice. “Rose and Maud propose to keep a look-out round the palisade, lest any of the enemy should steal up and attempt to take them in the rear; while Biddy will not fail to play her part in some way or other.”

“I wish that Hendricks and Crawford, with that gallant little fellow Lionel, had arrived,” observed Percy. “I cannot help thinking that some accident may have happened to them, or they would have been here before now. They and the servants would have added greatly to our strength. Indeed, I don’t think the Zulus, if they were here, would venture to attack us. I have not, by the bye, told you much about Lionel, mother.”

“No; but your friend Denis has, and he described to us the gallant way in which you saved the boy from being drowned or destroyed by a crocodile,” answered Mrs Broderick.

“I was too glad to be of service to Mr Hendricks, who had treated my friend Crawford and me so kindly in letting us accompany him, besides which, I had a strong liking for the young fellow, whom I should have been very sorry to have lost. I first fancied that he was either the son or nephew of Mr Hendricks, but he afterwards told me that he was neither the one nor the other, but that he had been rescued by Hendricks during a trip he made some years before into Zululand.”

Percy went on to give an account of Lionel’s history. Mrs Broderick listened with deep attention, and inquired the age and appearance of her son’s friend, which Percy described.

“Did you ever hear, Percy, that your youngest brother, during the journey we made in coming here, was lost? We always supposed that he perished with his nurse, who was killed and thrown into the river by the savages. Her body was discovered some time afterwards, though our child’s was never found.”

“Do you know, mother, I cannot help thinking that Lionel must be that young brother of mine,” exclaimed Percy. “I am aware that I ought not to raise your hopes, but I felt drawn towards him from the first; and, as Denis will tell you, he very soon learned to speak English. He remembered a lady he felt sure was his mother, and a tall gentleman he supposed to be his father, although he had no recollection of how he came into the hands of the Zulus. It is strange that he should have been found in the kraal of Mangaleesu, who is now here. He, however, can give very little information as to Lionel’s history, as he was brought to the kraal by another tribe who were afterwards destroyed. Besides Lionel, Mangaleesu and his wife are the only inhabitants of the whole kraal who escaped. Denis, however, knows the exact particulars better than I do, as he joined Hendricks the very next day, and has been with Lionel nearly ever since.”

Mrs Broderick, on hearing this, could scarcely restrain her agitation. She naturally at once felt sure that her child’s life had by some wonderful means been preserved. Her impulse was to hurry forthwith to gain more particulars from Denis, and to talk over the subject with her husband, but she felt that it would be wrong to draw off their attention from their duties, engaged as they were in guarding the house. She then thought of visiting Mangaleesu and Kalinda, who had been placed in a small room at the back of the house. She knew enough of the language to speak to them; but Percy assured her that they would not be able to give her more information than he had done.

“I don’t know that Denis can do so either,” he added. “We must wait until Hendricks and Lionel himself arrive, and we are sure to hear of them in a day or two, unless some accident has happened, and I don’t know why we should expect that.”

Poor Mrs Broderick’s heart sank within her as she thought of the possibility that such, notwithstanding Percy’s hopes, might have been the case. She could not but believe that Lionel was her long-lost boy, and she longed with all her mother’s heart for his arrival. She would know him by his features, and by the tone of his voice, and she recollected two small marks on the shoulders of her boy, which, if found upon Lionel, would leave no doubt as to his identity, as that must satisfy others as well as herself.

Though she wished Percy to go to sleep, she could scarcely refrain from continuing to talk with him on the subject. At last his incoherent answers, and finally his total silence, showed her that he was slumbering soundly. She went to her daughters’ room to give them an account of what she had heard. They all three were unanimous in believing that the brave boy Denis had been speaking to them about was their brother. They had heard the history of little Walter’s loss, although they never alluded to it, and they had often observed a shade of melancholy pass over their mother’s countenance, which they guessed was owing to her thinking on the subject.

The night passed slowly away. Captain Broderick was unwilling to trust entirely to any one, except to himself and his son Rupert, or to his young guest, who he at once saw possessed all the qualifications of a good soldier. Either one or the other went occasionally to the point whence the Zulus’ camp could be seen. Their fire was burning as brightly as ever, and for some time appeared to be increasing. It diminished however in size just before daybreak, when one of the scouts returned reporting that he had crossed the river, and not finding any of the enemy moving about as he had expected, had got so close to their camp as to be able to calculate the number of persons assembled. He was certain that a portion only of the force which had pursued Mangaleesu had crossed the river, or otherwise that their numbers had since been greatly augmented.

Hearing this, Captain Broderick strongly suspected that they would again present themselves and demand the delivery of those whom he felt in honour bound not to give up. He counted the cost. He was aware that they might ravage his fields and carry off many of his cattle, but he had resolved not to yield to their demands. His first care was to put the farm in a more complete state of defence. He immediately sent off one of his men to obtain further help from any white settlers or Kaffirs who were able to come. With those remaining, he at once commenced putting up the palisades which have been mentioned, placed in readiness for the purpose. The uprights were so formed that the horizontal beams or planks could be fitted into them without the use of nails, while they were supported from the inside by beams placed at an angle to serve as buttresses. Near to the top of the wall was a platform which ran round the whole of the palisades, and served as a rampart from which to fire down on an enemy. Such a structure would have been easily destroyed by fire, but the deep trench which ran in front prevented that danger, and the wooden wall was thus well calculated to resist any attack which the Zulus were likely to make against it. Inside the fortifications, for so they might be called, was a large barn, containing a good supply of fodder for the cattle, while in the house provisions of various descriptions were stored. While some of the men were employed in putting up the defences, the Hottentots were sent off to drive in the more valuable of the cattle, so that they, at all events, might be preserved, while the Zulus in revenge might make a raid on the unprotected part of the farm, and destroy or carry off what they could lay their hands on. Considerable progress had been made before daybreak, but still much remained to be completed, and it was hoped that until this was done, the Zulus would not cross the river.

Captain Broderick at first contemplated the possibility, with the force he hoped to have under his command, of preventing them from crossing by attacking them while they were in the water; but then again, they might possibly, expecting to be opposed, divide into two or more parties, and while he was engaged with one party, the others might get across. He was also unwilling to commence hostilities, and considered it wise to throw the responsibility of so doing on the Zulus. He therefore with unabated energy continued the preparations for defence.

There was little doubt that if the Zulus meditated an attack, they would send scouts to watch what was taking place in the farm. He was thankful, therefore, when soon after daylight the Hottentots arrived with the choicest of his horses and oxen. In a short time also several Kaffirs came dropping in, two or three at a time; some with muskets, but others armed only with their assegais and shields, though they were mostly accustomed to the use of firearms. They immediately joined those labouring at the fortifications. They were followed by three white settlers, two of whom were Dutch Boers, the other an Englishman; hardy borderers of a low class, who, having suffered from the Zulus in former years, held them in utter detestation.

Before the day was many hours old, the fortifications on the farm were complete. Captain Broderick had a great desire to avoid hostilities, and he hoped, should the Zulus come, that they, on seeing at once they had no chance of success, would retire.

He had set an example to his men by working harder than any of them; and at length, overcome with fatigue, he had retired to the house, desiring Rupert to summon him immediately, should the scouts return, or anything of importance occur. Denis insisted on keeping company with Rupert on the platform, whence a good look-out could be obtained over the surrounding country.

“I got so sound a sleep the first two nights after I came here, that I did not feel at all inclined to go to bed,” he said, as they walked to and fro. “Not that I think there is much chance of having a visit from those Zulus; for, from what I know of them, I suspect that as soon as they find we are prepared to give them a warm reception, they will turn tail and go the way they came.”

“Probably they will, but I hope they will not fall in with your friend Hendricks and his party, or they may revenge themselves by murdering and robbing them,” observed Rupert.

“They will not dare to do that,” answered Denis. “They depend so much on the traders for supplying their wants, and enabling them to dispose of their produce, that they will not willingly quarrel with any of them; still I should be very thankful to see Hendricks arrive here in safety.”

While they were speaking they were joined by Percy, who said he felt himself much better, and up to anything. He had not been with them more than a minute, when he asked Rupert for his spyglass. Directing it towards the opposite shore, he exclaimed—

“I thought I saw some horsemen, and I am right, I see four, but only one is a white man, the other three are black. Two of them look very like those we sent away from here, and the other is apparently a chief.”

Rupert took the glass from his brother. “You are right!” he exclaimed. “They are riding fast, and keeping clear of the Zulu camp, which they probably discovered from the height, and think it prudent to avoid. We will go down and meet them. Percy, do you remain here on guard. You need not rouse up our father, but if you see anything suspicious, send down and let him know.”

Saying this, Rupert, followed by Denis, hurried down. They made their way over the drawbridge to the spot where the boat was concealed, and pulled across to the opposite bank, towards which the horsemen came galloping at full speed.

“Why, there’s our friend Crawford,” cried Denis, “and there are Umgolo, old Vermack, and Matyana. They’ll bring us news, I hope, of Hendricks and Lionel.”

Crawford, immediately dismounting, began to take the saddle off his horse. “Thank you, my friends, for coming to meet me,” he said; “you’ve saved me from a wetting, and perhaps from the jaws of a crocodile. Excuse me for being somewhat in a hurry; but the fact is that the old Dutchman who escorted me here thinks that the Zulus out there would like to get hold of our party, to retain us as hostages till you deliver up a runaway chief who has taken refuge here.” He was unbuckling the girths as he spoke, and now, with the saddle on his arm, was stepping into the boat when he recognised Denis. “What, my dear fellow, is it you yourself, safe and sound!” he exclaimed, as they warmly shook hands, “I am delighted to see you. The messengers who came from this place told us of your arrival; for until then we were in great anxiety about you and Percy. How did you get here?”

“I’ll tell you all about it as we pull across,” answered Denis; “but we have no time to lose. See, there come a whole party of Zulus scampering towards us, and whether or not old Vermack was right in his conjectures, I don’t suppose that they are coming with any friendly intentions.”

As he spoke, he and Rupert shoved off, the Boer and the Kaffirs, who did not dismount, driving his horse before them across the river.

While Rupert and Denis pulled, Crawford sat in the sternsheets, more than once turning his head to ascertain how near the Zulus had got. He and his companions on horseback had distanced them so much that he and Denis had time to exchange a few words.

“You gave us a tremendous fright, I can assure you, Denis,” said Crawford. “Hendricks sent in all directions to look for you; and when the body of poor Gozo was found, it was feared that you had met with the same fate. He was so dreadfully cut up, that I thought he would have abandoned his expedition and gone back to Maritzburg.”

“I am sorry to have caused the fine old boy so much trouble,” answered Denis. “He may be certain that it was very much against our wish, and I know that I wouldn’t again go through what we did for a good deal. But, faith, those black fellows are getting mighty near; and if they happen to have a musket or two among them, they may shoot one of us. Pull away, Rupert!”

“You are right, Paddy,” said Rupert. “Though I doubt if they have firearms, I don’t wish to run the chance.”

They accordingly both gave way with a will. Instead of returning to the place where the boat was usually kept, Rupert directed her upstream until they came to a point where the moat communicated with the river. Landing, they quickly towed her through the moat to the entrance, where she could lie protected from an enemy. Here they found Captain Broderick, who had risen on hearing that the Zulus had been seen moving towards the river. After welcoming Crawford, whom he was prepared to receive, as Percy had mentioned the invitation he had given him, he eagerly asked what had become of Hendricks.

“He begged me to express his regret at not being able to pay you a visit; for he has been so long detained during the search for your son and Maloney, and by various other misadventures, that he is anxious to push on northward without further delay,” answered Crawford. “He has, however, sent his chief hunter to escort back our Irish friend, who is of course desirous of proceeding in search of his father.”

“Had Hendricks known how anxious I am to see him and young Lionel, he would have paid me his promised visit,” exclaimed Captain Broderick. “I would at once set off with Maloney, but I dare not leave the farm with these Zulus in the neighbourhood, even could I get away without being observed by them. I doubt, indeed, whether it will be safe for our friend here and his guide, to set off while they remain; for if seen leaving the farm, the Zulus will certainly endeavour to capture them, and hold them hostages until I deliver up the fugitives who have sought my protection; and that I am bound not to do.”

Crawford expressed his delight at seeing Percy, who now came down from the platform.

“We will tell you all about our adventures by-and-by; and I shall be glad to hear yours,” said Percy, as they cordially shook hands. “Come in. I want to introduce you to my mother and sisters. I have been talking to them about you, so that they will not look upon you as a stranger.”

Crawford was soon made at home. Mrs Broderick liked his looks, and the young ladies thought him very agreeable.

In a short time, Rupert, who had taken Percy’s place on the platform, came down with the information that the Zulus, who had attempted to cut off the horsemen, had retired to their camp. It was uncertain what their intentions had been; but Captain Broderick believed that they were hostile.

Crawford said that Hendricks intended to travel by slow stages, so as to allow Denis and Umgolo quickly to overtake him. He was, indeed, unable to move fast, as he had lost several of his oxen, and had not hitherto replaced them, though he hoped to do so shortly. The Zulus had shown a less friendly disposition than formerly, and this also made him anxious to get out of their country as soon as possible.

The message from Hendricks to him much perplexed Denis. He wished to accompany him in the search of his father; but he was unwilling to desert his new friends at a time when they were placed in danger, and required all the assistance to be obtained; besides which, he had become attached to Percy, and was greatly interested in the whole family.

The young ladies he thought charming, superior to any he had ever met before. His interest in the family was still further increased when the Captain and Mrs Broderick begged him to give an account of the finding of Lionel. Next to Hendricks, he was better able to do this than any other person; and on their telling him that they had lost a child, whom they had hitherto thought had been destroyed with his nurse, and who would now be about the same age that Lionel was supposed to be, he exclaimed, in his usual impulsive manner—

“Then I am ready to stake anything that Lionel is your son. He has the same look and features as Miss Maud, more ruddy to be sure. Though I never thought him much like Percy, he greatly resembles Rupert, and he has often told me he remembers his mother, and the tall gentleman he supposed to be his father, who there can be no doubt must be Captain Broderick.”

Captain and Mrs Broderick were as fully persuaded that Lionel was their son, as Denis. How they longed to see him, and to thank Hendricks for the care he had bestowed on the boy. Still there was the difficulty of reaching him, and bringing him back in safety to the farm, should the Zulus remain on the watch for Mangaleesu. Peace might be established at once by delivering him up, but that was not to be thought of, neither would Captain Broderick express any wish that he and his wife would quit the farm, and relieve him from the responsibility of protecting them. Percy offered to accompany Denis to bring back Lionel; but although he had plenty of spirit, he was not strong enough to undertake the journey. Rupert also begged that he might go, but it was a question whether Hendricks, who was so greatly attached to Lionel, would deliver him up without further proof that Captain Broderick had a right to him.

By making a wide circuit to the west, the Zulus, although they continued on the watch, might be avoided; but the mountain would have to be twice crossed before Hendricks could be reached, and it would be difficult to find him. Crawford then offered to go; but being much knocked up by his journey, he would be unable to start for a couple of days. On further consideration, Captain Broderick came to the conclusion that the longer route was not to be thought of, as there would be a great risk of missing Hendricks altogether.

The day was already too far spent for any one to set off until the next morning. Possibly by that time the Zulus, finding that the garrison had been further increased, would consider that they had no chance of success, and would take their departure. If so, Captain Broderick was determined to set off himself with Denis and the two men he had before despatched to look for Hendricks. A party of five, well-armed and mounted, might travel without difficulty, and would, he hoped, soon overtake the slow-moving waggon; while, although there would be only four to return, Denis assured him that Lionel was worth any grown man.

Captain Broderick again sent out a couple of scouts to watch the enemy; and should they move, to ascertain in what direction they went. They returned after dark, saying that the Zulus were still encamped, and that they had scouts out in all directions, evidently on the watch for Mangaleesu, whom they probably supposed would try to make his escape.

This was a great disappointment. Though Captain Broderick knew that he might easily evade them, they would certainly discover that he and his party had left the farm, and might be tempted, on finding that its garrison had been decreased, to attack it.

Chapter Sixteen.

An important expedition.

The delay caused by the presence of the Zulus was excessively trying to Captain and Mrs Broderick. The more they heard from Denis about Lionel, the more they were convinced that he was their lost child. Ellen and Rose were persuaded that they should know him at once, as they had often carried him about and nursed him, though the rest were too young to recollect more than that they had had a little brother, who had disappeared while a baby. Biddy declared that she could pick him out from among a thousand if she could once set eyes on him. She recollected what Master Rupert had been, and looking at him as he now was, she was positive as to what Master Walter would have become.

“Sure, if Master would let me, I’d start off at once by meself, an’ not care for the Zulus, or lions, or other bastes in the way, and soon bring him back safe an’ sound in me arms,” she exclaimed in her enthusiasm.

“You would find it a more difficult task than you suppose, Biddy, to make your way all alone through the wilds,” said Percy. “It was no easy matter for Denis and me, with our rifles in our hands, and well accustomed to tramping. If my father will let me go, with Vermack, and Matyana, and Denis, and Umgolo, I am sure I can persuade Hendricks to let Lionel return with me.”

To this Mrs Broderick objected. She was sure that Percy was unfit to perform the journey, which might be of considerable length, as Hendricks, it was supposed, was travelling almost in an opposite direction, and might before they could overtake him, be several days ahead. She dreaded also the danger to which he might be exposed; besides which, it was doubtful whether Hendricks, deeply attached as he was known to be to the boy, would give him up to any one but to his father, who alone could be certain that Lionel really was his son. It was possible, after all, that the child might belong to a family of Boers, slaughtered by the Zulus, and that Denis might have been mistaken in the idea he had formed, when trying to instruct him, that he had previously known English.

Mangaleesu and Kalinda, though they both were cross-questioned and examined over and over again, could throw no further light on the subject than they had already done. They only knew that the boy had been brought to the kraal by another tribe, all of whom were now dead; and although they had taken an interest in the child, they had made no further inquiries about him. Captain Broderick therefore kept to his resolution of setting out with his two attendants as soon as it was ascertained that the Zulus had left the neighbourhood. In the meantime the defences of the farm were increased as much as possible, in case the Zulus should venture to attack it.

The night was passing by quietly. Crawford volunteered to keep watch, Mangaleesu also offered his services, so that those who had been on foot the previous night might obtain the rest they required. Rupert and Denis joined them shortly after midnight. They were continually going round the whole circuit of the stockade to see that the men who were ported at the different angles had their eyes open, and that the enemy were not stealing up, as it was thought possible they might attempt to do, to take them by surprise.

Crawford had just returned to the platform in front of the house, when Mangaleesu pointed across the river, towards the Zulu camp. No fire was to be seen, and Crawford remarked that the flames had sunk completely down, although there was still a glow as if from hot embers.

Rupert and Denis soon afterwards came up.

“That looks as if they had gone away at last,” observed Rupert, “and I hope that my father will be able to set out to-morrow.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” observed Denis. “The fellows are up to all sorts of tricks. They may have crossed the river lower down, and we may see their ugly faces in the morning, or hear their shrieks and yells before then, or it is just as likely that they have crossed to the north, and will try to make their way down from above the falls. I have heard a great deal of their devices from my father and Hendricks, and the other traders, and it never does to trust them.”

Mangaleesu did not understand what was said, but perhaps he would have considered the remarks rather complimentary than otherwise, although made about those who were now his deadly enemies. Denis asked him what he thought upon the subject; he replied, that he believed they had gone away to the eastward, finding that the garrison of the farm were keeping a vigilant watch, and that they could not hope to succeed, unless at the risk of losing a number of men, with the comparatively small force they possessed. He expressed his regret at causing his friends so much trouble and anxiety, and offered the next morning to make his way with Kalinda to a distance from the frontier.

“I do not suppose that Captain Broderick will allow you to do that, for Kalinda has not yet recovered from the hardships she went through, and you yourself are scarcely able to make a long journey,” said Denis. “Even if the Zulus have gone away, and have no intention of attacking the farm, they may have sent scouts to watch for you, so that should you try to escape, you and your wife may lose your lives after all.”

Rupert was of the same opinion as Denis.

“My father is a man who always means what he says, and as he has promised to protect you, he will not, even though you yourself might offer to go, allow you to run the risk of being killed.”

Mangaleesu acknowledged that he should grieve to expose Kalinda to the dangers she must go through, and proposed to leave her, if Captain Broderick would still afford her protection, and to go away by himself.

“That would not mend matters,” observed Rupert; “for if the Zulus should again venture to come to the farm under a belief that they were strong enough to capture it, they would insist upon her being given to them as a hostage until you deliver yourself up. No, no! you and she must stay here until there is time to send to Natal, to complain of the proceedings of the Zulus; and Cetchwayo, if he instigated them, must be taught that he cannot attack English settlers with impunity.”

Although it was very possible that the Zulus had gone away altogether, Crawford and his companions agreed that it would be prudent to keep as vigilant a watch round the stockade as ever. They therefore continued their rounds, but they could discover nothing to indicate that an enemy was in the neighbourhood. When at length the sun rising lighted up the beautiful landscape, all around was as calm and smiling as ever. The scouts who had been on the look-out now came in, and reported that the Zulu force had really retired, and that the road to the north-east was clear. Captain Broderick, who had previously made all arrangements, at once prepared to start.

Percy felt very sad as he shook hands with Denis. “I wish that you had been able to stay on with us, old fellow,” he said. “I cannot help thinking of all the dangers and hardships you will have to go through, though, if I were not at home, I should be glad to go with you, and help you get through them. However, you must try to come back, and take a long spell with us, if Hendricks will let you, or your father, if you find him, as I hope you will. The girls, too, will be glad to see you, as you are a favourite with them, I can tell you that.”

Denis had reason to flatter himself that such was the case. All the family had been pleased with his hearty, unaffected manner, and thankful to him for the service he had rendered Percy.

He bade them all a friendly good-bye; and Maud, who was generally so merry and smiling, looked unusually grave and burst into tears as soon as he was gone, though she tried hard to hide them.

The horses having been sent across, Captain Broderick and his party proceeded down to the boat, accompanied by the inmates of the farm. There were more leave-takings, the nature of which can be imagined, and further charges given by the captain, as he and Denis stepped into the boat, pulled by Rupert and Crawford. At once mounting, he led his party at a rapid rate to the north-east, those on the opposite bank watching them with anxious eyes until they were lost to sight behind a grove of trees.

“My father charged me at the last to keep a vigilant watch in our fortress, lest after all any Zulus should be lurking in the neighbourhood,” said Rupert to his brother. “We must not let Mangaleesu go outside, or he may be seen by one of the enemy’s scouts, in which case they would be certain to return in the hopes of capturing him. At present they probably fancy that he has gone away, and that they have therefore no excuse for attacking us.”

Crawford and Rupert did not fail to carry out Captain Broderick’s directions; and Percy, who was rapidly recovering his strength, was soon able to assist them. Although the drawbridge was let down, it was constantly watched, while one of the three was always looking out from the platform, with a good telescope, so that any objects moving could be discovered at a considerable distance on three sides of the farm; for the hills rising abruptly in the rear shut out the view in that direction. A scout occasionally sent out by Rupert reported that he was certain no Zulus in any number could possibly be in the neighbourhood, although he could not be positive that one or two might not be lurking about, on the watch for Mangaleesu. They therefore kept the chief and his young wife carefully concealed as before. Mrs Broderick bestowed much attention on them. She could speak the Zulu language sufficiently well to make herself understood, and she called in Rupert, who had studied it thoroughly, to assist her. Her great desire was to impart a knowledge of Christian truth to them, of which they were at present utterly ignorant. Kalinda’s countenance brightened as she first heard the story of redeeming love, and she begged Mrs Broderick to tell her more and more of it.

Mangaleesu listened attentively to all that was said. Though Kalinda appeared inclined to accept the truth, yet when he was asked what he thought, he only shook his head, saying, “It may be so; but if I become the sort of Christian you wish me, I shall no longer be able to revenge myself on my enemies.”

“Most certainly not!” answered Mrs Broderick. “God has said, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay.’ You must leave all in His hands. It would be your duty to forgive your enemies. If He thinks fit to punish them, He will do so.”

“But you English punish evil-doers, don’t you?” asked Mangaleesu.

“Certainly, the government do; but that is to prevent others committing the same acts, and to teach by the most forcible means possible that those acts are wrong.”

“I will consider the matter,” answered Mangaleesu, and for a long time afterwards he scarcely spoke to any one, and appeared to be in a very thoughtful mood.

Affairs at the farm went on in their usual way. The cattle could no longer be kept in the kraal, and had to be driven out to their pastures, under charge of the Kaffir herdsmen who tended them, with arms in their hands, and who were ordered to keep a watchful eye on every side to prevent being surprised. They had the advantage of the river on one side and the mountains on the other, so that the enemy could not come upon them without making a wide circuit. In consequence of the absence of the captain and two of the best men, while two others were engaged in scouting, the labour of the rest was much increased. Crawford and Percy did their best to supply the deficiency, but they were, of course, as yet unaccustomed to the various duties required of them. The ladies took upon themselves the care of the dairy, which was far more successful than is generally the case in Natal, where the farmers have mostly to depend upon their Kaffir servants, by whom the animals are treated very roughly, and consequently are excessively wild. Under the instruction of Biddy, the three young ladies had learned to milk the cows, and very successfully they performed this operation, seldom or never allowing a pail to be upset, or losing a drop of the milk. They had some pet animals which they had taught to feed out of their hands, and which were consequently as tame and gentle with them as could be desired, although they would allow no one else, with the exception of Biddy, to approach them. They would come at their call, and allow themselves to be milked with perfect docility. The contrast between their cows and those tended by the Kaffirs was very great. The Kaffir process of milking was barbarous in the extreme. The animal to be operated on, being driven into the kraal, was made fast by the horns to one of the posts. Her hind legs were then tied together, and the calf was permitted to take a draught, when a Kaffir stood ready to haul him aside, and the rest of the milk was yielded into the pail.

Biddy acted not only as cook for the family, but also for all the men on the farm, who assembled in a hut close to the house, with a long table in the centre, at which they sat in primitive fashion, the master taking the head. The fare generally consisted of beef, game, meal cakes, capital bread, pumpkins and other vegetables, and a variety of fruits; among others, when they were in season, there were figs and pomegranates, which grew in the greatest profusion on the farm. The family generally retired at an early hour, and rose at dawn, when they went about their respective avocations for a couple of hours before breakfast. As soon as the cows were milked, they and the heifers and calves were driven off to the pastures, while the ploughman yoked a span of ten oxen to the plough, and set out to break up some new land, and very hard work it was. Although the soil was tolerably rich, it was baked by the sun, and as hard as a rock, and in some places the whole strength of the oxen was required to draw the share through it. Two of the labourers were employed in hoeing the young mealies, and, strange as it may seem, others at the same time were engaged in picking off the ripe cobs, stripping back their leafy covering, and hanging them in pairs across rails, where they could further dry, until they were carried to the granary. In the mealy fields, indeed, can be seen the corn in all stages, some just rising above the ground, and the full-grown stalks of others bending with the weight of their yellow heads.

Crawford undertook all carpentry business, having, as he said, practised the art when he made up his mind to become a settler. He had also learned to mow, and he and Rupert spent some hours, scythe in hand, cutting down the tall grass for the purpose of securing fodder for the horses through the winter months, as also to prevent the necessity of burning close round the homestead, as it is necessary to do, in case one of the fires, which are constantly occurring, should spread in that direction. Should this precaution not be taken, the crops to a certainty would be destroyed, and the buildings themselves be in great danger. Captain Broderick had surrounded his cultivated fields with hedges, either of the prickly cactus or the mimosa, whose hooked thorns were well calculated to prevent any animals from breaking through.

Crawford was much amused on seeing one of the Kaffirs dig. Instead of using the spade in the English fashion, he grasped the handle with both hands, holding it at arm’s length, with the face turned towards him, and then stuck it into the ground with a swing of his arms, never pressing it with his foot. He used the handle as a lever to shovel out the loose earth, all being done with a jerk, and yet he managed to dig into the hard ground with extraordinary rapidity. When Crawford, taking a spade, wished to show him his mode of digging, the Kaffir shook his head, saying, “No good,” and went on in his own way.

To Percy, who was not fit for hard work, was allotted the duty of picking the ripe cobs in the mealies, as has been described, but he begged his brother to find him some more interesting employment.

“All in good time,” answered Rupert, “you will learn to plough and mow, put up a fence, and drive the waggon.”

“I can do that already,” answered Percy; “I learned that from old Dos on the journey, and I flatter myself I could manage a span of twelve oxen with perhaps a little assistance.”

There were so many duties to be performed on the farm, that there was no time for hunting, which Crawford and Percy had looked forward to as one of their most interesting employments. Rupert promised, however, as soon as Captain Broderick returned, to give them a day’s sport.

“You have not seen our preserve yet. We may have time, before dark, to take a gallop down to it,” said Rupert.

“Is it a deer park or a pheasant preserve?” asked Crawford.

“Far larger game than even the largest deer,” was the reply.

“What do you mean to say you keep, tame elephants?” inquired Crawford.

“No, our game is somewhat smaller than the usual run of elephants; but come along.”

They had been taking a circuit of the farm on horseback. They now turned down along the bank of the river. After going a couple of miles, they reached a small lake, filled by the overflowing of the stream. It was mostly surrounded by a thick border of reeds, but there was one spot which enabled them to approach close to the water. Presently a huge head rose above the surface, then another appeared.

“Why those are hippopotami!” exclaimed Crawford.

“Yes, they are the game I spoke of,” said Rupert. “They have been born since we came here, and have been so accustomed to us from their infancy, that they are now as tame as cows, and never think of attacking us, although I do not know what they would do to a stranger. Many will come when we call them, as they have been used to be fed by us, though when provisions have occasionally been scarce we have been compelled to kill a few of them. The rest, however, do not resent the death of their relatives; indeed, they benefit by it; for were they to increase much above their present number, they would not find sufficient food, and would be obliged to migrate, with the risk of being trapped.”

“Do you mean to say that the flesh of those huge beasts is fit for food?” asked Crawford.

“Most certainly; it is equal to the best beef, or rather veal, which it more nearly resembles.”

As they were leaving the neighbourhood of the pool, Crawford exclaimed, “Did you see any one stealing behind those bushes out there? I am nearly certain I did.”

“Yes, I caught a glimpse, not only of one black fellow, but of two, and there may be more,” said Rupert.

“Let us rout out the rascals,” cried Crawford; and on the impulse of the moment he was about to stick spurs into the flanks of his horse, and to dash on towards the bush, behind which the natives had concealed themselves.

“Stay, it would be better to ride forward as if we had not noticed them,” answered Rupert.

“But ought we not to watch them, and insist on their telling us why they are skulking in this place?” asked Crawford.

“The attempt would be dangerous in the extreme, for they are probably ready to hurl their assegais at us, should we approach them near enough,” answered Rupert. “Our only prudent course will be to get away from them, and to keep a look-out lest they should steal on, concealed by the underwood, and manage to get ahead, when they may salute us with a shower of assegais before we can get a glimpse of them. My father, who knows all their tricks, has enjoined me never to trust them, and considers that though they are savages they are much cleverer than we are when fighting in their own country.”

Crawford, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to follow Rupert’s wise advice, though he did not like the idea of running away from a foe for whom he felt the utmost contempt.

While they were speaking, a loud clap of thunder burst on their ears, and looking back they observed a dark bank of clouds rising from behind the trees, which had hitherto concealed it from sight.

“We have ample reason for galloping on, even though there were no Zulus in the neighbourhood,” exclaimed Rupert. “We shall ere long have a storm burst upon us, which it will be no joke to be caught in. We may, however, manage to distance it, as well as the Zulus.”

A second peal, louder than the first, made the horses start, and away they galloped at full speed. As they went on, the raindrops could be heard pattering on the ground behind them, but by urging on the horses they managed to keep ahead of the deluge.

As the gloom of evening drew on, the lightning grew more and more vivid, and the thunder rattled louder and louder.

“It is fortunate that we caught sight of those fellows; for they are very likely, while the herdsmen are keeping under shelter from the storm, to try and carry off some of the cattle,” said Rupert. “I’ll ride round and put the men on their guard; but as there is no necessity for you to get a wet jacket, you had better go on direct to the farm.”

“No, no,” answered Crawford; “I’ll accompany you; I don’t mind a wetting; and though the Zulus we saw cannot yet have got as far as this, even should they have pursued us, there may be others concealed near at hand, who, if they find you alone, might venture to attack you.”

They accordingly turned their horses’ heads as Rupert proposed. The cattle had only just reached the kraal, and the herdsmen were closing the gates. Rupert told them of the strange Zulus he had seen, and warned them to be on the alert. They scorned the idea, however, that a few Zulus would venture to attempt stealing any of the captain’s cattle, but they promised, notwithstanding the approaching storm, to be on the watch, and to punish the marauders, should they appear.

“Good-night, my friends!” said Rupert; “and now, Crawford, we must ride for it.”

The rain, at length overtaking them, seemed to come down in a perfect sheet of water, and in a few seconds they were wet to the skin.

They quickly, however, reached the farm, and unsaddling turned their horses into the kraal, where a shed afforded the animals some protection from the pitiless shower, while they themselves hurried into the house for shelter. The gate was regularly closed at night, so that neither Zulus nor wild beasts could steal in. Falls Farm had in this respect an immense advantage over nearly all others in the colony, which were perfectly unfortified, and open to the depredations of all descriptions of animals. Had Captain Broderick expended the same amount of labour on a farm near town, as he had bestowed on his present property, he would ere this have become a rich man. It was the instinct of an old soldier which had induced him to fortify it, although his great object was to live at peace with his neighbours.

By the time the supper Rupert and Crawford found prepared for them was over, the rain had ceased, and they went out as usual to make the round of the walls.

Nothing could be seen moving outside, but the hideous howls and cries of the jackals and hyenas came down from a distance on the night air.

“Those brutes are enticed into the neighbourhood by the scent of our cattle, and they howl with disappointment at not being able to get at them,” observed Rupert to his companion. “We cannot drive them away, and the hyenas especially are such cunning rogues, that it is a hard matter to get a shot at them. We find that the only successful plan is to form traps, in which, with all their cunning, they frequently lose their lives.”

Rupert and Crawford having seen that the men on the ramparts were keeping a vigilant watch, returned to the house.

The night passed away without interruption. When daylight returned, and the sun shed a bright light over the landscape, Crawford expressed his belief that no treacherous enemy could be lurking in the neighbourhood. It seemed probable that he was right, for when two of the Kaffir servants, who had been out as scouts returned, they reported that they had seen no one, nor had they discovered the traces of any strangers in the neighbourhood.

“The chances are, the men we saw were merely passers-by, who were seeking shelter from the storm under a bush, and had we ridden up to them we should probably have found them to be very harmless characters,” observed Crawford.

“I am not fully persuaded of that,” answered Rupert. “They probably, finding that they were discovered, thought it prudent, if they had any sinister design, to beat a retreat for the present.”

Chapter Seventeen.

The Master absent.

Four days had passed since Captain Broderick had started on his expedition. His family were now hoping every hour to see him return. It was difficult, however, to calculate how far Hendricks might have got before he was overtaken, and what delays might have occurred. Perhaps he might be unwilling to give up Lionel, and would not be satisfied that he was Captain Broderick’s son. He was deeply attached to the boy, and looked forward to having him as his companion during his travels, and making him his successor in his arduous, though interesting and lucrative, calling. Captain Broderick was only slightly acquainted with Hendricks, and had from the first been doubtful how he might be received. He had therefore resolved to go himself, instead of sending any one else, to bring his supposed son to the farm. It is more easy to imagine than describe Mrs Broderick’s state of anxiety. Was her long-lost boy to be restored to her? or were the anticipations she had formed to be fallacious? Her daughters shared her feelings, but they were so much occupied from morning till night in their various duties, that their minds consequently dwelt less on the subject than did hers. Rupert had satisfied himself that there was no doubt about the matter, and that Hendricks would immediately give up his young brother, as he called him, to his father.

The evening of the fourth day was coming to a close, when a Kaffir was seen on the opposite side of the river, making signals. Rupert and Percy, who were together, instantly hurried down to the boat to ascertain what he wanted.

“I wonder whether he brings a message from our father,” said Percy; “if so, I am afraid he has been delayed.”

“Yes, I am sure he does,” answered Rupert. “See, he carries a stick, with a letter stuck in a cleft in the end. That’s the way the Kaffirs always carry written messages. We shall soon know its contents.”

They were quickly across, and the Kaffir, stepping into the boat, presented the letter at the end of the stick to Rupert. It was addressed, however, to Mrs Broderick, in his father’s handwriting, so that he could not open it, and he and Percy had to repress their curiosity until its contents could be communicated by their mother. They eagerly questioned the Kaffir messenger as they pulled across. He, however, could give them but little information beyond the fact that the white chief had overtaken the hunter and his waggon about five days’ journey from the border of Zululand; that two horses had been lost, and that one of the party had been severely injured or killed; and as they could obtain no animals to supply the places of those they had lost, they were likely to be detained some time. He was, he said, the only inhabitant of his native village who knew the country in that direction, and he had therefore been selected to bring the message, but he had had no other communication with the camp, and was unable to give more particulars.

As soon as they landed, they hurried up, accompanied by the messenger, to the farm. They found Mrs Broderick in the sitting-room. She eagerly opened the letter, while they anxiously watched her countenance.

“Is our father well?” inquired Helen.

“What does he say about Lionel?” asked Percy.

“I hope no one has come to grief,” exclaimed Rupert.

Mrs Broderick did not reply until she had read through the letter, and then, holding it in her hands, and still glancing at its contents, she said—

“Your father is well, though his journey was a dangerous one. Hendricks seemed much surprised, but received him in a friendly way, until he explained the object of his visit, when the hunter appeared very unwilling to believe that Lionel is the child we lost. He is evidently deeply attached to the boy, and does not wish to part with him. He said, however, that he should be satisfied if Mangaleesu could produce any one of the tribe who was present at the attack on our party, when the nurse was murdered and the child carried off. This, from Mangaleesu’s account, seems impossible, as he declares that the whole of the tribe had joined him, and that every person in the kraal was put to death, with the exception of himself, his wife, and the child. Your father writes, ‘I cannot come away without the boy; for the more I look at him, the more convinced I am that he is our son. A certain expression in the countenance, which all our children possess, is there, though it is difficult to make Hendricks understand this. Still, as he is an honourable and right-minded man, I am convinced that he only requires to be persuaded I have a just claim on the boy, to give him up. He assures me—and I believe him when he says that he loves the boy as if he were his own child—that he has made him his heir, and that he will, he hopes, inherit a fair estate and a good sum at the bank. Of course I am unwilling to deprive the boy of these advantages, which are superior to any I can hope to give him. At the same time, if he accompanies Hendricks, he will be exposed to many dangers, and might not live to enjoy them. I hope, however, that Hendricks will allow me to bring the boy away, when I promise to restore him should he not prove to be our son, or should he desire to return; and I trust he will not under any circumstances alter his intentions towards him. The boy, as it is, has no real claim upon the hunter, who might at any time change his mind, and leave him destitute, though I do not, judging from his character, see any likelihood of his doing that. I however must, at all events, remain here some days, for I have lost two horses on the journey, and my faithful follower, Vermack, has been so severely injured by a lion, narrowly escaping with his life, that he is at present utterly unable to travel, though he declares he shall be as soon as I am prepared to start. He received the injury from which he is suffering on the morning of the day we reached this place. He had got off to tighten the girths of his saddle, but had again mounted, and was following some way behind, when a monstrous animal rushed out from behind a thicket, and sprang on his horse. His side and leg were much lacerated as he threw himself from his saddle, and before he could get on his feet and unsling his rifle, the lion had killed his horse, and was about to leap on him, but the brave old Dutchman was up to the emergency. The sound of his shot, as he fired at the brute’s head, was the first indication we had of his danger.

“‘Galloping back, we saw him on the ground, while the lion lay dead on the top of the horse, close to him. Fortunately, Hendricks had outspanned at no great distance off, and had sent out some hunters, who, coming up directly afterwards, assisted us in carrying the wounded man to the camp. That very night the horses which Denis Maloney and the Kaffir had ridden were attacked by a troop of hyenas, and one was so severely injured that we were obliged to put him out of his misery. Hendricks cannot spare us any of his horses, and it may be some days before I can obtain any fresh ones, though I have sent in all directions. Let me know by bearer of this—Omkomo—who will be ready to set off after a few hours’ rest, how you are all getting on. Bid Rupert not to relax his vigilance, although, from information I picked up on the road, I trust that the Zulus who are in search of Mangaleesu have given up the pursuit, and have returned to their own district. This necessitates a long delay, for which I had not reckoned when I left the farm.’”

Though deeply thankful to hear of her husband’s safety, Mrs Broderick was left in the same state as before regarding Lionel. Her mother’s heart, and the account Percy had given her, convinced her that he was her son.

“I knew my father would see the likeness as soon as he set eyes on him!” exclaimed Percy. “Didn’t you, Crawford? Wouldn’t you be ready to swear that he was our brother?”

Crawford could scarcely help smiling. He thought Lionel something like Rupert and Maud, but he did not consider him to resemble either Helen or Rose.

Mrs Broderick at once wrote an answer to her husband’s letter, which was delivered to Omkomo. After a hearty meal he went to sleep. Rising when it was nearly daylight, he took some more food, and declared that he was ready to set out. Rupert and Crawford ferried him across the river.

“In case the white chief should not be ready to begin his journey when you arrive at the hunter’s camp, will you promise to return with any message he may have to send?” asked Rupert as he put the Kaffir on shore.

“Yes, for the same reward I will come,” was the answer.

Farewells were exchanged, and the messenger quickly disappeared in the gloom.

The day passed by, the inmates of the farm being engaged in their usual occupation. Rupert obeyed his father’s injunctions, and had a strict look-out kept, that he might obtain early notice of the approach of strangers. An active scout was also employed in scouring the country round on the east side of the river, keeping himself concealed while he made his way to spots from whence he could take a wide survey, and ascertain if any persons were moving about. The country on that side was entirely depopulated; Panda, as has before been said, not allowing any of his subjects to live near the borders. So far the farm was favourably situated, for there were thus no natives likely to prove hostile in its immediate neighbourhood, as there were no flocks, or herds, or game to tempt them, and savage wild beasts were comparatively rare.

Some days had passed since Rupert and Crawford caught sight of the strange natives, on their visit to the hippopotamus pond, and they had ceased to think about the subject. They were indeed fully convinced that none of the party of Zulus who had threatened to attack them remained.

Mangaleesu, they considered, might without risk take his departure; but he expressed no wish to go, and Mrs Broderick was anxious to keep him, that he might give such particulars as he possessed with regard to Lionel. It has been said that the inhabitants of the farm depended greatly on the chase for their supply of meat, and as no hunters had gone out for several days, their stock had run short.

Rupert was always ready for a hunting expedition, and Crawford, who had come out to Africa under the belief that the chase would form one of his chief occupations, was eager to engage in the sport.

“I don’t think there can be any objection to our going away for a few hours,” said Rupert. “I can leave Percy in charge during our absence, as he will have nothing to do except to see that the men keep at their work. You and I, with our two Kaffir guides, will start to-morrow morning, and I hope that we shall bring back meat enough to supply us until my father returns.”

Crawford eagerly agreed to the proposal, and Percy was pleased at the thought of being left in sole charge, although it was to be but a few hours.

“Try and not be absent longer than you can help,” said Mrs Broderick, as she wished her son good-night—for the party were to start the next morning. “Although I apprehend no danger, we cannot tell what may occur.”

“There is nothing to fear,” answered Rupert, “and meat we must have, that’s very certain. My father would not object to my going under the circumstances; for if I sent the Kaffirs alone, they are such bad shots that they may bring back nothing, though they are very useful in finding the game and helping me to kill it.”

Before daybreak Rupert and Crawford were in their saddles, and Percy was up to see them off, as were his sisters, who had insisted on rising to give them breakfast before starting, a delicate attention which Crawford duly appreciated.

Followed by two Zulus, also well mounted, they directed their course to the lower ground in the south-west, where game most abounded. The air was pure and fresh when they started, coming from the hills, and both young men felt in the highest possible spirits, and ready for the sport. As the sun rose, however, and they got on the lower ground, the heat increased, and they appeared to have passed into a different region. Occasionally from the woods came the cheerful chirp of the feathered tribe, but otherwise, all around was hot, silent, and lonely.

“We shall be in sight of some game soon, or I am much mistaken,” observed Rupert. “I’ll send the Kaffirs out on either side to turn them towards us, and it will be hard if we don’t manage to knock over some before long. I ordered the two Hottentot boys to bring on the light waggon to take home the game, for we can carry back but a small portion on our horses.”

Just as he spoke, a troop of graceful pallahs appeared bounding along in the distance. They stopped gazing in wonder and terror at the strangers, while the two Kaffirs, making a wide circuit, galloped on in the hope of cutting them off. Still the animals stood gazing until Rupert and Crawford got considerably nearer, when two or three of them were seen to change their places; then suddenly the whole herd, each leaping high in the air, started off as fast as they could go, apparently endeavouring to avoid one of the Zulus who was coming up. The effect was singularly pretty, as they made bound after bound, the red on their backs and sides, and the white on the under parts of their bodies, alternately appearing and disappearing. In vain the hunters rode after them.

“We may have some of those fellows yet, though,” observed Rupert; “but we must be more careful how we approach them.”

Almost immediately afterwards some loud sneezes were heard, and looking to the right they caught sight of a troop of mingled gnus and quaggas, passing and repassing without a pause. Every now and then a gnu would rush out from among the crowd, whisk his tail, give a sneeze, and then rush back again amongst his comrades. Now and then a young gnu was seen to fall behind with its mother, or the bull would drop out of the ranks, and switching it severely with its long tail, compel it to keep up. The older quaggas also seemed to keep their youngsters in excellent order.

Frequently, for some misdemeanour, one of the elder animals, with its ears back, would make a rush at one of the smaller ones, and give it a severe bite as a hint to it to keep in its place. As the hunters got near the herd, the animals, turning their heads towards them for an instant, suddenly whisked round, giving a glance back as they did so, with a cunning expression, as much as to say, “You’ll not catch me this time,” and off they set.

The quaggas and gnus, however, soon after separated, going off in different directions. As the ground appeared more favourable in the direction the quaggas had taken, Rupert proposed that they should give chase to them.

The two Kaffirs dashed over all impediments for the sake of turning the herd and giving the gentlemen an opportunity of shooting some of them. A cloud of dust marked their course. On the animals dashed at a slashing pace, but very soon relaxed their efforts, as they are no match for a horse. The two Kaffirs now appeared ahead of them, and shouting and shrieking, drove them back towards Rupert and Crawford, who had drawn up out of sight behind a clump of bushes. Both firing at the same time, each brought down a quagga, and before the herd had recovered sufficiently to go off in another direction, they had reloaded, and two more lay struggling on the ground. Just then Crawford saw a young filly which had missed its mother and got separated from the herd.

“I heard your sister Helen say she should so much like to have a young quagga to try and tame it,” exclaimed Crawford, riding up to the little animal, which seemed in no way alarmed at the appearance of the horse, but apparently mistaking it for its parent, trotted alongside.

“If you like, we’ll endeavour to keep it between us till we can give it in charge of one of the Kaffirs,” said Rupert, coming up.

The little animal at first appeared perfectly contented with its new companions, and galloped between them. Suddenly, however, finding that it had made a mistake, it attempted to bolt; but Rupert, expecting this, had prepared a noose at the end of his halter. Finding itself caught, the filly made a most determined resistance, kicking, snapping its jaws, in which not a tooth was to be seen, dashing round and round, and hanging back with its whole weight, altogether exhibiting its ferocious nature.

Fortunately the Kaffir soon came up, and applying his water bottle to its lips, quickly brought it to a more amiable state of mind. Crawford now stroked its back and spoke gently to it, till the little creature appeared perfectly at its ease.

“I should so much like to keep the small animal alive, for I am sure it would please your sister to have it, and I am afraid that the Kaffir might not treat it properly,” he observed to Rupert. “If you don’t object, I’ll lead it back to the farm, while you and your men continue the chase.”

“With all my heart,” answered Rupert, who guessed that Crawford, as yet inexperienced in hunting, would not be of much use.

Crawford, therefore, leading his horse with one hand and the animal by the other, set off for the farm, while Rupert and his men, having covered up the dead quaggas with bushes, to guard them from the vultures and jackals until the arrival of the waggon, continued on in pursuit of further game.

Rupert was fully as successful as he expected; a couple of pallahs, three springbocs, and a buffalo being the result of the expedition, in addition to the quaggas, and all within the radius of a couple of miles. The waggon appeared in due time, and being loaded, he and his men set off to escort it back to the farm.

Chapter Eighteen.

Preparations for the defence.

Mrs Broderick did not feel quite satisfied with herself at having allowed Rupert and so many men to quit the farm. Percy noticed that she was less at her ease than usual. She at length desired him to take a look-out on the platform to ascertain if his brother and Crawford were returning.

“They are not likely to be back for some time,” he answered, “so that I am afraid I shall not be able to report their appearance in the distance.”

“Then, my dear Percy, take a survey of the country round, especially on the opposite side of the river. Perhaps the Zulus may be coming back; and should they find out how few persons there are at the farm, they may demand Mangaleesu, and threaten us with an attack should we refuse to give him up.”

“Pray set your heart at rest on that point, mother,” answered Percy. “I will, as you desire it, take a look round, though I am pretty sure not to see any one. Supposing the Zulus were to come, we would close the gates and keep them out.”

“But when they see only you on the platform they would force it open,” said Mrs Broderick.

“They would find that no easy matter, while I should be peppering them from above,” said Percy, laughing. “I will mount the two swivel guns on the platform above the gate, and I will carry up all our spare rifles, so that I can pop away briskly at the fellows if they approach with hostile intent.”

“Were you to do that, you would expose yourself, and they would soon find out that there was only one person defending the walls,” said Mrs Broderick.

“I have a bright idea,” exclaimed Percy. “What do you say to letting the girls dress up in Rupert’s and my clothes? Perhaps we shall also find some among my father’s and Crawford’s which would suit them. They might show themselves while the enemy appeared at a distance, and then get out of harm’s way.”

Mrs Broderick could not help smiling, notwithstanding her anxiety at Percy’s proposal.

“The girls will be ready to do anything that is necessary, but I trust that after all no enemies will come near us, and I only wish you, as a precautionary measure, to convince yourself that none are in the neighbourhood,” she said.

“Very well, mother, I will go, and shout out loud enough for you all to hear, if I see any one,” answered Percy. “Then let the girls put on their male attire and hurry up, with muskets in their hands, to the ramparts. They need not put on any lower garments, as the Zulus would only see their heads and shoulders. By the bye, if they were to rig up a few dummies, it might assist to deceive the enemy, and they might be left to be shot at in case they should have firearms among them.”

On leaving his mother, Percy shouted to his sisters to come and hear the proposal he had to make.

The young ladies, who had been employed in various ways at the back of the premises, hearing his voice, hurried round to ascertain what he wanted. He had by this time reached the platform.

“I was telling mother that, should any enemy appear, I would advise you all to rig up in our clothes. I forgot Biddy; she would be a host in herself, if she will rout out father’s old uniform coat and his cocked hat and sword. If she flourishes the blade in the rays of the sun, and rushes about here and there, she’ll make the enemy believe that we have a large garrison, and they will hesitate to approach us. Tell Mangaleesu that he must disguise himself, and that he will not be recognised in a round hat and big necktie; and his wife too, she will prove useful. ‘We shall do finely,’ as Denis would say, and now I’ll just look out and see if any enemy is at hand. In all probability the Zulus have given up their search for Mangaleesu as hopeless, supposing him by this time to be miles away from the frontier, so you need not begin your preparations just yet, though I should like to see Biddy dressed up in our father’s cocked hat and uniform coat, with a sword by her side. She’d make a fine picture of an Amazon.”

Having thus delivered himself, Percy placed his telescope at his eye, and slowly sweeping it round, took in every spot between the farm and the most distant part of the landscape.

“Do you see any one?” asked Maud, who had climbed up and stood by his side.

“Nothing moving that I can make out,” he answered; “but that, of course, does not prove that no one is coming. Perhaps a whole army of Zulus may be advancing behind the trees, and it will be only by a lucky chance that my glass is pointed at them at the moment they are crossing some open space.”

“You don’t really think they are coming, do you?” asked Maud, in a somewhat anxious tone.

“Of course not; but I almost wish they would, that we might have an opportunity of putting my admirable plan of defence into execution. I’d give anything to see Biddy hurling defiance at the savages from the ramparts. I’m confident that we should make an heroic defence, and immortalise our names.”

“I wish you would not joke about so serious a matter,” exclaimed Maud. “What would be the use of immortalising our names if we were all to be killed?”

“I don’t mean that we should be killed,” said Percy. “My idea is that we should drive them back defeated and discomfited. I confess that I should like to have old Vermack and a few of our other men to follow up the enemy. Depend upon it, they would give a good account of all they caught sight of. The Dutchman, who hates the Zulus with all his heart, would knock them over like ninepins.”

“Oh, don’t speak in that way!” said Maud. “But are you sure that you do not see any one coming? Pray do take another look round with your glass. I daresay you are right. But mother is unusually anxious, and I don’t think she would be so unless there was a strong impression on her mind that danger is at hand.”

“Well, I’ll make another examination of the surrounding world,” said Percy; and he again took up the glass, and resting it on the top of the wall, swept the country. “Don’t start back with terror if I say that I see a regiment of Zulus in the distance. They may not be intending to come here. Perhaps Cetchwayo is at their head, and he may merely be making a visit of inspection round his father’s territories.”

“But do you really mean to say that you see a regiment crossing the river?” asked Maud, in a somewhat alarmed tone.

“No; I was only supposing the matter,” said Percy, laughing. “In case any may have crossed over, and be creeping up on our side, I’ll now turn my glass in that direction.”

He was for some time silent, while Maud watched his countenance. Suddenly he exclaimed—

“Yes, I do see something moving. Now don’t tumble down off the platform, Maud; for whether they are men or beasts I cannot yet clearly make out. Yes, I see now; there is a man leading a horse with one hand and a small animal with the other. I do believe it is Crawford. The animal is a quagga. Every now and then the creature begins to frisk about and pull away from him. He has a hard matter to get it along, that is very evident. Now he stops and is patting the creature, now they are coming on again. Now the little brute is kicking and plunging, trying to bite him; but he holds on manfully. I wish that I could go and help him; but I must not desert my post. I guess how it is; he has managed to catch the quagga, and is bringing it in to try and tame it, very likely to present to one of you girls.”

“Not for me or Rose. If it’s for one of us, it’s for Helen,” exclaimed Maud. “He evidently admires her, though she is too busy to admire him in return. At all events, we shall have him as an addition to the garrison, should the Zulus come before Rupert and the men with him return.”

“I have been looking out for them, but I don’t see them. Crawford, however, will be here presently, and tell us what they are about, so that we may know when to expect them.”

Percy had taken two or three turns on the platform, when he suddenly exclaimed, “I do believe there are some people coming down the mountain, but who they are I cannot make out, though there appear to be a good many of them. Maud, do you go down and tell Helen and Rose and Biddy to get ready. I’ll fire the signals to let the men know they are to drive in the cattle. Crawford will be here long before the Zulus can cross the river, even if he doesn’t mount his horse and let the young quagga go. Don’t alarm our mother, that’s all. I say, Maud,” he added, as his sister was hastening away, “before you do anything else, send Biddy here with the swivel guns. One at a time is as much as she can carry, and I have got a rope to hoist them up. There are places already fitted to fix them in; and then tell her to bring along the muskets and a good store of ammunition. Let Mangaleesu know what is wanted, and he’ll help her, and his wife too. As long as they do not show themselves, there is no reason why they should not come out of their retreat.”

Maud hastened away to obey these directions, and Percy resumed his look-out through the telescope. He was more than ever sure that a considerable force was coming over the hill,—a force, too, which took no pains to conceal itself. This might prove that they came with no hostile intentions, or it might be that, confident in their own strength, they were indifferent to being discovered.

“I wish that Rupert and the hunters were not away,” said Percy to himself. “This may be no joking matter; at the same time we must put on a bold face, and not allow the savages to suppose that we are daunted by their numbers. I only hope that Rupert will be back before they cross the river, for it would be serious were he to be caught by them; and then perhaps my father and Lionel will be coming, and they may be surprised by the cunning rascals.”

Again and again Percy turned his glass to the eastward.

“Hurrah! that’s one good thing; the fellows have halted just about the spot where they were before encamped.”

His remarks to himself were interrupted by Biddy’s voice.

“Sure, we’ve been after bringing yer one of thim big pop guns, Masther Percy; but how will ye git it up there?”

And, looking down, he saw her and Mangaleesu carrying a swivel gun between them. The Zulu showed himself to be more of an adept in securing a rope than was Biddy, who at once climbed up to the platform. The swivel was soon hoisted up, and mounted in the place intended for it. Mangaleesu in the meantime had brought out the other, which in like manner was quickly got into position.

“Now for the muskets, Biddy,” cried Percy, who felt himself of no slight importance at being actually in command of the fort; his spirits rose accordingly.

Biddy, Mangaleesu, and Kalinda quickly returned with muskets and ammunition.

“Now go and rig yourselves out in the fashion I told Maud that you must all do; and be ready to come up here as soon as the Zulus reach the bank of the river, from which they can see us clearly.”

Percy had at first made the proposal half in fun, but his sisters and Biddy took it in right down earnest, although he scarcely supposed that they would really do as he proposed. He had made Mangaleesu understand that he must be ready to assist in hoisting up the drawbridge, as it would require the strength of the whole party to perform the operation. He did not, however, intend to hoist it up until the Zulus approached nearer, as he hoped before that time that not only Crawford would have arrived, but that his brother and the men would have reached the farm. As far as he could judge, when looking through the telescope, the Zulus were preparing to encamp, although they might have had some other reason for halting.

He had kept his glass continually fixed on them to watch their movements; it now occurred to him to turn it in the opposite direction, when to his satisfaction he saw that Crawford had almost got up to the farm. He waved to him to come, and then made signs to Mangaleesu, who was waiting below, to open the gate.

Just as Crawford, leading his horse and the quagga filly—as tame as a dog—crossed the drawbridge, Biddy and the three young ladies came out of the house, dressed exactly as Percy had suggested, with hats and coats, sashes round their waists, and rifles in their hands. He started with astonishment, unable to comprehend the cause of their strange masquerading.

“I beg your pardon, young ladies,” he said, “but I did not at first know you in your disguise. Did you take me for an enemy?”

“We should not have let you in so easily,” answered Helen. “Percy has seen the Zulus approaching, and being afraid that they would attack the fort before you and Rupert had returned, we have got ready to defend it to the best of our power.”

“I consider that Percy is mistaken, although I have no doubt that you have made the best preparations for defence,” said Crawford, inclined to treat the whole affair as a joke.

“Sure, if the inemy do show themselves near this, we will put them to the right about,” cried Biddy, flourishing the captain’s sword.

“Let me secure my horse and this little zebra filly which I have brought for you, Miss Helen; I will then join Percy, and ascertain what is likely to happen,” said Crawford.

Helen duly thanked the young Englishman for his intended gift, but as the little animal at that moment took it into its head to grow restive, and kick, scream, and prance about, she did not show any inclination to approach it.

Crawford having taken his horse and little captive round to the yard, hurried up to the platform, where Percy was standing. Looking through the telescope, he was satisfied Percy was right in supposing that the people he saw below the hill were Zulus. They were probably not aware that they could be distinguished at so great a distance. He then turned his glass in the direction he hoped Rupert and his men would be coming.

“I see their waggon,” he exclaimed, “although they appear to me to be moving very slowly. I tell you what, Percy, the best thing I can do is to set off and hasten Rupert and his men. It will be better to lose the waggon than to have them cut off. Depend upon it, I’ll not spare whip or spur.”

“Thank you, Mr Crawford; pray go by all means,” said Mrs Broderick, who had just then come out of the house. “I was wrong in letting Rupert start, but I pray that he may be back before the Zulus reach the river.”

“No fear of that, mother, as Crawford is going for him,” said Percy. “We’ll get in the waggon too, with its load of meat, which will better enable us to stand a siege.”

Crawford, without further delay, threw himself on his horse, while Percy returned to the platform to watch what the Zulus were about.

“They are still halting,” he shouted out, “though I suspect they will send forward scouts to reconnoitre our fortifications. Come up, girls; come up, Biddy, and show yourselves on the ramparts. I am half inclined to fire off the guns, but it may be wiser not to let them know that we are prepared for them until they come nearer, as they probably expect to take us by surprise, and the disappointment will be the greater when they see armed men on the walls.”

The young ladies and Biddy quickly climbed up, and Percy placed them at intervals, with muskets on their shoulders, and told them to walk about like sentinels.

“Now, Biddy, flourish your sword, and make it flash in the sun. That will do famously. They’ll see it in the distance, and suppose that we have a dozen men with bayonets, at least.”

The girls, forgetting any alarm they might at first have felt, laughed heartily at Biddy’s vehement gestures, as she carried out Percy’s directions to the full. Now she rushed to one end of the platform, now to the other, giving vent to her feelings by various war shouts in her native Celtic.

“You, Helen, keep a look-out on Crawford, and tell me how he gets on,” said Percy, handing her the glass, having first taken a glance through it himself.

“Yes, I can see him clearly,” said Helen. “He is galloping along at a tremendous rate, and I fancy that I can make out Rupert and the waggon in the distance.”

Helen, who had put down her musket, showed no inclination to take her eye from the telescope.

“Hurrah!” cried Percy, “here come the herdsmen with the cattle. I thought they would not be long after they heard the signal. They will help us to defend the walls. Perhaps Crawford will fall in with some settlers, and we shall soon have a sufficient number of men to dispense with your services, girls.”

“But we don’t wish to have our services dispensed with,” cried Rose. “We want to make ourselves useful.”

“But I don’t want you to get killed or wounded,” said Percy. “Some of the Zulus may have firearms, or they may venture near enough to hurl their assegais. You will have done all that is necessary by showing yourselves as at present in martial array, and I feel very sure that the enemy, when they see you, will defer their attack until they come up under cover of the darkness to try and take us by surprise.”

Percy allowed Helen to keep the glass while he was employed in loading the swivels, and pointing them in the direction the Zulus would probably attempt to approach the gate. She in the meantime was watching Crawford’s progress; though he and his horse looked no larger than an ant crossing over a large field, she still kept her eye upon him until she could report that he had joined Rupert. The latter was riding ahead of the waggon till Crawford got up to him, when she saw both of them, followed by the two Kaffir hunters, come galloping at headlong speed towards the farm, while the waggon still kept moving on as before, though at a faster rate.

As soon as the cattle had been driven into the kraal, Percy supplied the Hottentots with fresh ammunition, and posted them in different parts of the walls, that they might make as great a show as possible, taking care to keep his white warriors, as he called his three sisters and Biddy, in the front.

“Wouldn’t Denis be in his element, if he were here!” he said to Maud, as he passed her. “He would be flying about in all directions, and putting spirit into every one. By the bye, I quite forgot the dummies. Do go down to mother, and see if she cannot rig out half a dozen, and hand them up as soon as they are ready. She might also make Mangaleesu understand what we want, and he’ll manufacture a whole army of Kaffir warriors with assegais and shields. It would make the enemy suppose that we had a strong force of natives inside, in addition to our own men.”

Maud did not like leaving the platform until Percy assured her that he was in earnest, and that such an array of dummies as he proposed would, he was certain, have a good effect in preventing the Zulus from coming close to the walls.

“They are cunning fellows, and would soon detect the dummies, if they were to remain stationary; but we will outwit them by moving them about and putting them in different positions,” he said to Helen. “I must, however, take another look through the telescope. Here come Crawford and Rupert, so that you don’t want it any longer.”

The horsemen indeed could now be seen clearly by the naked eye, galloping towards the fort. Percy turned his glass towards the party of Zulus.

“As far as I can make out they are considerably diminished in numbers, and I suspect that some of them have been stealing along towards the river, intending to cross lower down. If so, we must keep a watch upon them. I can see the channel of the river over a considerable distance, and they won’t get over without being detected.” Percy watched for some time, and at length said, “I can see nothing on the surface of the stream, not even a crocodile or hippopotamus. The Zulus, knowing that they have a chance of meeting one of those creatures, won’t venture to cross unless in considerable numbers.”

“Here come Rupert and Mr Crawford!” cried Helen in a joyful tone. “We shall be safe now, at all events.”

The horsemen soon rode in at the gate, which had not yet been closed. Rupert was as much amused as Crawford had been at seeing his sisters in their military attire. He fully approved of all Percy had done; and when he heard of the proposed dummies, he thought the idea excellent. While Crawford, who possessed a great deal of mechanical ingenuity, went in to assist Mrs Broderick, he hurried to the back of the house, where he found Mangaleesu and Kalinda employed in manufacturing Kaffir warriors. They had collected a number of poles and sticks, and had obtained from the storehouse a sufficient quantity of skins for dressing up their figures. Kalinda had brought in from the garden about a dozen pumpkins and melons. These served admirably for heads, while some other skins, bent over oblong hoops, formed shields. Indeed, Mangaleesu had already put together a sufficient supply of shields and bundles of seeming assegais, to arm the whole of the dummies. They had not forgotten to obtain some pigment, with which to darken the faces of their figures.

“Very good, indeed. The enemy will fully believe that these are real Kaffirs,” said Rupert. “Your idea of pumpkins for heads is capital. I’ll take some in for my mother; but we’ll paint them white to suit the dresses of the figures.”

“I suppose I must give up the command to you,” said Percy to Rupert, when the latter returned to the platform.

“You have succeeded so well, that I should not think of superseding you,” answered his brother. “I’ll obey your orders, although I will exert my own wits, and consider what is best to be done.”

“The most important object that I can see at present is to prevent the Zulus from capturing the waggon,” said Percy. “If any of them go towards it, we must make a dash out and drive them back. I’ll go, if you like, with Crawford and four men; six of us would keep a hundred at bay.”

“No, if any one goes, I will,” said Rupert. “You are in command remember, and must not leave the fortress. I am not quite certain that it would be prudent, but the two Hottentots with the waggon have their arms, and as they will fight bravely enough from behind a waggon, we may reckon that our force will consist of eight men. It will assist to convince the enemy that we have a large garrison in the fort.”

As yet, however, no Zulus had appeared, and there seemed every probability that the waggon would get in without being attacked. Though Percy kept his glass turned generally towards the river, fully expecting to catch sight of the Zulus passing across it, he occasionally directed it towards their main body, which remained as before, stationary. He had just pointed it in that direction, when he observed a movement among the dark-skinned warriors. He saw several go to a height, and then set off running at full speed towards the north. He pointed them out to Rupert, who, as he looked through the telescope, exclaimed—

“What if they should be going to meet our father, who very likely may be coming; or, if not, they may have caught sight of some messenger he has sent. I trust that either one or the other may have seen them in time and pushed on.”

“I feel sure you are right,” said Percy. “We must not let our mother know, however, it will agitate her too much. I am very glad you did not set off to meet the waggon. I’ll tell you what we ought to do. We must pull across in the boat, and be ready to receive whoever is coming. It will be some time before the Zulus can reach the river; and I would suggest that you and Crawford, with four men, go down, and while you and he take the boat across, the others with their muskets can cover your passage, and keep the Zulus in check.”

“I agree with you that is the best thing to be done,” said Rupert. “You’re a soldier, every inch of you.”

Percy was flattered at his brother’s compliment, and his readiness to follow his suggestions, without showing the slightest tinge of jealousy.

“In the meantime,” continued Rupert, “we had better get up the dummies, and post them in the most conspicuous places, so as to make the greatest show possible.”

“I advise that they be fixed a little way from the ramparts, so that we can pass in front of them,” said Percy. “Although they should be placed where they can be seen by the enemy, it would be as well to conceal as much of them as possible, or their real character may be detected.”

“Well, do you continue to keep a look-out,” said Rupert; “and I will go down and carry out our proposed plan.”

Rupert found Crawford and Mangaleesu on their way with some of the dummies, which at a little distance had greatly the appearance of living people. Mangaleesu’s were decidedly the best, his figures admirably representing Kaffir warriors in various attitudes, prepared for battle.

Under Percy’s and Rupert’s directions they were placed as had been proposed.

“But we ought to be going down to the boat,” cried Rupert; and he summoned the men he had collected. “Percy, you fire a musket if you see any Zulus approaching the river, who may be shut out from our view, and another, if you observe any crossing in the distance; then we shall know how to act. Come along, Crawford!”

They hurried out, running at full speed, as they were convinced that there was no time to be lost. On reaching the bank of the river, they could see farther up the stream than they could from the farm.

Percy was in the meantime watching to catch sight of the Zulus who had gone to the northward. They were still visible as they made their way among the trees. By this he knew that if his father was coming, they had not yet succeeded in cutting him off. While still watching them, he heard the shouts of the Hottentot drivers and the crack of their whips, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the waggon approaching, the poor oxen covered with foam, and trotting at a speed at which they had probably never before moved when yoked. In a few minutes the waggon drove over the drawbridge into the farm, greatly to the satisfaction of Percy, both on account of the drivers, who, had they been overtaken, would have run a great risk of losing their lives, and of the store of meat which they were bringing in.

Rupert and his party lost no time in launching the boat. As yet, as he looked to the north, he could see no one, nor were the Zulus visible to the naked eye. Confident, however, that Percy would give warning, should any approach the river, he and Crawford agreed to pull across, and having stationed their men under cover, they at once shoved off. They were soon over. Rupert landed, and ran up the bank that he might obtain a more extensive view than he could in the boat.

“Hurrah! here come four horsemen, and one of them, I am sure, is my father, and another must be Lionel,” he cried. “They are dashing along at a tremendous rate. They have seen the Zulus, depend upon it, and probably expect to have to swim their horses across. How fortunate we came over for them!”

Just as he spoke the report of a musket from the fort was heard, it was followed immediately afterwards by another.

“That shows that the Zulus are coming this way,” he shouted. “Yes, I see them, a whole band of yelling savages. On they come, clashing their shields and shaking their assegais, fully expecting to gain an easy victory; but my father and Lionel will be here first.”

Rupert stood ready to rush down to the boat, should it be necessary to save his life; for, brave as he was, he knew that it would be wrong to run any risk of throwing it needlessly away. He calculated that there were twenty or thirty Zulus approaching, running at their utmost speed; but the ground was rough in the extreme, and in many places their progress was impeded by thorny bushes, through which they could not force their way. Though they were coming on at a fearfully rapid rate, the horsemen were moving still faster. Another shot was fired from the fort. This Rupert took to be a signal that some more Zulus were crossing the river lower down. If they made good speed, they might cut off his men stationed on the western bank. He became doubly anxious, therefore, for the arrival of his father. He could now distinguish him clearly, as he could also Lionel and Vermack and the trusty Matyana. The Zulus would, he hoped, after all be disappointed. Standing on the highest part of the bank, he waved his hat and then bounded down to the boat, which Captain Broderick and his companions could not see, to show them that she was there, ready to carry them across. The only fear was that one of their horses might fall, for it was evident by the way they kept their whips moving that they were hard pressed. On they came, surrounded by a cloud of dust, as they passed over a sandy tract.

“They’ll do it! they’ll do it!” cried Rupert. “Stand by, Crawford, to shove off the moment we get into the boat. I’m half inclined to send a shot among those Zulus. I should knock over one of them if they come much nearer.”

Crawford stood holding the oar ready, and watching his companion. Presently he saw Rupert springing down the bank; directly afterwards Captain Broderick and Lionel’s heads appeared above it, followed by those of the Dutchman and the Kaffir.

The first two threw themselves from their horses. “Well done, my dear boy! well done!” exclaimed Captain Broderick. “We will drive our horses into the water, and they will swim after the boat.”

The Dutchman and Kaffir, however, disdaining this mode of crossing, kept their saddles, urging on the other two steeds, while the Captain and Lionel took their seats in the boat. There was no time to ask questions or give answers. Rupert could only say, as he gave a gripe of the hand to Lionel, “I am sure that you must be my brother Walter. I am delighted to see you. Now, Crawford, shove off.”

Rupert, as he spoke, grasped his oar, and he and Crawford strained every nerve to urge the boat through the water. Scarcely had they got half-way across when a body of Zulus appeared on the top of the bank, and began to hurl their assegais at them; but the moment they did so a volley from the west bank poured in among them, making them rapidly spring back, for every shot had told, and they probably expected a much larger dose to follow. Captain Broderick and Lionel, having unslung their rifles, also opened fire on the enemy. This gave the men time to reload, as also to enable Vermack and the Kaffir to get out of the reach of the assegais, they and the horses having fortunately escaped the first shower.

“What! did you expect the farm to be attacked?” asked Captain Broderick, looking up at the walls. “How did you manage to collect so large a body of defenders?”

“We originated them, sir,” answered Crawford. “You’ll see who they are as we get nearer.” He could not manage to say more, exerting himself as he was at the moment, nor did Captain Broderick ask further questions.

Landing, they drew up the boat, for they had no time to carry her to the harbour under the walls. They immediately joined the men, and as the Zulus again appeared on the bank, drove them back, enabling Vermack and Matyana to get to land with the horses.

The moment they had fired the volley another shot from the fort summoned Rupert to look down the stream, where he caught sight, though still, however, at some distance, of another body of the enemy who were coming up on the western bank.

“There’s no time to be lost, sir,” he said to his father. “We must get into the fort and haul up the drawbridge, or we shall have a number of those fellows upon us.”

Captain Broderick, seeing the importance of this advice, called out to Vermack and the Kaffir, to drive up the horses. The whole party then hurried on as fast as they could move towards the farm. Percy had thoughtfully stationed several men at the ropes to haul up the drawbridge as soon as they were over.

They were not a moment too soon. Scarcely was the drawbridge secured when the Zulus who had been coming up the west bank and the party who had pursued Captain Broderick, and who had now crossed, uniting, made a desperate rush to get in.

No sooner, however, had they got within range of Percy’s swivels, than both were fired in rapid succession, throwing their ranks into confusion, while he, picking up musket after musket, began to blaze away at them. This kept them in check and enabled Captain Broderick and the rest of the men to reach the ramparts, who immediately opened so hot a fire, that the Zulus, wanting courage to face it, hastily retreated, believing that the farm was defended by a far larger garrison than they had supposed.

Chapter Nineteen.

The attack.

As soon as the Zulus appeared, Percy had insisted on his sisters retiring from the ramparts.

“You have performed your parts, girls, and I cannot allow you to run the risk of being hit by one of those black fellow’s assegais. Down with you! down, quick!” he shouted.

Heroines as they were, they perhaps not very unwillingly obeyed; but when Percy told Biddy that she must retire, she exclaimed—

“What! me a gineral, an’ goin’ to desert me post! Sure, I don’t mind the niggers’ long spikes more than if they wor mop-handles.” And levelling a rifle, of which she had possessed herself, she fired down on the still advancing Zulus. Then picking up one after the other, she blazed away with deadly effect, bringing down a Zulu at every shot, until Percy told her to begin reloading, while he, with the other men who had now mounted to the platform, kept up the fire. Meantime Captain Broderick, with Lionel, had entered the fort. Mrs Broderick, who had been waiting with feelings it would be difficult to describe, seeing her husband and the young stranger appear at the gate, hurried forward to meet them. A brief embrace was all Captain Broderick had time to give his wife, before he, with Rupert and Crawford, climbed up on the platform, he having scarcely recognised his daughters in their strange attire. Lionel thought it was his duty to follow them. He was about to do so, when his eyes met those of the lady approaching him.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, “you must be—I know you are—my mother.”

Mrs Broderick threw her arms round his neck, and pressing him to her heart, kissed him again and again, as she exclaimed, in a voice choking with emotion, “You are my long-lost Walter: I need no one to tell me that; I remember every lineament of your countenance.”

For the moment, as she clasped her boy in her arms, she heard not the rattling of the musketry, the shrieks and yells of the assailants, the shouts of the defenders, the din of battle; every feeling, every sense was absorbed in contemplating her recovered child. She would scarcely release him from her embrace to receive the welcome which his sisters, who now came up, showed their eagerness to give him.

He looked at them with no little astonishment at first, not comprehending who they were, until they told him that Percy had persuaded them to dress up in order to deceive the enemy.

“But I must not let the rest be fighting on the walls while I remain down here in safety,” he said at length. “I don’t like to leave you, mother; but while others are exposed to danger, it is a disgrace to me to keep out of harm’s way.”

“But, my dear boy, I cannot let you go,” exclaimed Mrs Broderick. “You have only just been restored to me, and the assegais of the cruel Zulus might reach you on the platform. Percy has sent your sisters down, which shows that he considers there must be danger.”

“The same kind Being who has hitherto preserved me will take care of me still,” answered Lionel; “and my father and my brothers are exposed to the same peril.”

Mrs Broderick had a severe struggle, but his arguments prevailed, and she at length allowed him to join the defenders on the walls. The Zulus in the meantime had only retreated beyond musket shot.

Percy had pointed out to Captain Broderick where the main body were encamped. Taking the telescope, he looked through it in that direction.

“They have heard the firing, and are marching down towards the river,” he observed. “They little expect to find the farm so well garrisoned. Percy, you have acted admirably; for I believe, had our assailants not been led to suppose that a large number of men were posted round the walls to give them a warm reception, they would have come on much more boldly. It would be as well now to get rid of the dummies, lest their keen eyes should discover how they have been deceived, and they should then fancy that we have even fewer men than is really the case.”

“I don’t like so summarily dismissing my garrison, but of course you are right, father,” said Percy; and he and Rupert went round and began to throw the dummy warriors off the platform, two of the pumpkins splitting, however, in falling.

“I say, we must lower them more gently,” observed Percy, “for we may want them again, and it won’t do to place them in position with cracked skulls.”

They accordingly fastened them to the rope by which the swivels had been hoisted up, and let them all quietly down, one by one.

“Sure, cap’in, ye don’t want me to go down,” cried Biddy. “Whether they take me for a gineral or an old woman, it won’t much matter, for they’ll find that an old woman can fight as well as many a gineral. Let thim come on as fierce as they may, I’ll not be after showin’ the white feather.”

“We mustn’t tell my sisters what you say, Biddy, or they’ll think you are throwing reflections on them,” said Percy. “However, after the way in which you have handled a musket, I’m sure you will prove an able defender of our farm, should the Zulus venture again to attack it.”

Besides Captain Broderick, his three sons and Crawford, the garrison consisted of Vermack and Matyana, and six Kaffir and Hottentot servants. They were but few in number to oppose the host of warriors threatening them. Mangaleesu seeing this, begged that he and Kalinda might be allowed to come up on the ramparts to assist in the defence.

“If the white chief thinks we shall be recognised, we can soon so disguise ourselves that the enemy will not know us,” he said.

“Of course you can fight, as you desire it; but unless your wife insists, as Biddy does, in joining in the defence, I don’t wish to expose her to danger, answered the captain.”

Kalinda, however, declared that her desire was to join her husband, and in a short time both of them came up, their countenances so concealed by the hats and the plumes of feathers which adorned their heads, that it would have been difficult for those outside to have discovered who they were. The other Kaffirs, who usually wore scanty attire, dressed themselves in the same fashion, and thus the enemy might easily have supposed that a native contingent had arrived to assist in the defence of the fort.

Captain Broderick, however, feared that although the apparent strength of his garrison might keep the Zulus at a distance, they would ravage his fields, and carry off the cattle and sheep which had been left outside. They might also lay siege to the place, and attempt to starve him out. He anxiously watched the movements of the main body. Instead of directing their course towards the usual crossing place near the farm, they marched to a spot much lower down the river, showing that they had some dread of being opposed by the garrison, had they attempted the passage higher up. The party which had made the first attack had now gone in the same direction to cover their passage.

“We cannot save the crops, if the fellows are determined to destroy them,” he observed to Rupert; “but we may preserve the cattle and sheep, by driving some into the fort, and others among the hills, where the Zulus will not dare to follow them.”

“We have time to do that, if we don’t lose a moment. I’ll go at once,” cried Percy.

“No, let me go,” said Rupert. “Percy is not accustomed to the cattle. I will take Vermack and Matyana, and we will bring in as many as we can, while the herdsmen who remain with the rest drive them off in the meantime to the mountains. If we are seen by the Zulus, they will suppose that the whole have been driven into the fort, and will not go and look after the others.”

Captain Broderick, although he would gladly have avoided employing his son in so dangerous an expedition, did not think it right to forbid it. And Rupert, calling the two men, immediately set off, all three carrying their rifles as well as their long stock whips, required for driving the cattle. As they made their way towards the meadows where the cattle were feeding, they bent down and kept as much as possible under cover, so as not to be seen by the Zulus. They were watched anxiously from the ramparts. Captain Broderick could not help wishing that he had not let Rupert go, when he saw through his glass the horde of savages assembling, and who might come rushing up to the farm before there was time for him and his companions to get back. The drawbridge was kept down and the gate open ready for their return. Fortunately the ground was sufficiently clear in front of the farm to prevent any of the Zulus coming near enough to make a sudden rush.

While he kept a look-out on their movements, several men were stationed at the drawbridge to haul it up, should they again draw near. He had charged Rupert, to whom he had given his own pocket telescope, carefully to observe what they were about, and should he feel doubtful as to being able to bring the cattle into the farm in time, not to attempt returning; but to drive them all off into the mountains. He should thus lose three of his best men for the defence of the fort; but it would be better than to allow them to risk losing their lives and the cattle into the bargain. Fortunately Mrs Broderick was not aware that Rupert had gone out, so that she was saved much anxiety on his account. When the Zulus had retreated, the captain sent Lionel down to remain with his mother and sisters.

“They will wish to hear more about my expedition to bring you back,” he said. “You can tell them all you know, and how unwilling my friend Hendricks was to give you up, although he hesitated no longer, when convinced that you were really my son.”

Lionel, or rather Walter, gladly obeyed. His mother’s thoughts were thus drawn off from the dangerous position in which the farm was placed. Walter spoke in the warmest terms of the kindness of Hendricks, and his regret at leaving him.

“He told me,” he added, smiling, “should you ever get tired of me, that he will be glad to receive me back, though I don’t think that will ever happen. I am sure that I don’t wish to go, for I have often and often thought of you, and fancied I saw your loving eyes looking down upon me. I am very sorry for Denis, who will be all alone. If it had not been for his wish to go in search of his father, he would gladly have come back with me. He told me to say so, and to ask leave for him to return, should his father not be found.”

“I shall be glad if he comes back,” said Maud; “he was as much at home here with us as Rupert and Percy are, and I liked him almost as much as I do them.”

“He is a capital fellow!” exclaimed Walter warmly, “and I too should be very glad if he were able to live with us always; for I don’t think he would ever grow tired of the life here, although he has been so long accustomed to travelling and hunting.”

Maud hoped that the buoyant and spirited young Irishman would some day return to the farm. Meantime Captain Broderick, with Percy and Crawford, kept watch on the platform, while Biddy marched about flourishing her sword, of which the captain had not thought fit to deprive her. Every now and then she gave vent to her feelings by shouting out defiance to the enemy, who still kept at a distance from them. Why they did not come on at once to attack the fort it was impossible to say. Captain Broderick was thankful for the delay, as it gave Rupert a better chance of being able to drive in the cattle. They appeared to be holding a council of war, he suspected for the object of forming some plan of attack. His mind was greatly relieved when at length he saw the heads of the cattle coming round a wood to the north-west, and heard the crack of the stock whips. Presently Rupert and Vermack appeared, urging on the slow-moving and obstinate animals with all their might.

Just then Percy, who was looking through the glass, cried out—

“The Zulus are moving. They are marching this way. I can see them clashing their shields and shaking their assegais over their heads, with their chiefs leading them. I must let Rupert know, that he may hasten on with the animals. He will understand what is meant if I fire a musket.”

“By all means,” said Captain Broderick. “Fire a second if they do not attend to the first signal.”

Percy fired as he proposed.

Directly afterwards Rupert and Vermack were seen, accompanied by two of the herdsmen, who were flourishing their whips and leaping from side to side to urge on the still lagging animals. It seemed doubtful whether they or the Zulus would first reach the farm. There could be no doubt that as soon as they were seen, the latter would hasten on and attempt to cut them off. Their friends earnestly hoped that rather than run the risk of this, they would leave the cattle to their fate, and would make their way into the fort.

Percy again fired, and pointed in the direction the Zulus were coming, trusting that he might be seen. The men in the meantime were standing at the drawbridge ready to admit the cattle, and then to raise it.

Presently Matyana and a shepherd, with a flock of sheep, appeared. It seemed scarcely possible that they, at all events, would escape being cut off. Though sheep, under ordinary circumstances, walk slowly, they do occasionally put their best feet foremost. Should they get in, a great advantage would be gained, for the Zulus would naturally suppose that the whole of the cattle and sheep belonging to the farm had been driven inside, and would not go in search of the remainder.

More than once Rupert looked towards the advancing Zulus, as if to calculate the distance; still he was evidently unwilling to abandon his charge, and exerted all his skill to drive them on. Suddenly the animals seemed to be seized with a desire to rush forward. Whether or not they observed the Zulus, it is difficult to say, but kicking up their heels, and whisking their tails, they made towards the drawbridge, and came rushing in pell-mell, the sheep at the same time following their example, when they, with their drivers, panting from their exertions, were safe inside before the Zulus had got within rifle shot of the fort.

“Well done, Rupert! well done, Vermack! you succeeded admirably,” shouted the captain.

The drawbridge was hauled up, the door closed, and the cattle being driven into the kraal, which was pretty well crowded by this time, Rupert and Vermack, with the other men, were enabled to assist in the defence.

The judgment exhibited by Captain Broderick in his selection of the spot for his farm buildings was now more than ever evident. One side was protected by the river, and the other by inaccessible rocks. It could only be assailed either in front or the right side, where it was enfiladed by a projecting tower.

The Zulus had had no experience in attacking forts, and it was very evident that they looked upon the stockaded farm as they would upon one of their own kraals. They might have seen the cattle driven in, but they considered, as they were sure to capture the place, that it would be an advantage to have them all together, caught as it were in one net. As Captain Broderick looked through his telescope, he could observe their countenances, and it struck him they looked very much astonished at seeing the drawbridge hoisted up.

The front ranks halted just beyond musket range, to allow the others to come up, and then giving vent to the most terrific shrieks and yells, they rushed forward to the attack.

Chapter Twenty.

The relief.

Captain Broderick possessed but a small garrison to defend such extensive fortifications as those of Falls Farm against the numerous horde of savages now threatening to assault it. But he could trust thoroughly to the vigilance and courage of most of his men, and old Vermack was a host in himself, while his sons and Crawford had already shown the stuff they were made of. As to Biddy, he was very sure she would fight to the last, but he had to charge her not to expose herself, as she showed an inclination to do.

He possessed sufficient firearms to furnish each man, including Biddy, with a couple of rifles or muskets, besides the two swivels, but he had reason to fear, should the siege be protracted, that, his ammunition might run short. He had therefore warned his men not to throw a shot away.

Percy, ever fertile in resources, proposed that they should carry up to the platform a quantity of stones, a large heap of which had been collected to erect a storehouse which might be impervious to the attacks of ants. No sooner did the idea occur to him, than he told his sisters what he wanted. Wheelbarrows had been introduced on the farm, and a couple were standing ready. Getting three or four big baskets with strong handles, the young ladies, glad to find occupation, at once set to work, as did their mother, and exerting more strength than they fancied they possessed, they quickly filled the baskets, and brought them under the platform, when they were speedily hoisted up, each man being soon supplied with a heap. This was done before the Zulus had recommenced their advance.

When Captain Broderick saw the enemy coming, he directed his wife and daughters to retire into the house.

“If the fellows venture to come near enough, they may hurl their assegais over the wall, and you will run the risk of being hurt,” he shouted. “Remember we are fighting for you, and it would be a poor satisfaction to drive off the enemy, and find that you had been injured. We will call you if you are wanted, but I enjoin you to keep under shelter until then.”

Mrs Broderick and the young ladies obeyed the captain’s orders. Although they were not allowed to fight, they could pray for the safety of those they loved.

Captain Broderick had the satisfaction of feeling that he had not provoked the attack by any unjust act on his part. It might possibly have been avoided, had he ungratefully refused to afford protection to Mangaleesu and his wife, who had been of essential service to Percy and Denis, but not for a moment did he regret having performed the duty he had taken on himself.

On and on came the Zulus, confident in their numbers, evidently believing that the fortifications of Falls Farm would afford no greater resistance than the stockades of their kraals. Captain Broderick would even now thankfully have avoided bloodshed, if the savages would have given him the opportunity. He had hitherto lived at peace with his neighbours, and had proved the result of judicious kindness to a large number of Kaffirs, not further advanced in civilisation than those now arrayed in arms against him. He ordered his men not to fire a shot until he should give the command. As soon as the enemy got within hail, he shouted, at the top of his voice—

“Why do you thus come to attack me? Beware before it is too late! I am prepared to receive you, and make you repent that you come as enemies instead of as friends.”

He was well aware that the principal object of the Zulu chiefs was the destruction of the farm, they having become jealous of its existence so close to their own borders, for they considered that it afforded protection to others besides Mangaleesu who desired to escape from their tyranny, and who, from being kindly treated, became firm friends to the English.

As soon as they understood the tenor of Captain Broderick’s address they began shouting and clashing their shields to drown his voice.

“Their blood be upon their own heads,” he cried out to his own men. “Remember to pick off the fellows with tall plumes. If we kill the chiefs, their followers will quickly take to flight.”

“We will see to that,” answered Vermack with a grin, as he tapped the lock of his rifle.

The other men, in various tones, responded to the same effect.

Although the Zulus shouted and shrieked, and rushed on as if resolved that nothing should stop their progress until they were inside the stockade, the resolute front exhibited by Captain Broderick and his men evidently damped their ardour as they approached. Had the guns been fired while they were at a distance, when the shot would have produced comparatively little effect, they would have come on more boldly, but the perfect silence maintained by the defenders puzzled them. They observed also that there were fewer men on the walls than they had before seen, and they began to fancy that an ambuscade had been formed, by which they might suddenly be attacked on the flank. So Captain Broderick suspected. He remarked that the rear ranks were not coming on at the same speed as those in front, while many of the men were looking uneasily over their left shoulders. He still waited, however, until the front rank, led by the most daring of their chiefs, had got within half-musket range.

The discharge of one of the swivels was the signal for opening fire. Captain Broderick pulled the trigger, and the next instant his men were blazing away as fast as they could fire and reload.

When the smoke had cleared off, the whole Zulu force was seen hastily retreating, dragging off several of their number killed or wounded. Biddy, as she saw them scampering off, gave vent to a truly Irish shout of triumph, which was taken up by Percy, and echoed by most of the defenders of the fort.

“All very well,” observed Vermack, in his usual dry way; “but, friends, don’t be trusting those fellows. They have found us better prepared than they expected, but they’re not beaten yet. They’ll bide their time, and wait till they can see a chance of getting in with less risk to themselves.”

“Vermack gives you good advice, my lads,” said Captain Broderick. “I agree with him entirely: we must not relax our vigilance, but keep on the watch day and night.”

“For my part, I wish that they had come on again and let us finish the business off hand,” exclaimed Percy. “What do you say, father, to our sallying out and pursuing them? I should like to do it, for the chances are they would take to flight, and not stop until we had driven them across the river.”

“No, no; we must not despise them too much,” answered Captain Broderick. “If they saw a small force coming, they would to a certainty turn, and probably surround and cut us off. We are secure within our stockade as long as we keep a watch to prevent surprise, and here we must remain until our enemies grow tired and give up the attempt to destroy us, or until the authorities at Natal hear of the position in which we are placed, and send a sufficient force to our relief. But as the messenger I despatched cannot yet have got to Maritzburg, I fear it will be many a long day before we can rely on assistance from that quarter.”

The movements of the Zulus were watched with considerable anxiety. They continued to retreat until they were completely out of sight, but whether or not they had recrossed the river it was impossible to ascertain without sending out scouts. This Captain Broderick was unwilling to do, as they would run a great risk of being cut off by the enemy, who would, to a certainty, be on the watch for them, and good men could ill be spared from the garrison.

The hours went by. Night came on. Nothing more had been seen of the enemy. The captain, as he went his rounds, charged the sentries to keep a bright look-out. It was arranged that Rupert and Crawford should keep one watch, while Percy and Lionel, or rather Walter, as his family called him, kept the other. Biddy was very indignant at being sent back to the kitchen.

“Sure I’ve bin a gineral all day, an’ fought as well as the best of ye, and now I’m to be turned back into a cook an’ an old woman, when I’d be watching as sharply as any of the men lest those spalpeens of black-a-moors should be coming back at night to attack us,” she exclaimed, as she sheathed her sword and doffed the captain’s coat and hat.

The young ladies had long before put off their martial attire. They now set to work to assist Biddy in preparing supper, of which the garrison stood greatly in need. Only one portion could partake of it at a time, so that Biddy and the young ladies had work enough in running backwards and forwards with the dishes. The fare was ample, there being no lack of food in the fort; and as soon as the men had supped, they returned, some to their posts and others to lie down until it was their turn for duty.

Rupert and Crawford kept the first watch, but no enemies were seen, nor did even the dogs give warning that any strangers were in the neighbourhood. They then aroused Percy and Lionel, who sprang from their couches with all the zeal of young soldiers.

“This reminds me of many a night’s watch we have had together when travelling with Hendricks,” said Percy. “I thought when I came to the farm that I should have had too quiet a life of it, but I like this sort of thing, and I hope we shall give the Zulus a lesson which will teach them we are not to be molested with impunity.”

“We must keep a very strict watch, then,” said Lionel. “I know how cunning they are, and that their great object will be to throw us off our guard. I have not the slightest expectation that they will come to-night or to-morrow night either. They may wait days and weeks until they think they can catch us unawares, and then they will come down like a thunder-clap on the farm. They are not aware, however, that our father has sent to Maritzburg, and my hope is that they will put off the attack until we get assistance, and they will have to hurry away as fast as they can run. I have no wish to see the poor savages killed. They are urged on by their chiefs, and know no better.”

Lionel was right in his conjectures that the fort would not be attacked, for the sun rose once more, and the whole country looked peaceful and smiling as ever. Not a Zulu was to be seen with the naked eye, and the only sign of their having been near the fort was the trampled grass, stained here and there with the blood of their wounded warriors.

Percy took a look through the telescope. He observed that a body of men remained at their former camping-place at the foot of the hills to the eastward, and in the distance to the south he made out several black heads on the move, showing that the Zulus were still waiting for an opportunity either of attacking the farm to advantage, or of capturing the fugitives. They were of course not aware of the powerful instrument which enabled the garrison to watch their movements, while their sharp eyes could scarcely see even the fort itself.

Percy having taken his observations, called his father, as he had been desired to do. The captain’s first thought was about the cattle. The fodder stored in the farm was barely sufficient to last more than a couple of days. It would be necessary to collect a further supply. The grass, however, in the neighbourhood of the farm had already been cut for that purpose, or had been trampled down by the Zulus, and the men must therefore go to a considerable distance to obtain it.

This undertaking would be hazardous; for should they be perceived by the Zulus, attempts would certainly be made to cut them off.

Crawford, on hearing what was required, at once volunteered to go out in charge of a party, promising to keep strict watch, and should any enemies be seen, at once to return.

Captain Broderick accepted his offer. He thought it wiser to go mounted; and the waggon, with horses harnessed to it, was sent to bring back the grass.

Vermack went as driver, and four other men accompanied him to cut and load the waggon. The captain gave Crawford his field glass, to assist him in keeping a watch on the enemy. Percy promised also to be on the look-out, and to fire guns as signals, should he observe any movement among them.

As there was no time to be lost, the party immediately set off. They were watched anxiously from the fort until they were out of sight.

A couple of hours quickly passed, during which time Percy, accompanied by Lionel, had kept constant watch from the platform. Suddenly Lionel, who was looking through the glass, exclaimed—

“I see some of the Zulus moving to the westward. Depend upon it they have discovered Crawford, and from where he is he cannot see them.”

Percy, taking a look through the glass, exclaimed—

“There is no doubt about it. I must give the first warning signal to Crawford;” and he fired off a musket.

As there was no reply, he soon afterwards discharged another and another.

Captain Broderick and Rupert came hurrying up to ascertain what was happening. The Zulus were no longer in sight, but he feared that his sons were right in their conjecture. All eyes were turned in the direction it was expected that Crawford would appear.

They had not long to wait before the waggon came in sight. Old Vermack lashing the horses, which tore along at a tremendous rate, the rest of the men being seated in the vehicle, while Crawford, who followed, every now and then turned a glance behind, as if aware that an enemy was in pursuit. That such was the case was soon evident. The Zulus were seen scampering as fast as their legs could carry them, hoping apparently that the roughness of the ground or some accident might place the fugitives at their mercy. There indeed seemed even now a great probability that they would be overtaken. Crawford still gallantly brought up the rear. He was seen holding his rifle ready to fire, so as to keep them in check, should they come nearer. The horses’ hoofs and the waggon wheels, however, threw up so much dust from the dry ground they were now passing over, that he was soon completely shut out from view. The men were summoned to the ramparts, with the exception of those required to haul up the drawbridge. Percy got his swivels ready. Biddy made her appearance with the captain’s hat, which she had just time to stick on her head, and a couple of muskets in her hand.

Again the horses could be distinguished still coming at the same rate as before. But what had become of Crawford? A shot was heard, it was hoped that he had fired it, and not one of his pursuers.

“There he is, there he is!” cried Lionel, whose sharp eyes had pierced the cloud of dust. Presently he emerged from the cloud a short distance behind the waggon, sitting his horse as if uninjured. The Zulus could also be seen, with their assegais poised, eager to hurl them at him; but he still kept ahead of them. The pursuers, excited by the ardour of the chase, at length got within musket range of the west angle of the fort, from whence a warm fire was opened upon them. They appeared not to be aware of their danger until the bullets came flying about their ears, when turning tail they ran off as fast as they had before been going in an opposite direction, and Vermack drove his panting steeds up to the drawbridge. They were quickly over, bringing in a considerable load of grass.

Captain Broderick descended to thank Crawford for the service he had rendered.

“I should have been caught, however, had I not heard your signal guns,” he answered; “for the Zulus were creeping up so noiselessly, that they were almost upon us before the men had time to jump into the waggon; and even though Vermack lashed on his horses, we had great difficulty in keeping ahead of them.”

It is needless to say that Crawford received a further reward from the way he was greeted by Helen, who had been more anxious, probably, than any one else during his absence.

The supply of grass thus brought in was of great assistance in feeding the cattle, but it had to be husbanded to the utmost, as the Zulus were certain not to let the waggon go out again without making an attempt to capture it.

Another and another day passed as the first had done. The Zulus kept carefully out of sight. The scouts, who went cautiously out, reported that they had fallen in with the enemy’s scouts in the neighbourhood, evidently keeping a strict watch on the fort, so that no one would be able to leave it without a risk of being cut off.

The fodder was now running very short. There was scarcely enough for the animals for another day. They might, to be sure, yet live a day or two without food, although they would suffer in consequence; but that was better than allowing them to fall into the enemy’s hands.

Two days more passed. Every particle of food was gone. It was determined as a last resource to turn out the cattle at night. Two of the Hottentots bravely volunteered to drive them towards the mountains; but Vermack expressed his opinion that that was more than they could do, as the poor animals, having been so long starved, were certain to remain feeding on the first pasture land they came to. “It would be better to slaughter them at once than to let them fall into the hands of the savages,” he added.

It was resolved therefore to keep them another day. Crawford had not neglected his little zebra, which, as it was able to live on milk, was better off than any other of the creatures, although the supply afforded by the poor cows, for whom a small amount of fodder had been reserved, was becoming less and less.

Another night approached. The garrison were beginning to get worn out with watching, although they had to make no great exertions in other respects.

“I suppose we shall have another night’s useless watching,” observed Crawford; “I don’t believe that the Zulus will venture to attack the fort.”

“Don’t trust to that belief, Mr Crawford,” said Vermack. “If they don’t come to-night, they will to-morrow or the next day; perhaps in the day-time, if they think that we are off our guard; but it is our business to expect that they will come to-night.”

The old Dutchman refused to turn in, though it was not his watch, and wrapped in his blanket he took his post on the platform.

The night was cloudy and unusually dark. Denis had bestowed Raff as a parting gift on Percy, who had taken the dog up with him.

For some time Raff lay perfectly still, but at length he rose from his recumbent position, and began to move away to the right side of the fort.

Percy observing this followed him, and on his way he found Vermack going in the same direction. Presently Raff gave a low growl, then another, and began to run backwards and forwards.

“Go, Mr Percy, and call out all the men: depend upon it the Zulus are not far off,” whispered Vermack. “I’ll keep post here. They think to take us by surprise.”

Percy rushed off to do as he was requested. He fortunately met Lionel, who hastened to call his father. He had just aroused the garrison, when the sound of Vermack’s gun showed that he had seen something to fire at.

Most of the men, led by Captain Broderick, sprang up to that side of the fort, just in time to encounter a shower of assegais, and to see a dozen dark heads rising above the stockade. Few, however, got higher; for Vermack, clubbing his musket, struck out right and left, hurling down the greater number into the ditch, while the rest were shot or struck down by the other men in the same fashion. The garrison now opened fire on the mass of dark objects moving about below them. While thus engaged, Percy’s voice was heard shouting—

“Come to the front! come to the front! They are trying to get in over the gate.”

Rupert, Crawford, Lionel and Mangaleesu, with several men, hastened to his assistance. They were barely in time to drive back the assailants, who, while their companions had been engaged at the right side, had managed to place some rudely constructed ladders against the stockade. At the same time showers of assegais came hurtling through the air. Mangaleesu had thrown aside his shield, that he might use a club, with which he had supplied himself, with better effect. He was followed closely by a light active figure, whom Percy recognised as Kalinda. Where the Zulus appeared the thickest, there they were to be found, and many an assegai was caught by the young Zulu woman, and hurled back at the assailants of the fort. At length a piercing cry was heard above the shouts of the combatants.

Mangaleesu was no longer seen wielding his club, and Percy caught sight of a number of Zulus attempting to climb up at the spot he had hitherto been defending. Ever prompt in action, he immediately turned one of the swivel guns, loaded to the muzzle with bullets, and directed it so as to sweep the wall.

Groans and cries followed the discharge, and the dark mass of human beings, with the ladders on which they had stood, fell crashing below. Still others came on, evidently determined to gain an entrance at all costs.

Although the muskets of the defenders had performed their deadly work, they themselves had not escaped unscathed from the assegais of the Zulus. Several had been hurt, and Crawford had a severe wound in his left shoulder.

Frequently old Vermack’s voice had been heard shouting, “Fire away, boys! fire away! don’t spare the savages.” There was little necessity for this advice, however. Every man knew that should their assailants once get in, the lives of all would be sacrificed.

It would have been well had the captain’s orders not to throw a shot away been obeyed. As it was, however, every one loaded and fired as fast as possible, often over the heads of the enemy.

Percy, who had been employing his swivels with great effect, at length shouted out to Lionel to go and get some more powder. “I’ve nearly come to the end of mine,” he said.

Lionel hurried off, but just as Percy fired his last shot he came back with the alarming intelligence that the magazine was empty.

“Our father and Crawford, and some of the men, have a few rounds; but I have none, nor has Rupert.”

“Then we must use the stones. Fortunately I thought of them,” cried Percy, undaunted. “I only hope that the Zulus won’t suspect that our ammunition is exhausted.”

No sooner did the besiegers again venture under the walls, than the showers of stones which clattered down on their heads made them once more beat a rapid retreat; but those who threw them had to expose themselves far more than before, and many were wounded by the assegais of the savages, who kept hurling them from a distance which the stones could not reach.

Captain Broderick had escaped unhurt. He was seen everywhere firing his rifle as long as he had a round left, encouraging his men, and finally taking to stone-throwing.

But the Zulus were not long in discovering the want of ammunition among the garrison; and now, confident of success, the main body, which had hitherto been kept in reserve, rushed up to the attack, carrying ladders for crossing the ditch and mounting the walls. Still Captain Broderick encouraged his men to hold out.

“We will drive them back, my boys, notwithstanding,” he shouted. He sent Lionel with Biddy and two men to bring up a further supply of the stones. “And tell your mother and sisters, on no account to leave the house,” he added. “Let them keep up their courage; for depend on it we shall succeed in driving back the savages.”

Although he said this, he could not help feeling how desperate was their situation. On every side the Zulus appeared, their numbers greatly increased since the last attack. They had in all probability been waiting for reinforcements. They now thickly thronged round the walls, and his fear was that they might even find their way to the rear of the fort. Already nearly half the garrison had been wounded, two of whom he had seen fall to the ground, while others, weakened by loss of blood, had scarcely strength to hurl the stones down on the heads of their assailants. At length for the first time he began to despair of successfully defending the fort. As a last resource he resolved to summon the whole of the garrison, and to retire into the house, which he hoped to be able to defend with fixed bayonets and the assegais thrown into the fort. Still, as yet, not a Zulu had got inside, but at any moment they might make their way over the stockade.

Just then loud shouts were heard on the left, followed by a rattling fire of musketry, and the Zulus, who had nearly gained the stockade, dropped down, almost together, some falling into the water, others scrambling back by the way they had come. The shouts increased.

“Erin-go-bragh!” cried a voice from below.

“It’s Denis, I’m sure of it,” exclaimed Percy. “Hurrah! he must have come with Hendricks, and they have managed to cross the river unseen by the savages. The Zulus have evidently been seized with a panic. I daresay they fancy that a larger force has come to our relief, so thought it wise to bolt without stopping to count heads.”

Percy was right in his conjecture.

“Let down the drawbridge!” cried Denis; “the enemy have scampered off like wild fowl, though only Hendricks, my father, and our men, with myself, have been peppering them.”

The drawbridge was quickly lowered, and Denis was the first to cross, followed by the hunter and Mr Maloney, together with twenty well-armed Kaffirs and Hottentots.

“Having arrived soon after nightfall on the opposite side of the river, and camped, we were aroused by the sound of the firing, and guessing what was occurring, we managed to push across the stream just in time, it appears, to render you the assistance which I am delighted to have afforded,” said Hendricks. “We must take care, however, that the enemy do not attack our waggons, although I don’t think they’ll have the heart to do that. We’ll bring them across the first thing to-morrow morning; meantime we must follow up the rascals, and prevent them from rallying. If any of your men can accompany us, we shall be glad of their aid; but if not, we are sufficiently strong to do the work ourselves.”

“There’s one will go with you,” exclaimed Vermack, “and that’s myself. Give me some ammunition, and let me get sight of the fellows, and I’ll make every bullet do its work.” Four of the garrison only were capable of accompanying Hendricks, who without loss of time led his party out of the fort. They pushed forward at a rapid rate; but had not got far before daylight broke, and the enemy were seen far ahead, evidently intending to recross the river a considerable way from the farm. He judged, consequently, that there would be ample time to pass over the waggons and the rest of his party, before they could make their way up the east bank to impede the operation.

Few braver or more enterprising men than Hendricks the hunter were to be found, but at the same time he was ever anxious to avoid bloodshed; he therefore, greatly to old Vermack’s disappointment, returned at once to the farm.

A sad scene was revealed by the light of day inside the fort. Two of the defenders lay dead, fallen from the platform to the ground, and a third desperately wounded with an assegai through his breast, and who had hitherto been unobserved, lay gasping out his life. But sadder still was the spectacle near the gateway. There lay the Zulu chief, Mangaleesu, with his faithful Kalinda leaning over him, the blood flowing from a wound in her side mingling with his, which, regardless of her own injury, she had been endeavouring to stanch. Just as she was discovered she fell forward lifeless on the body of her husband.

“Och! the poor creature’s kilt intirely,” cried Biddy, who with Percy and Lionel had hurried to assist her. “Och ahone! it’s cruel to see one so loving and true struck down. Yet it’s better so than for her to have lived and mourned the loss of her husband.”

Biddy said this as she raised the inanimate body of the young Zulu woman, and found, on placing a hand on her heart, that her spirit had fled.

Percy and Lionel knelt by the side of their friend, whom they at first hoped might have merely fainted from loss of blood; but after feeling his pulse and heart, with unfeigned sorrow they were convinced that he was dead. Others soon joined them, and carried the two corpses into the room they had inhabited, there to wait their burial.

There had hitherto been but little time to welcome Denis, or to hear how his father had been recovered.

“Sure we didn’t recover him, he recovered himself,” answered Denis to the questions put to him. “He had been far away to the north of Oliphants river, where, after having lost his oxen and fallen sick, he was detained by an Amatonga chief, a regular savage, who from mere wantonness used once a month to threaten to put him to death if his friends did not send the heavy ransom he demanded, while all the time he was detaining the messengers my father endeavoured to despatch to Maritzburg. Wonderful however to relate, the savage chief became a Christian through the influence of a native missionary, who had made his way into that region. On this he at once released my father, supplied him with fresh oxen, and enabled him to fill up his waggon with tusks and skins. He had a long journey south, and reached Hendricks’ camp the very day after Captain Broderick left it. I was about to return with him to Maritzburg, while Hendricks intended to proceed on to the north-west, when, just as we were separating, Onoko, the same Kaffir who brought the message to you a short time ago, came to our camp with the information that a large body of Zulus were marching, bent on the destruction of this farm, in consequence of Mangaleesu and his wife having found refuge here.

“Hendricks, who would scarcely believe the report, sent out a couple of scouts to ascertain its truth, which, however, on their return they fully confirmed. We immediately, therefore, set out in this direction. Hendricks, I suspect, was not slightly influenced by remembering that Lionel was with you, and that should the Zulus succeed in their attempt he would be sacrificed with the rest of you.”

Some time was occupied by Hendricks and Maloney in passing over their waggons, which were brought within the fortifications, when the oxen and horses under a strong guard were turned out to graze, all the men who could be spared being employed in burying the dead at some distance from the farm.

A grave was dug for Mangaleesu and Kalinda, on a tree-shaded mound, a short distance from the farm. Mrs Broderick, while sincerely grieving for their death, had the satisfaction of knowing from the testimony they had given, that they had both become true, if not very enlightened, Christians, and would there rest in peace in the sure hope of a glorious resurrection.

Hendricks, who was known and respected throughout Zululand, anxious for the safety of his friends, considered it a wise course to send an envoy to the Zulu chief, Mapeetu, who had led, he ascertained, the attack on the farm, to ask why he had thus endeavoured to injure his neighbours the English. The envoy was directed at the same time casually to refer to the death of Mangaleesu and Kalinda.

Mapeetu, attended by two of his counsellors, three days afterwards made his appearance at Falls Farm. He expressed his regret at what had happened, and he hoped, he said, now the cause of enmity had ceased, that they might live in future on friendly terms with the white chief and his retainers.

Captain Broderick replied that he felt much satisfaction at hearing this; but he observed to Hendricks—

“I don’t intend to trust the fellow a bit the more for all his protestations; but shall be as much on the watch as ever, and will take care to have an ample supply of arms and ammunition, while I will keep up the stockade which have just done such good service.”

While Hendricks, not wishing again to enter Zululand, set off to cross the Drakensberg, Mr Maloney proceeded towards Maritzburg, promising, to the great delight of Denis, that having disposed of his goods, he would return to settle in the neighbourhood of Falls Farm.

The Zulus were shortly after this confined to a narrower space of territory, and Falls Farm, the scene of the stirring events lately described, became the centre of a thriving agricultural district. Helen and Maud married respectively Crawford and Denis, who settled on farms of their own, and Lionel with his brothers, in course of time also established themselves in the district. They all succeeded, though like other settlers subjected to various ups and downs, and Lionel had the satisfaction of watching over the declining years of his foster-father, Hendricks the hunter.

W.H.G. Kingston

"How Britannia Came to Rule the Waves"

Chapter One.

Introductory Remarks.

Rome was not built in a day, nor has the glorious British Navy attained its present condition except by slow degrees, by numerous trials and experiments, by improvements gradually and cautiously introduced, and by the employment of a vast amount of thought, energy, and toil. We are apt to forget when we see an elaborate machine, the immense quantity of mental and physical exertion it represents, the efforts of the united minds perhaps of many successive generations, and the labour of thousands of workmen. I propose briefly to trace the progress which the British Navy has made from age to age, as well as its customs, and the habits of its seamen, with their more notable exploits since the days when this tight little island of ours first became known to the rest of the world.

Some writers, indulging in the Darwinian theory of development, would make us believe that the ironclad of the present day is the legitimate offspring of the ancient coracle or wicker-work boat which is still to be found afloat on the waters of the Wye, and on some of the rivers of the east coast; but if such is the case, the descent must be one of many ages, for it is probable that the Britons had stout ships long before the legions of Cassar set their feet upon our shores. I am inclined to agree with an ancient writer who gives it as his opinion that the British were always a naval people. “For,” says he, in somewhat quaint phraseology, “as Britain was an island, the inhabitants could only have come to it across the ocean in ships, and they could scarcely have had ships unless they were nautically inclined.” The same writer asserts that the Britons had vessels of large size long before the invasion of the Romans, but that they either burnt them to prevent their falling into the hands of the invaders, or that they were destroyed by the Romans themselves, who then, adding insult to injury, stigmatised the people as mere painted barbarians, whose sole mode of moving over the waters of their coasts and rivers was in wicker baskets covered with hides—the truth being, that these wicker-ribbed boats were simply the craft used by the British fishermen on their coasts or streams. How could the hordes that in successive ages crossed the German Ocean have performed the voyage unless they had possessed more efficient means of conveyance than these afforded? I must, therefore, agree with the aforesaid ancient writer that they had stout ships, impelled by sails and oars, which were afterwards employed either in commercial or piratical enterprises. The Britons of the southern shores of the island possessed, he says, wooden-built ships of a size considerably greater than any hide-covered barks could have been. It is very certain that many hundred years before the Christian era the Phoenicians visited the coasts of Cornwall and Devonshire, and planted colonies there, which retain to the present day their ancient peculiarities and customs, and even many names of common things. It is probable that these colonists, well acquainted as they were with nautical affairs, kept up their practical knowledge of shipbuilding, and formed a mercantile navy to carry on their commerce with other countries, as well as ships fitted for warfare to protect their ports from foreign invasion, or from the attacks of pirates.

Many English nautical terms at present in use are clearly of Phoenician origin. Davit, for instance, is evidently derived from the Arabic word Davit, a crooked piece of wood, similar in shape to that by which the boats of a vessel are hoisted out of the water and hung up at her sides. The word Caboose was the name given by the Phoenicians to the temple dedicated to the god of fire, whom they worshipped, built on the decks of their vessels; when a purer faith was introduced, it being found convenient to cook dinners in the no longer sacred Caboose, the name being retained, Blackie the cook took the place of the officiating priest. Caboose is at the present day the name of the kitchen-house on the deck of a merchant-vessel. Many other terms even now used by seafaring people are derived directly or indirectly from the same far-distant origin, as are several of the customs observed at the present day. I may mention some of them by-and-by.

Ships of the Ancients.

The ancient Greeks and other Eastern nations had ships of considerable size many hundred years before the Christian era. The earliest mythical stories describe long voyages performed by vessels of far more complicated structure than the simple canoe. The ships engaged in the Trojan war each carried a hundred and twenty warriors, which shows that at the period referred to they could not have been of very small dimensions. Although they might have been open, they had masts and sails, and were propelled by rowers sitting on benches, while the oars were fastened to the sides of the ship with leathern thongs. Some were painted black, others red. When they arrived at their destination, the bows were drawn up on shore; or when on a voyage, they at night anchored by the stern, with cables secured to large stones. At an early period they had round bottoms and sharp prows. We hear of ships with three ranks of rowers, called triremes, B.C. 700, and long before that time biremes, or ships with two ranks of oars, had been introduced. In the time of Cyrus, long sharp-keeled war-ships were used, having fifty rowers, who sat in one row, twenty-five on each side of the ship. About B.C. 400, the practice of entirely decking over ships was introduced; Themistocles induced the Athenians to build a fleet of two hundred sail, and to pass a decree that every year twenty new triremes should be built. The Greeks even at that period, however, seldom ventured out into the open sea, steering in the daytime by headlands or islands, and at night by the rising and setting of different stars.

The Greeks possessed ships of war and merchant-vessels. That a war-galley was of large size may be inferred from the fact that she carried two hundred seamen, besides on some occasions thirty Epibatoe—literally, marines, trained to fight at sea. These war-vessels moved with wonderful rapidity, darting here and there with the speed of a modern steam-vessel. The ordinary war-ships were triremes, or had three banks of oars. The merchant-vessels or transports were much more bulky, had round bottoms, and although rowers were employed on board, yet they were propelled chiefly by their sails. After the time of Alexander, vessels with four, five, and even more ranks of rowers became general, and ships are described with twelve and even thirty ranks of rowers and upwards—but they were found of no practical use, as the crew on the upper benches were unable to throw sufficient power into the immensely long oars which it was necessary to employ.

Fully B.C. 500, the Carthaginians invented the quadremes, and about B.C. 400, Dionysius, first tyrant of Syracuse, whose ambition was to create a powerful navy, built numerous vessels of the same description, unused till that time by the Greeks. The rowers in these ships, with numerous banks of oars, could not have sat directly one above another, as some suppose; but the feet of those on the upper tier must have rested on the bench or thwart on which those immediately below them sat. Thus the tiers of oars were probably not more than two feet, if so much, one above another; and supposing the lowest tier was two feet above the water, the highest in the quadremes could not have been more than ten feet, and even then the length of the oar of the upper tier must have been very great, and it must have required considerable exertion on the part of the rower to move it. The most interesting part, however, of an ancient ship to us at the present day was the beak or rostra. At first these beaks were placed only above water, and were formed in the shape of a short thick-bladed sword, with sharp points, generally three, one above another, and inclining slightly upwards, so that they might rip open the planks of the vessels against which they ran. They were sometimes formed in the shape of a ram’s head fixed to the end of a beam; and hence in modern days we have adopted the name of rams, which we give to ships of war built on the same principle.

After a time these beaks were fixed on to the bow of the ship below the water, and were thus still more dangerous to other ships, when they could strike an antagonist on the side. The bow of a ship was generally ornamented by the head of some animal, such as a wild boar or a wolf, or some imaginary creature placed above the rostra. On both sides of the prow were painted eyes, such as are seen on the bows of boats and vessels in the Mediterranean at the present day. The upper part of the prow was frequently ornamented with a helmet covered with bronze. The steersman or pilot was looked upon as the chief in rank among the crew, and after him there came an officer whose duties were similar to those of the boatswain, as he had the care of the gear and command over the rowers. The stern or puppis, from which we derive the term poop, was elevated above the other parts of the deck, and here the helmsman had his seat, sheltered by a shed frequently adorned with an image of the tutelary deity of the vessel. Sometimes he had a lantern hanging in front of him, probably to enable him to see the magic compass, the use of which was kept secret from the rest of the crew. A circular shield or shields also ornamented the stern. Behind the helmsman was placed a slight pole on which flew the dog-vane, to show the direction of the wind. In the centre of the ship was a raised platform on a level with the upper part of the bulwarks, on which in battle the soldiers took their stand to hurl their darts against the enemy.

The quadremes and quinqueremes carried from three to four hundred rowers, and a ship belonging to Ptolemaeus Philopater is described as carrying four thousand rowers. From the surface of the water to the top of the prow was forty-eight cubits, or seventy-two feet, and from the water to the top of the stern fifty-three cubits, or nearly eighty feet; she had thus sufficient room for forty ranks of rowers, and the oars of the uppermost rank were thirty-eight cubits or fifty-seven feet long, the handles of which were weighted with lead, so as to balance the outer part, and thus render the long oars manageable. The lower parts of the holes through which the oars passed were covered with leather. Till the invention of the rudder, vessels were steered by two large oars, one on either side of the stern, with very broad blades. Ships were also furnished with long poles, by which they could be shoved off the ground. The triremes were fitted with two masts, and so were even smaller vessels; the larger had three masts, the largest of which was nearest the stern. They were usually of fir; and the head of the lower mast, which is at present called the top, was in the shape of a drinking cup. Some of these tops were of bronze; the largest held three men, two in the next, and one in the smallest; and breast-works ran round them to defend the occupants from the darts of the enemy. They were also furnished with tackles for hoisting up stones and weapons to hurl at the foe. Above the main-mast was a top-mast or topgallant-mast, called the distaff; the yards were hoisted up much as in the present day, and were secured by parrels or hoops to the mast. They were fitted with topping-lifts and braces. Each mast carried two square sails, and in after days the Romans introduced triangular sails. Though they generally ran before the wind, they were also able to sail on a wind, though probably not very close-hauled.

Ships were supplied with weather-boards, or broad belts of canvas, to keep out the sea, and were surrounded, also, by lines of ropes one above another, to prevent the seamen from being washed overboard. Sometimes these breast-works were made of skins or wicker-work, and in bad weather were raised to a considerable height above the bulwarks. It is said that Anacharsis, upwards of 500 B.C., if he did not invent, greatly improved the form of anchors, which were already made of iron. The anchor had generally two flukes or teeth, and was then called bidens; but sometimes it had only one. We use the same terms as the ancients, to cast anchor or weigh anchor, whence the latter term is equivalent to set sail. Each ship had several anchors; that in which the Apostle Paul sailed, we know, had four, and others had eight. The largest and most important anchor was denominated “the last hope,” hence, when that failed, arose the expression “the last hope gone.” A buoy was used fixed to the anchor by a rope, to show the spot where it lay.

The Romans possessed no war fleets till the year B.C. 260, when a fleet of triremes was built to oppose the Carthaginians. Many of them having been sent to the bottom, however, by the quinqueremes of that people, the Romans built a hundred of the latter-sized ships from the model of a Carthaginian vessel wrecked on the coast of Italy. The Romans must have had very large merchant-vessels to enable them to transport the enormous monoliths from Egypt which they erected in Rome. These vast stones, also, could not have been got on board and brought up the Tiber without considerable mechanical appliances.

The construction of their ships differed but slightly from that of the Greek vessels; they had turrets on the decks of their larger men-of-war, and employed a variety of destructive engines; so that in battle the soldiers on board fought much as they did when standing on the walls of a fortress. Of one thing I am sure, that no correct drawings of ancient ships have come down to us, if any such were really made; those on medals, cameos, and such as are painted on walls, are probably as far removed from the reality as a Thames barge is from a dashing frigate. They give us, certainly, the different parts of the ship, and from them we may form a pretty correct idea of what a ship really was like. Certain it is, however, that ships were built of prodigious size, and if not equal to a line-of-battle ship of late days, they must have been as large as, if not larger than, the Great Harry, and probably quite as well able to encounter as she was the boisterous seas. Long before the Christian era, ships boldly struck across the Mediterranean, and even passing through the Pillars of Hercules, coasted along the shores of Iberia and Gaul, and thence crossed over to Britain, or coasted round the African continent.

Advanced as the ancients were in architectural knowledge, there is every reason to suppose that they were equally capable of building ships to answer all their requirements, either for war or commerce. They were probably thus not only of great size, but well built, and were certainly finished and ornamented in an elegant and even a magnificent manner, far superior to that of many ages later. The mistaken notion as to the size of the ships of the ancients arises from the supposition that because merchantmen of the present day are smaller than men-of-war, that they were so formerly—the reverse, however, being the case. Men-of-war were generally long, narrow vessels, constructed for speed, to carry only fighting men, with a small quantity of provisions; whereas merchantmen were built of considerable beam and depth to stow a large quantity of cargo. A Phoenician vessel was able to afford accommodation to 500 emigrants, with provisions for a long voyage, besides her crew, while her masts were formed of the cedars of Lebanon.

Nautical Customs derived from the Ancients.

Among the best-known customs of the ocean is the ceremony that takes place when ships cross the line. That, however, like many others of olden days, is getting somewhat into disuse. Few of those who have witnessed it, probably, have suspected that its origin dates as far back as the times of the Phoenicians. As the ship approaches the imaginary band which encircles the globe, a gruff voice hails her from alongside, and demands her name and nation, whence she is from, and whither she is bound. These questions being answered, she is ordered to heave to, when no less a person than old father Neptune himself, with his fair wife Amphitrite, and their attendant Tritons, climb up over the bows, and take possession of the fore-part of the deck. Neptune generally wears a crown formed out of a tin saucepan, with a flowing beard, a wig of oakum, and a robe composed of some gay-coloured petticoat-stuff, stored up for the occasion, or a piece of canvas, with curious devices painted on it, while he carries in his band a trident, made out of a harpoon or a boat-hook. The fair Amphitrite, who is more commonly known on board as Bill Buntline, the boatswain’s mate, is habited, like her lord, in the gayest of gay attire, with a vast profusion of oakum locks, and bows of huge proportions, although it must be confessed that she has very little to boast of in the way of feminine delicacy or personal beauty, while the Tritons are at all events very odd-looking fish.

The captain, surrounded by his officers, with the passengers behind him, stands on the poop, and a spirited conversation, not altogether destitute of humour, generally takes place between him and Neptune—when the monarch of the main demands that every one on board who has not before crossed that portion of his watery realm where the ship then floats, shall be brought before him. None, whatever their rank, are excused. Those who at once consent to pay tribute are allowed to escape without undergoing any further ceremony, but those luckless wights who refuse or have not the wherewithal to pay are instantly seized on by the Tritons, lathered with pitch and grease, shaved with a rusty hoop, and soused over head and ears in a huge tub, while from all quarters, as they attempt to escape from the marine monsters, bucketfuls of water are hove down upon them. Uproar and apparent confusion ensues; and usually it requires no little exertion of authority on the part of the captain and officers to restore order.

We might suspect, from the introduction of the names of Neptune and Amphitrite, that this curious and somewhat barbarous custom must have a classical origin. There can be no doubt that it is derived from those maritime people of old, the Phoenicians. Ceremonies, to which those I have described bear the strongest similarity, were practised by them at a very remote period, whenever one of their ships passed through the Straits of Gibraltar. That talented writer, David Urquhart, in his “Pillars of Hercules,” asserts that the Phoenicians and Carthaginians possessed a knowledge of the virtues of the loadstone, and used it as a compass, as did the mariners of the Levant till a late period.

The original compass consisted of a cup full of water, on which floated a thin circular board, with the needle resting on it; this was placed in a small shrine or temple in front of the helmsman, with a lantern probably fixed inside to throw light on the mysterious instrument during the night. The most fearful oaths were administered to the initiated not to divulge the secret. Every means, also, which craft could devise or superstition enforce was employed by the Phoenicians to prevent other people from gaining a knowledge of it, or of the mode by which their commerce beyond the Straits of Hercules was carried on, or of the currents, the winds, the tides, the seas, the shores, the people, or the harbours. A story is told of a Phoenician vessel running herself on the rocks to prevent the Romans from finding the passage. This secrecy was enforced by the most sanguinary code—death was the penalty of indiscretion; thus the secret of the compass was preserved from generation to generation among a few families of seamen unknown to the rest of the civilised world. The ceremonies, especially, were kept up, though in a succession of ages they have undergone gradual alterations.

The lofty shores which form the two sides of the Straits of Gibraltar were known in ancient days as the Pillars of Hercules. Here stood the temple of the god, and hither came the mariners before launching forth on the more perilous part of their voyage, to pay their vows, and probably to bind themselves by oaths to conceal the secrets to be revealed to them. Perhaps in all cases the temple on shore was not visited, but, at all events, the oaths were administered to the seamen on board, ablutions were performed, and sacrifices offered up. The introduction of Christianity did not abolish these observances, and through the ignorance and superstition of the mariners of those seas they were for century after century maintained, though the motive and origin were altogether forgotten.

A traveller, who wrote as recently as the seventeenth century, describes a ceremony which took place on board a ship in which he was sailing, when passing through the straits. Just as the two lofty headlands were in sight on either side of the ship, an old seaman came forward with a book, and summoning all those whose names he declared not to be registered in it, made them swear that they in future voyages would compel their fellow-seamen to perform the same ceremonies in which they were about to engage. Behind him appeared a band of veteran seamen dressed up in a variety of fantastic costumes, with a drum and other musical instruments. These forthwith seized on all whose names were not registered as having before passed through the straits, and dragging them forward, thrust them into tubs, and soused them thoroughly with water. No one was altogether exempt, but those who had before passed were allowed to escape a like process by the payment of a fine.

These same mariners, when they extended their voyages to the southern hemisphere, very naturally postponed the ceremony which they were in the habit of performing on passing the straits, till they crossed the line. They also, not altogether abandoning classical allusions, changed the name of their dramatis personae. Hercules, who had no connection with the ocean, whatever he might have had to do with the Straits of Gibraltar, had to give place to Neptune, the long-honoured monarch of the main, and Amphitrite was introduced to keep him company. We recognise in the duckings, the sacrificial ablutions, and in the shaving and fining, the oaths and the penalty.

When the hardy seamen of Great Britain first began to steer their ships across the line, they were undoubtedly accompanied by pilots and mariners of the Mediterranean. These, of course, taught them the ceremonies they had been in the habit of performing. The English, as may be supposed, made various additions and alterations suited to their rougher habits and ideas, and what at one time probably retained somewhat of the elegance of its classical origin, became the strange burlesque it now appears.

Another nautical custom still in vogue is also derived from remote antiquity. At the present day, with doubtful propriety, in imitation of the rite of baptism, we christen a ship, as it is often called, by breaking a bottle of wine on her bows as she glides off the stocks. The custom is of thoroughly heathen origin. A similar ceremony was practised by the ancient Greeks when they launched a ship. We ornament our vessels with flags; they decked theirs with garlands. At the moment the ship was launched forth into the deep the priest of Neptune raised to his lips a goblet of wine, and after quaffing from it, he poured the remainder out as a libation to his deity. The modern Greeks still perform the ceremony much in the manner of their ancestors. Clearly, the custom we have of breaking a bottle of wine is derived from the libations of the ancients. In most instances, at the present day, the ship is named at the moment she is launched by a young lady, who acts the part of the priest or priestess of old.

Of late years a religious service is usually performed at the launch of a man-of-war. The heathen libation is not, however, omitted, and the whole ceremony presents a curious jumble of ancient and modern forms suited to the tastes of the day. Still we are bound heartily to pray that the gallant sailors who will man the stout ship may be protected while in the performance of their duty to their country; and, still more, that they may be brought to a knowledge of the Gospel.

The Greeks invariably gave feminine names to their ships, choosing, whenever possible, appropriate ones; while the less courteous Romans bestowed masculine names on theirs. Though we may not have followed the Greek rule, we to the present day always look upon a ship as of the feminine gender.

The mariner’s compass, the most important instrument used in navigation, demands further notice. The magnet, or loadstone, was known to the ancient Greeks many centuries before the Christian era. The legend runs, that one Magnes a shepherd, feeding his flocks on Mount Ida, having stretched himself on the ground to sleep, left his crook, the upper part of which was made of iron, lying against a rock. On awaking, and rising to depart, he found, when he attempted to take up his crook, that the iron adhered to the rock. Having communicated this extraordinary fact to some neighbouring philosophers, they called the rock after the name of the shepherd, Magnes, the magnet.

The Chinese, of still more ancient date, so their traditions affirm, discovered a mountain rising out of the sea possessing an intensity of attraction so great that the nails and iron bands were drawn out of their ships, causing their immediate wreck. Those sea-arabs whom we call Phoenicians had, at a very early date, made use of their knowledge of the property of the loadstone to turn towards the North Pole; though, like many other discoveries, as I have just mentioned, it was kept a profound secret among a select few, and concealed from the public by having an air of religious mystery thrown over it. Lumps of loadstone formed into balls were preserved in their temples, and looked upon with awe, as possessing mystic properties. With these round stones the point of a needle was rubbed, as often as it required fresh magnetising.

I have already described the compass used by the Phoenicians, and how, long after Islamism had gained the ascendency, it was possessed by their descendants. At length the secret was divulged, and it came into general use among the mariners of the Mediterranean in the tenth and eleventh centuries. Its original form was unaltered for nearly four centuries, when, in 1502, Flavio Gioja of Positano, near the town of Amalfi, on the coast of Calabria, a place celebrated for its maritime enterprise, improved upon the primitive rude and simple instrument by suspending the needle on a centre, and enclosing it in a box. The advantages of his invention were so great that his instrument was universally adopted, and hence he gained the credit of being the inventor of the mariner’s compass, of which he was only the improver.

Long before the compass was used at sea, it had been employed by the Chinese to direct the course of their caravans across the desert. For this purpose a figure, placed in a waggon which led the caravan, was so constructed that the arm and hand moved with perfect freedom, the magnetic needle being attached to it; the hand, however, pointed to the south, the negative end being fixed in it. The Chinese also used a needle which was freely suspended in the air, attached to a silken thread, and by this means they were able to determine the amount of the western variation of the needle. It is possible that both the Chinese and Arabs discovered the magnetic powers of the loadstone, although the latter in their long voyages may have allowed the knowledge they possessed to have been drawn from them by the astute Chinese; or, vice versa, the Arabs may have obtained the knowledge which the Chinese already possessed, and kept it secret from the western nations. We all remember the wonderful adventures of Sinbad the Sailor, as narrated in the Arabian Nights—how the ship in which he sailed was attracted by a magnetic mountain, which finally drew all the iron bolts and nails out of her. Now it happens that the author places Sinbad’s mountain in the same part of the world in which the Chinese say their magnetic mountain exists. Ptolemy, in his geography, also describes a magnetic mountain existing in the Chinese Seas. We may therefore, I think, come to the conclusion, that the mariner’s compass was known to the ancients long before the Christian era, and that although disused for centuries, the knowledge was never altogether lost.

Chapter Two.

Early English Ships (from A.D. 600 to A.D. 1087.)

We Englishmen undoubtedly derive a large portion of our nautical spirit from our Saxon ancestors, the first bands of whom came to the shores of our tight little island under those sea-rovers known as Hengist and Horsa, invited by the helpless Britons to defend them from the attacks of the savage Picts and Scots. The enemies of the gallant heroes I have named were apt to call them pirates; but as might made right in most sublunary affairs during those dark and troubled ages of the world’s history, they looked upon the roving commissions they had given themselves as perfectly honourable and lawful, and felt no small amount of contempt for the rest of mankind who chose to stay at home at ease by their firesides, while they were ploughing the ocean in search of plunder and glory. I suspect that they had a strong preference for the former.

After the Saxons had driven the ancient inhabitants of the island out of the more fertile portions of the country, and had made themselves, according to their notions, pretty comfortable in their new homes; they, in a little time, in their turn, were sadly pestered by foreign invaders. These were the Danes. Those hardy sons of the North, still more wild and fierce than the Saxons, and still less scrupulous in their proceedings, pleased with the appearance of the country which they had come over to look at, settled themselves in every nook and corner of Old England in which they could haul up their ships, and find a resting place for their feet. I cannot help feeling a great respect for those old sea-kings. They were heathens, and we must judge of them by the light which they possessed, and not by any standard acknowledged in the present civilised world. Bold, enterprising, and sagacious, their own country confined and barren, they looked on the wide ocean as the only worthy field for the employment of their energies. They loved it for itself, too; they were born on it, or within the sound of its surges; they lived on it, they fought on it, and it was their wish through life to die on it, as if only on its boundless expanse their free spirits could be emancipated from this mortal coil. This same spirit still exists and animates the breasts of the officers and men of our navy, of our vast mercantile marine; and, though mentioned last, not certainly in a less degree of the owners of the superb yacht fleets which grace the waters of the Solent, of the Bay of Dublin, of Plymouth Sound, of the mouth of the Thames, and indeed of every harbour and roadstead round our shores. No people, unless animated by such a spirit, would go to sea simply for the love of a sea-life as do our yachtsmen. We may depend upon it that they are the lineal descendants of those old sea-rovers, somewhat more civilised and polished certainly, differing as much in that respect, it is to be hoped, from their remote ancestors as do their trim yachts, which will go nine knots or more within four and a-half points of the wind, from the tubbish-looking sturdy craft of the Danes, which had no idea of sailing any way except dead before the gale.

There was something barbarously grand in the notion of the old Norse kings which induced them, when worn out with age and fatigue, to sail forth into mid-ocean, and then, lighting their own funeral pile, to consume themselves and the stout ship they loved so well in one conflagration. Seriously, however, we must not forget that they were influenced by a very terrible and dark superstition, and be thankful that we live in an age when the bright beams of Christianity have dispelled such gross errors from this part of the globe. I cannot help fancying that the late Lord Yarborough, that chief of true yachtsmen, had somewhat the same feeling I have been describing, refined and civilised of course, when, his vessel, the Kestrel, being in Malta harbour, he found death approaching, and ordered her to be got under weigh, to stand out to sea, that he might breathe out his spirit surrounded by that element on which he had so long made his home, and in which he so truly delighted.

The tribes, now so closely united, which make up the British race, were the most maritime people of their time, and it is not, therefore, surprising that we should now possess strong nautical propensities. The Normans, it must be remembered also, who afterwards conquered England, were descended from the same bold sea-rovers, though, having paid sundry visits to Paris, where they learned to write poetry, to sing, and to dance, with many other accomplishments, they had wonderfully improved in civilisation since the days of their ancestors, of whom I have been speaking. Still the same enterprising spirit animated their bosoms, afterwards to shine forth with splendour, when their descendants became the leaders of numberless exploring expeditions to all parts of the world, and of the victorious fleets of Old England.

There is no doubt, as I have shown, that the English possessed trading vessels, if not also ships, built exclusively for war, from a very early period.

The first regular war-fleet, however, which we hear of was one built by our great King Alfred, to protect his dominions from the attacks of the Danes.

He designed a ship from the model of those used by the Greeks, Romans, and Carthaginians, similar to the Maltese galley employed down to a very recent date in the Mediterranean. His ships are said to have been twice as large as any vessels of war used by other nations at that period. They were large galleys, propelled by sixty oars, with a deck above that part where the rowers sat. On the deck stood the fighting men and mariners, who managed the sails, for they had masts and sails as well as oars. There were besides probably small towers or breast-works at the stern and bow to contribute to their means of attack and defence. These ships were built of well-seasoned materials, commanded by experienced officers, whom the king had collected from all quarters, and manned by expert seamen. The commanders were ordered to go forth in quest of the Danes, to attack wherever they encountered them, and to give no quarter; orders which were strictly obeyed, and which for the time were most efficacious in clearing the coast of pirates. In consequence of the ease with which the ships were moved through the water, and from their being always able to keep the weather-gauge, as likewise from the strange appearance which they presented to their enemies, Alfred’s commanders were not afraid of attacking twice or thrice their own number of the enemy, and invariably came off victorious. Indeed they had nearly the same advantage over the Danes which a steamer at the present day has over a fleet of Chinese junks. Alfred, it is said, caused surveys to be made of the coasts of Norway and Lapland, and sent out ships to the polar regions in search of whales.

I have met with an old writer, who describes a far more remarkable achievement than any of these. He was a monk, of course, and his knowledge of geography we may suspect was rather limited, when he tells us that in the reign of Alfred a voyage was performed to the Indies by the way of the north-east—that is to say, round the north of Asia—under the command of a certain monk, Swithelm, who, as his reward, was made Bishop of Sherburn. The mission was undertaken to aid the Christians of a place called Saint Thomas, on the continent of India, and we are assured that the curiosities which were brought back, and are fully described, are exactly like the productions found in India, when it became more fully known. The expedition, if it ever took place, must have proceeded down the African coast and round the Cape of Good Hope. If so, the seamen of Britain, with a monk as their commander, succeeded in an enterprise which, having been totally forgotten, immortalised Bartholomew Diaz as the discoverer of the Stormy Cape full six centuries afterwards. We must not place more faith in the narrative than it deserves, but one thing is certain, that if any long or perilous voyages were performed, the prints of ships pretending to be those of the days of King Alfred found on tapestries, old illustrated histories and other works are not slightly incorrect. When a boy, I used very strongly to suspect that if a ship had ever been built after the model of the prints exhibited in the History of England, she would either, as sailors say, have turned the turtle directly she was launched, or have gone boxing about the compass beyond the control of those on board her; but as to standing up to a breeze, or going ahead, I saw that that was impossible. I have since discovered, with no little satisfaction, when examining into the subject, that the verbal descriptions of the ships of those days give a very different idea to that which the prints and tapestry work do, which so offended my nautical instincts.

Large substantial vessels, we may depend on it, existed in those days, and though encumbered with much top hamper, and rigged only with square sails, they did not carry the high towers nor the absurdly cut sails which they are represented to have done in all the illustrated histories I have seen. The celebrated galleys of King Alfred are described by an old writer as very long, narrow, and deep vessels, heavily ballasted on account of the high deck on which the soldiers and seamen stood above the heads of the rowers. Of these rowers, there were four to work each oar, and as there were thirty-eight oars on a side, there must have been upwards of three hundred rowers to each vessel. Whether these vessels had more than one mast is uncertain. From their want of beam they would have run much risk of turning over had they attempted to sail except directly before the wind. They moved with great rapidity; and in an engagement off the Isle of Wight, they ran down the Danish vessels in succession till the whole fleet of the enemy was either sunk, driven on shore, or put to flight.

The navy of England still further increased during the reign of Alfred’s immediate successors, till, in the time of King Edgar (A.D. 957), it had reached the number of three thousand six hundred ships at least, “with which,” as say his chroniclers, “he vindicated the right claimed in all ages by the sovereigns of this island to the dominion of the seas (meaning the seas surrounding England), and acquired to himself the great title of The Protector of Commerce.”

This navy was divided into three fleets, each of twelve hundred sail, which he kept in constant readiness for service, one on the eastern coast, another on the western, and a third on the northern coasts of the kingdom, to defend them against the depredations of the Danish and Norman pirates, and to secure the navigation of the adjacent seas; which, that he might the more effectually do, he, every year after the festival of Easter, went on board the fleet on the eastern coast, and sailing westward with it scoured the channel of pirates; and having looked into all the ports, bays, and creeks between the Thames’ mouth and Land’s End, quitted this fleet and sent it back, and going on board the western fleet did the like in those parts, as also on the coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and among the Hebrides or Western Islands, where being met by the northern fleet, he went on board the same, and came round to the Thames’ mouth. Thus encompassing all his dominions, and providing for the security of their coasts, he rendered an invasion impracticable, and kept his sailors in continual exercise. This he did for the whole sixteen years of his reign.

May our rulers ever possess the wisdom of Alfred, the greatest of England’s kings, and by the same means preserve inviolate the shores of our native land.

It would have been well for Old England had all its monarchs imitated the excellent example set by King Edgar, and had never allowed any decrease in the naval establishment. Let the present generation do as he did, with the modifications changed times and circumstances have introduced, and then, although we may not be able correctly to troll forth “Hearts of oak are our ships,” we may sing truly—

“Iron coats wear our ships,

Lion hearts have our men;

We always are ready;

Then steady, boys, steady;

We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.”

King Edgar appears to have been the last great naval sovereign of the Saxon race. When his son Ethelred, by the murder of his brother Edward, came to the throne, his navy was so neglected that the Danes made incursions with impunity on every part of the coasts of England, and in the year A.D. 991, they extorted no less a sum than 10,000 pounds from that wicked monarch, or rather from his unfortunate subjects (who, depend upon it, had to pay the piper), as the price of their forbearance in refraining from levying a further amount of plunder.

This circumstance might have served as a strong hint to the English of those times to keep up the strength of their navy, but it does not appear to have had any such effect; and even that wise monarch, Canute the Great, had only thirty-two ships afloat. We find, however, that when Harold, son of Earl Godwin, was striving to maintain his claim to the crown of England (A.D. 1066), he fitted out a numerous fleet, with which he was able to defeat his rivals. Now, as we are elsewhere told that one of these rivals alone had a navy of three hundred sail, his must have been of considerable magnitude. After his death, at the battle of Hastings, his sons and several of his chief nobility escaped in the remnant of their fleet to the coasts of Norway, and gave no little annoyance to the Norman Conqueror, William.

It must be remembered that the Duke of Normandy, as he was then styled, had, to bring over his army, nine hundred transports; but he burnt them when he landed, to show his own followers, as well as the Saxons, that he had come to die or to conquer.

Such is a very brief account of the navy of England up to the time of the Norman Conquest.

It is more easy to describe what the ships of those days were not like than to give an exact description of them. Certainly the ships represented on tapestry, on seals, or on coins are very unlike any piece of naval architecture which ever had existence. Every seaman knows how impossible it is for an ordinary landsman to draw anything like a faithful representation of a ship, however picturesque a production the thing might appear to him. We are bound, therefore, to look with grave suspicion on the performances of the draughtsmen of those early days; who had but a poor idea of drawing the objects they had constantly before their eyes.

Our artist has given a fair representation, I suspect, of what a ship was in those early days. She probably had another mast aft, and some more head sail of a square shape. What are called fore and aft sails were not generally used till comparatively modern times. She looks as if she really was fitted to cross the channel, to carry a number of men, and even to contend with heavy seas. The tall masts, heavy rigging, and large tops, on which a number of men could stand and fight, had not then been employed on these northern seas.

I have hitherto spoken only of the war-ships of those early days. There were, however, merchant-ships which traded to far-distant shores. They were probably good wholesome craft, of somewhat tub-like form, of about the size of a vessel of the present day of one hundred to one hundred and fifty tons, rigged with two or three big sails, with one bank of oars, and manned by a hardy and numerous crew, who patiently waited for the coming of a fair wind before they ventured to make sail; and who, though generally addicted to hugging the shore, yet at times ventured to stand out into the boundless ocean, guided alone by the stars. The mercantile marine was encouraged in every way by the wiser sovereigns of the Saxon race, as the nursery of those stout seamen who would prove the best bulwarks of their country against foreign invasion.

We now come to a fresh epoch in the history of Old England; but as no writer of those days has thought fit to enlighten us as to naval affairs, our knowledge of them is meagre and unsatisfactory.

Literature, in that iron age, was chiefly confined to monastic cells; we hear of bishops becoming warriors, and leading their armies to battle on the field, and it is recorded that there were other monks besides Swithelm who took to the profession. Probably some sailors, after growing weary of cutting throats on the high seas, and other acts of piracy, assumed the easy and dignified position of monks, and endowed their monasteries with their wealth; but then it may be questioned whether they were likely to have been able to read, much less to write.

William of Normandy had, for some time, too much to do on shore in keeping his new subjects in order, to attend to affairs afloat; but he at length was compelled to build and fit out a fleet to defend his kingdom from the attacks of the Danes, instigated by the sons and followers of Harold. He, after much consideration, hit upon a new plan for raising a fleet, and it is a point of history worthy of recollection. He exempted five of the principal ports of the kingdom from all taxes, impositions, or burdens, on condition that each should fit out, man, and support a certain number of vessels for a certain period. They were Dover, Romney, Sandwich, Hastings, and Rye, and were thence called the Cinque Ports.

Though others were afterwards added, the name has ever since been retained. It appears by Doomsday Book that Dover, Romney, and Sandwich, severally, were to provide twenty vessels each, with twenty-one men, provisioned for fifteen days at their own charge. After that time the crews were to be supported by the Crown.

Another document states that, besides the twenty men, there is to be a master of the mariners, who is to receive sixpence a-day, a constable, who is to receive a like sum, and each mariner threepence a-day. These five ports, with other smaller ones attached to them, provided in all 57 ships, 1187 men, and 57 boys, one boy being on board each ship. These boys were called gromets. A gromet is now the name given to a ring of rope used sometimes to slide up and down the mast, and I conclude, therefore, that the duty of these boys was to swarm up the mast, and set and furl the lighter sails.

In the reign of King John (A.D. 1217), Herbert of Burgo, the captain of Dover, hearing of an invasion intended by Lewis the Elder, son of the King of France, in favour of the discontented barons, assembled in the king’s name forty tall ships from the Cinque Ports, and took, sunk, and discomfited eighty sail of Frenchmen in a gallant engagement on the high seas. These ports did great service under Henry the Third and Edward the First. Among other brave deeds, they fitted out one hundred sail, and encountered two hundred sail of Frenchmen with such success, that they effectually ruined the navy of France. Many years happily passed before that country recovered the loss of her men and ships. I will give a fuller account of this action further on. Numberless are the tales of a like description to be told.

Besides the twenty-three mariners which these warships of the Cinque Ports carried, there were on board a considerable number of fighting men, knights, and their retainers, armed with bucklers, spears, and bows and arrows. They also used slings and catapults, and perhaps stink-pots, like those employed by the Chinese at the present day, as well as other ancient engines of warfare. That ships of war were capable of holding a considerable number of men, we learn from the well-known account of the death of the brave young Prince William, son of Henry the First. When crossing the channel from Normandy, in an attempt to make his ship get ahead of that of his father, he kept too close in with the shore, and consequently ran on a rock called the Shatteras. He might have been saved; but hearing that his sister, the Countess of Perche, still remained on board, he ordered the boat in which he was escaping to put back to rescue her. On arriving alongside, so large a number of people jumped into the boat, that she was swamped, and all were lost. On this occasion two hundred people perished, only one, the ship’s butcher, escaping to the shore, and through him the sad tidings were known. Now, if we turn to any old illustrated History of England, we shall find, probably, a print professing to describe this very event. Yet, on examining it, we shall see that the vessel is not large enough to carry twenty people, much less two hundred. The artists either made their sketches from river barges, or row-boats, or drew a ship from one they saw at a distance, and having altered and adorned her to suit their own fancies afterwards, put a crew on board, utterly forgetful of the proper proportions between the ship and the men.

In the reign of the son and successor of William the Conqueror, William the Second, called Rufus, the first great crusade against the Saracen possessors of the Holy Land was commenced, in the year 1095. To aid in that extraordinary expedition, a large fleet was fitted out in England, and placed under the command of the Earl of Essex. The ships, as they had a long voyage to perform, and a number of armed men and provisions to carry, must have been of considerable size. As the use of the mariner’s compass was unknown to them, they must have coasted round the shores of France, Portugal, and Spain, before they entered the Mediterranean.

The Atlantic in those days was not likely to be more tranquilly disposed than it is at present, and thus the mariners must have been expert and brave, and the ships well found, or they would not have performed the voyage in safety. We know that the Crusaders had horses, but they probably were transported from the neighbouring shores of the Mediterranean, and any favourite war-steeds which came from England were conveyed across France. Neither Henry the First nor Stephen, from A.D. 1100 to 1135, maintained a navy, properly so-called, but on the few occasions that they required ships, they hired them of the merchants, called on the Cinque Ports to supply them, or had them built for the purpose.

Probably all vessels in those days carried oars, or long sweeps, to assist them in calms, and in going in and out of harbours; but many craft of considerable burden depended solely on oars for moving at all. There appears to be much difference of opinion as to how these oars were worked when there were several tiers, and I therefore return to the subject already touched on in the first chapter. It is most probable that there was one space, or between decks, devoted entirely to the rowers. This space was fitted with a succession of rows of benches one higher than the other, but not one above another. That is to say, that the bench immediately higher than the first was placed in the interval between it and the one behind it, so that the rowers sitting on this higher bench had their feet pressed against the bench below them, others on the tier above having their feet on their bench. As the tiers were higher and higher in the vessel’s sides, the oars would be longer and longer, and would project far beyond the lower ones; indeed, they would become sweeps, and probably the inner part of each would extend completely across the vessel, and thus the upper oars on the same tier would not be opposite to each other. The lowest tier would perhaps be pulled only by one or two men, and as the tiers rose in height, and consequently the oars in length, more men would be added. Then, again, the lower tiers would have many more oars than the upper, and consequently even more men would be seated on the lower than on the upper benches. This, I think, is the best solution as to the difficulty regarding the mode in which the rowers of a large galley were placed. The hold and the deck immediately below the rowers was thus left for cargo and stores, and perhaps for sleeping-places, while the deck and forecastle, and aftercastle or poop above them, were free for working the sails and for righting. The officers, and perhaps the crew, slept under the poop and forecastle, and in other buildings on deck, as is the case on board many vessels at the present day, only the forecastles and poops were more like those of a Chinese junk than of any modern European craft.

Henry the Second, in the year 1171, collected or built a fleet of four hundred ships of great size, for the purpose of carrying over his troops for the conquest of Ireland, which country he annexed to the English crown. These ships, as no enemy was to be encountered on the ocean, were merely transports.

Richard the First, of the Lion Heart, who began to reign 1189, fitted out a fleet, which, when assembled in the port of Messina in Sicily, in the year 1189, ready to carry his army to the shores of the Holy Land, consisted of sixteen capital ships of extraordinary burden (occupying the position of three-deckers), one hundred and fifty ordinary ships of war, and fifty-three galleys, besides vessels of less size and tenders. In his passage to Acre, known also as Ptolemais, he encountered a huge vessel of the Saracens, laden with ammunition and provisions, bound for the same place which was then besieged by the Christian army. She was called the Dromunda, and her size was enormous. Though she appeared like some huge castle floating on the sea, Richard ordered his galleys to attack her, and as they approached, they were received by showers of missiles, Greek fire, and other horrible combustibles. It was no easy task to board so lofty a ship, but the king urged on his men, some of whom, jumping overboard, swam to the rudder, to which they secured ropes, and thus gained the power of steering her. The most active now climbed up her sides, but were driven back by the overwhelming number of her defenders. The galleys were next ordered to try the effect of their beaks; retiring to windward, and setting all their sails, as well as working away with their oars, they bore down on the Dromunda with such force and velocity, that their iron beaks pierced the sides of the monstrous ship, which instantly began to sink, and out of fifteen hundred officers and men who composed her company, the whole, with the exception of fifty-five, were drowned. These latter were chiefly officers, none of the common men being received on board the galleys.

It is very evident that the art of shipbuilding must have made considerable progress in that part of the world, when a ship of such a size could be constructed. The Dromunda could scarcely have been less in size than a fifty-gun ship in Nelson’s day.

We here see the effect produced by rams, much in the way it is proposed to employ them in modern warfare. There will, however, be this difference in a naval battle of the future, that both sides will be provided with these formidable implements of warfare. Before Richard reached Acre a fierce naval engagement had taken place between the besiegers and the besieged. The latter came out of port with their galleys two and two, preserving a similar array in their advance. The Crusaders prepared to receive them, moving to a distance, so that they should not be denied free egress. The Crusaders then disposed their ships in a curved line, so that if the enemy attempted to break through they might be enclosed and defeated. In the upper tiers the shields interlaced were placed circularly, and the rowers sat close together, that those above might have freer scope. The sea being perfectly calm, no impediment was offered to the blows of the warriors or the strokes of the rowers; advancing nearer to each other, the trumpets sounded on both sides, and mingled their dread clangour. First, they contended with missiles, but the Crusaders more earnestly plied their oars, and pierced the enemy’s ships with the beaks of their own. Soon the battle became general; the oars became entangled, and the combatants fought hand to hand.

There was one English galley which, through the rashness of the crew, got close alongside an enemy, who set her in flames with their Greek fire. The Saracens on this rushing in at all parts, the rowers leaped into the sea, but a few soldiers remained through desperation. Those few overcame the many, and retook their half-burned ship. The weapons used were swords, axes lances, arrows, and other missiles, as well as engines for casting large stones; and both Saracens and Christians employed that burning oil commonly called the Greek fire, which is said to consume both flint and iron. It was the invention of the seventh century, and was long used with terrific effect by the Greeks, who called it the liquid fire. It is supposed to have been composed of naphtha, pitch, and sulphur, with other ingredients. It was propelled in a fluid state through brazen tubes from the prows of vessels and from fortifications, with as much facility as water is now thrown from the fire-engine; igniting the moment it was exposed to the air, when it became a continuous stream of fire, carrying with it torture and destruction. Water increased its power, and it could only be extinguished by vinegar or sand; while, in addition to its other horrors, it emitted a stifling smoke, loud noise, and disgusting stench. Tow dipped in it was fastened to the heads of arrows, which thus became carriers of unquenchable flame. It was kept in jars or large bottles. It was probably introduced into England before the time of Richard the First, for in 1195 a payment was made by the king for carrying Greek fire and other implements from London to Nottingham.

Fire-ships were, indeed, of far earlier date than the days of Richard the First. We find them in use among the Tyrians in the time of Alexander the Great. It is related that at the siege of Tyre, when a mole was being constructed to join that city to the continent, the inhabitants, having loaded a large ship heavily by the stern with sand and stones, for the purpose of raising her head out of the water, and having filled her with all sorts of combustible matter, they drove her violently with sails and oars against the mole, when they set fire to her, the seamen escaping in their boats. The mole being in a great measure built of wood, with wooden towers on it, was by this device utterly destroyed. Thus we see that the Tyrians invented and successfully employed fire-ships before the Christian era. We are apt to consider many other discoveries modern which were known to the ancients. For instance, an Italian author, some three centuries ago, describes a ship weighed in his time out of the lake of Riccia, where it had lain sunk and neglected for above thirteen hundred years. It was supposed to have belonged to Trajan.

He observed, he says, “that the pine and cypress of which it was built had lasted most remarkably. On the outside it was built with double planks, daubed over with Greek pitch, caulked with linen rags, and over all a sheet of lead, fastened on with little copper nails.”

Here we have caulking and sheathing together known in the first century of the Christian era; for, of course, the sheet of lead nailed over the outside with copper nails was sheathing, and that in great perfection, the copper nails being used instead of iron, which, when once rusted in the water by the working of the ship, soon lose their hold, and drop out.

Captain Saris, in a voyage to Japan in the year 1613, describes a junk of from eight to ten hundred tons burden, sheathed all over with iron. As in the days of the Plantagenets the country had not the advantage of possessing a Board of Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, nor, indeed, any office in which the records of the ships built, altered, rebuilt, or pulled to pieces were kept, or, indeed, any naval records whatever, we are without the means of ascertaining what special improvements were introduced either in shipbuilding or in the fitting or manning of ships during each particular reign. Indeed, for several centuries very slow progress appears to have been made in that art, which ultimately tended to raise England to the prosperous state she has so long enjoyed.

Chapter Three.

The Navy in the days of the Plantagenets—from A.D. 1087 to A.D. 1327.

William Rufus, in 1087, had scarcely a vessel which deserved the name of a ship of war. The trade of the country, however, was carried on by small craft, of which there were great numbers; there remained also some of the transports of former years, but William when expecting the invasion of his kingdom by his brother Robert, found to his sorrow that he possessed no ships of sufficient size to compete with those of the Normans. Being unwilling to weaken his land forces by sending them on board such ships as he possessed, he engaged all the large trading-vessels of the country, and invited mariners to embark in the transports. He gave commissions, also, to all the traders to sink, burn, and destroy every Norman vessel they could meet with, and offered considerable rewards for every successful action. Besides this, he published proclamations inviting all private persons to fit out vessels on their own account, encouraging them with the promise of similar rewards. Numbers of traders accepted the commission, and the sea swarmed with privateers. They were of small size, but were manned by bold seamen, who encouraged one another by their numbers. Robert, who was aware that the English had no fleet, not expecting any resistance at sea, thought only of loading his transports with as many men as they could carry. His ships were therefore ill-prepared for action, being overloaded with men, and he little expected any opposition from the small ships of the English.

The latter, meantime, obtained exact intelligence of the movements of the Normans, while they kept secret their own forces and plans. The Normans at length sailed, and had no time to laugh at the smallness of the English ships before they began to quake at their numbers. The latter bore down upon them like a pack of hounds on a stag, and, encouraged by the promised rewards, fought with the greatest fury. In vain the Normans attempted to fly; they were overtaken and overpowered by the multitude of their assailants. The number that perished by the sword and drowning was astonishing; those who attempted to escape were overtaken, and shared the fate of the others; and but few got back to Normandy with the news of their defeat. Never was a sea-fight in which personal courage was more nobly exhibited; never a more complete victory, nor ever, apparently, slighter means of obtaining it.

The Normans called the English pirates, but they were properly privateers, and the original armament to which they were united, though a poor one, was a royal force. William punctually paid the promised rewards.

People were generally too pleasantly employed in those mediaeval days in knocking their neighbours on the head, or in storming and demolishing their castles, and other similar pastimes on shore, to attend to any subject so unromantic as shipbuilding or navigation.

Still the monarchs of the Plantagenet race had ships of their own; but their chief notion of keeping up a navy was by laying taxes on the sea-ports, on commerce, and on the fisheries, thus crippling the surest means by which a fleet could be maintained. The chief naval events of the intermediate reigns have been described in the preceding chapter.

John, we are told, had a naval establishment of ships and officers, with certain boards for its government. He had not many vessels, however, as he chiefly depended on the Cinque Ports to furnish him with ships, while he laid an embargo on merchant-vessels in case of necessity; and turned them into ships of war. He must have had a great notion, however, of keeping up the dignity of England on the ocean, as he passed an ordinance that all ships should lower their topsails to the English flag; a custom which was preserved for many centuries. Foreigners, however, did not always show themselves willing to conform to the custom, and it was more than once the cause of quarrels between England and other nations. Still, even at the present day, English men-of-war do not salute foreign ships in that or any other way, unless the latter pay the compliment to them first, or at the same time.

Philip Augustus of France having attacked his ally, the Earl of Flanders, the king fitted out a numerous fleet, which he placed under the command of the Earl of Salisbury, giving him directions to destroy rather than to capture any of the enemy’s ships. The Earl of Salisbury observed his instructions, and followed the movements of the enemy, waiting for an opportunity to bear down upon them. The French ships, amounting to more than nine hundred sail, moved slowly over the sea, he watching them vigilantly, and bearing the reproaches of his officers, who thought him deficient in courage. On the third day a slight storm having thrown the French fleet into confusion, the earl bore down upon them. The winds had so terrified the French that they were in no condition to stand before a furious enemy. The English, who were far better sailors, were in high courage, and so furiously assaulted the French ships that in a short time upwards of a hundred were sunk, many more running on shore, while scarcely forty got back to the ports of France.

Another important action, before-mentioned, occurred in this reign. Prince Louis, afterwards Louis the Eighth, to whose father Pope Innocent had made a liberal present of England without consulting its inhabitants, had set sail from Calais at the head of a large army, convoyed by eighty large ships of war. Hubert de Burgo, with a great baron, Philip D’Albiney, as his lieutenant, assembled all the ships they could from the Cinque Ports, though the whole did not amount to more than half that of the French fleet. The latter was under the command of Eustace the monk, who had formerly been in the pay of John, but had lately transferred his services to Louis. The English ships were armed with strong beaks, like those of the Roman galleys, and their mode of attack consisted, as of yore, in charging the vessels of the enemy, and endeavouring to pierce their sides with their iron rams. They were impelled chiefly by oars, but also carried sails, to enable them to bear down with greater speed on the enemy; hence the importance of obtaining the weather-gage. The two fleets came in sight of each other in the Straits of Dover, on the 24th of August, 1217. The English admirals having by their skilful manoeuvres obtained the weather-gage, bore down on the enemy with irresistible force. In addition to other means of offence, they had brought on board a number of barrels of unslaked lime; on nearing the enemy they poured water on the lime, so as to slake the whole mass, and the smoke thus created being borne by the wind into the faces of the French, prevented them from seeing the operations of the foe till it was too late to avoid them. The English boarded, their first endeavour being to cut away the rigging and halliards of the French ships, when the masts and sails went over the side. Most of the French knights, preferring death to imprisonment, leaped overboard. Throwing their grapnels on board, the English made a furious onslaught on the enemy, the crossbow-men and archers, under Sir Philip D’Albiney, discharging their bows and arrows, did immense execution. Out of the whole fleet, fifteen only escaped. De Burgo’s great aim, however, was to obtain possession of the traitor Eustace, and diligent search being made, the quondam ecclesiastic was found in the hold of one of the captured vessels, when he was immediately killed. The French fleet was put to flight, the crews of those which escaped landed on the Kentish coast. The victory prevented Louis from obtaining further reinforcements from France, and showed the English barons, who had hitherto adhered to his cause, that it would be hopeless to attempt the subjugation of England. They, therefore, at once made their peace with the king, and Louis was glad to get off by renouncing all claim to the English crown. We now come to the long reign of Henry the Third, A.D. 1216. Frequent expeditions were fitted out on his demand by the Cinque Ports, and by other maritime towns, while merchant-vessels were occasionally pressed into his service to carry him and his troops over to France. The king himself also possessed a fleet of some importance, one of his ships carrying, besides the commander and officers and the regular fighting men, fully thirty mariners. Many merchant-vessels of the present day of eight or nine hundred tons, do not carry a larger crew. In those days we read that a number of piratical vessels, both British and of other nations, scoured the ocean, and committed great depredations both along the coast and on the peaceable merchantmen who sailed up and down it.

The great object of the commander of a fleet in those days was to gain the weather-gage, then to bear down under all sail in order to strike the broadsides of the enemy’s ships; when the one generally attempted to board the other, if not to throw stink-pots into their antagonists’ vessels, or what were called fire-works, a sort of hand grenades; and sometimes slaked lime to blind the foe with the vapour. With this object in view the admiral manoeuvred his fleet for hours together, rowing and sailing. As guns, when they first came into use, carried no great distance, they were not fired till ships got close together. Ships in action very frequently caught fire and blew up, and sometimes locked in a deadly embrace, were destroyed together. Trumpeters had an important part to play, not only to make signals, but to create as much noise as possible. The good ship called the Matthew Gonson, of the burden of three hundred tons, whereof was owner old Master William Gonson, paymaster of the king’s navy, fitted out at this time for a voyage to the islands of Candia and Chio to bring back wine and other produce, besides the hundred men of her company, had six gunners and four trumpeters. Probably men-of-war had many more such musicians.

Edward the First, A.D. 1272, ordained various laws and ordinances for the government of his navy, which was now, though still furnished chiefly by the maritime ports, better organised than hitherto. He claimed, also, the right of England to the sovereignty of the narrow seas, asserting that from time immemorial it had been undisputed. About the year 1290, the pennant used at the present day by all ships commissioned by officers of the Royal Navy was first adopted.

In the reign of Edward the Second no important maritime event occurred, though squadrons were occasionally sent away on various services.

It is only by examining carefully into the details given by historians of the naval combats which took place in those ages, that we can hope to form a correct guess as to the size and construction of a ship, and the method of manoeuvring her. We are now coming to a very important epoch in naval matters, the reign of Edward the Third. 1327, when the mariner’s compass was discovered, or rather became known in Europe, and cannon were first introduced on board ships.

Edward gained the title of “The King of the Sea,” and raised the naval glory of England to a higher pitch than it had ever before attained by his many victorious combats on the ocean. The greatest naval engagement which occurred during the middle ages was that known as the battle of Sluys, when Philip the Sixth sat on the throne of France. The English fleet consisted of only 260 ships fit for warfare. The French, whose fleet amounted to no less than 400 sail, lay securely, as they thought, in the harbour of Sluys. Edward embarked on board the cog Thomas, commanded by Richard Fyall, and attended by several noblemen. A cog was a craft larger than those usually designated ships—the cog John, which is spoken of, had a crew of eighty-two men, and probably she carried besides a considerable number of knights and soldiers. Many ships of the English fleet must have been of small size. Froissart says that the French fleet consisted of 140 large ships, besides hanquebos with 35,000 men on board, Normans, Picards, and Genoese. The masts of so numerous an assemblage of vessels, as they were seen in the harbour of Sluys, resembled rather a forest than a fleet. Of these ships, nineteen were remarkable for their enormous size. Besides other implements of warfare, quantities of large stones were stored in the tops and also in small boats hoisted to the mast-heads, to be hurled on the assailants. The French had secured their ships together by chains, to prevent the English from breaking through them. Among the ships in the leading rank was the Christopher, full of Genoese archers, with the Edward, Katherine, Rose, and other large cogs which had formerly been captured from the English.

Edward had perfect confidence in the valour and prowess of his seamen and men-at-arms, and, notwithstanding the superiority of the enemy in numbers, he resolved to open a passage through them. Having ordered all his ships to be in readiness, he placed the strongest in the front, and filled those which were at each end of the line with archers. Also between every two ships of archers he placed one filled with men-at-arms. He likewise ordered another line to be formed on the side, as a body of reserve, and filled those ships also with archers, that they might be ready to support or relieve any most requiring aid.

The English fleet approaching the haven of Sluys in the manner described, found the French already lying in order of battle, in three divisions, waiting for them. The English having gained the advantage of the wind and sun by their dexterity and management, the king ordered the signal for engaging to be given. The Normans, perceiving the English to tack as they did to get the wind, thought that they were taking to their heels, and began to triumph. But they soon found out their mistake, and, being able seamen and brave combatants, prepared for the fight. They began the battle by advancing with the Great Christopher, and, with a vast noise of trumpets and other instruments, attempted to break the line, to come at the ship in which they supposed the British king to be. They were received with a general shout, and during continual huzzas the English poured such showers of arrows from their long bows into the enemy’s ships as soon covered their decks with dead and wounded men, and put the whole fleet into general consternation. The Great Christopher was taken in the beginning of the battle, and all who were in her were either killed or made prisoners. The English, on this, filled her with archers, and sent her to annoy the Genoese ships, which formed part of the French fleet. And now death and destruction appeared on every side in their most terrible array. The very air was darkened with arrows, and the hostile ships rushing together, the men-at-arms engaged in close fight.

The English, taking advantage of the confusion into which they had put the French at the beginning of the fight, soon boarded them with the help of their grappling-irons, and pursuing their good fortune, obtained a complete victory, though a most bloody one, as their loss amounted to 4000 men killed and wounded. Great numbers of the French sailors desperately threw themselves into the sea, and submitted to a certain death rather than abide the repeated showers of English arrows; what also might have contributed more to this desperate resolution was that, on board the ships captured in the heat of battle, no quarter was given. The engagement lasted from eight in the morning till seven at night. The loss on the French side was enormous, 230 of their ships being captured; only about 30 having escaped. According to the Frenchmen’s account of the battle, they lost two admirals, Bauchet, who was killed in action, and De Kernel, who was taken prisoner. King Edward behaved during the whole action with the most inimitable courage and conduct; regarding neither danger nor fatigue, he was always present where the battle raged the hottest.

During the night thirty French ships, endeavouring to escape, were attacked by the English, and on board of one of them, the James of Dieppe, after she had been engaged the whole night with the Earl of Huntingdon, 400 dead bodies were found. Certain old writers remark that the rostrum or beak used by the Romans could not have existed in the English ships, nor was the manoeuvre employed by which one ship attempts to break the oars of another. From this they conclude that the English fleet must have consisted of high-sided ships, worked chiefly by sails. Probably, however, they had oars also.

It is said that nearly 30,000 men were killed in this memorable battle. So apparently irretrievable was the disaster to the French that none of King Philip’s counsellors had the courage to inform him of what had occurred. At length they bethought them of employing the court fool to communicate the disastrous intelligence. Accordingly, that dignified individual took an opportunity of remarking to the king that he considered the English arrant cowards.

“Why so, Master Wisdom?” asked Philip.

“Why does your Majesty ask? because they had not the courage to leap into the sea and be drowned as our brave Frenchmen did the other day, when your Majesty’s ships went to the bottom.”

In 1350 the warrior king, on board his cog Thomas, led his fleet to attack the Spaniards, who had ventured into the British Channel; he was accompanied by Edward, the Black Prince, and numerous great personages, with nearly four hundred knights. The king, attired in a black velvet jacket and beaver hat, took post on the bow of his ship, eagerly looking out for the enemy. As they did not appear, to beguile the time he caused his minstrels to play a German dance, and made Sir John Chandos, who had recently introduced it, to sing with them. From time to time, however, he looked aloft at the man stationed in the top of the mast to announce the approach of the Spaniards. At length they were seen, numbering forty large ships, denominated carricks; strong and handsome were they to behold—each mast was adorned with rich standards and banners, and their tops filled with soldiers and missiles. They, however, it was evident, wished to avoid an action, but the king, leading his fleet, stood down upon them till he reached a heavy ship, when, reckless of consequences, he ordered the helmsman to lay her aboard. So violent was the blow that the masts of the cog Thomas went over the side, the men in the top were drowned, and the ship sprang a dangerous leak. The Spaniard sheering off, Edward grappled another enemy; but now the cog Thomas sinking, the king and his crew took possession of the prize. In her he pushed into the thickest of the fight. The Prince of Wales’ ship, also nigh to sinking, had grappled her huge adversary, when the Earl of Lancaster arriving and shouting, “Derby to the rescue!” boarded and obtained possession of the Spaniard, throwing all who resisted into the sea. Scarcely had the prince and his followers got on board the prize, when his own ship foundered. Sir Robert de Namur having grappled with a huge ship was carried by her out from among the fleet; the two combatants were rapidly leaving the rest of the ships astern, when Sir Robert’s valet, Hannekin, bravely cutting the halliards of the principal sail, the English, taking advantage of the confusion, boarded and drove the Spaniards into the sea. Thus the Spanish fleet was completely beaten, and twenty-six large ships captured.

The British seem to have been as prone in those days as at present to seek for victory by laying the enemy on board and trusting to the strength of their own arms. At present, instead of battle-axes and clubs, or spears, or two-handed swords they have a fondness for their cutlasses and pistols. In the days, before Britannia could loudly roar with her thunder, naval combats were carried on with all the noise and hubbub the men on either side could create with their voices, as also with the braying forth of trumpets and beating of gongs and drums, in the hope of thus striking terror into the hearts of their enemies. How great is the contrast between such a naval engagement as has been described and one at the present day. In solemn silence the crews grimly stand at their guns, stripped generally to the waist. Not a sound is heard, not a word spoken, except perhaps one hearty cheer, a response to the captain’s brief address. Slowly and steadily the hostile fleets approach each other till the signal is given to commence the deadly strife, and then in a moment, like fierce monsters awakened from sleep, they send from their cannons’ mouths a quick succession of terrific roars, fire, and smoke, which laugh to scorn all the trumpet braying and shouting of our ancestors.

After the famous battle of Crescy, King Edward laid siege to Calais with a fleet of 738 ships, having on board 14,956 mariners, each of whom received 4 pence per diem. Of these ships, no more than 25 belonged actually to the king. The latter carried about 419 seamen only, which was not more than 17 seamen to each ship. Some, however, had 25 seamen, and others less. Many of the ships furnished by the maritime ports were larger than the king’s. The total cost of the war, which lasted one year and 131 days, was 127,101 pounds, 2 shillings 9 pence, for even in those romantic days people could not knock each other on the head free of all charge, it must be remembered. The mention of that 127,101 pounds 2 shillings 9 pence also shows that their accounts must have been kept with most praiseworthy exactness.

Only great nations, to whom victory has generally been awarded by the God of battles, can afford to talk of their defeats. Though in most cases successful, Edward’s arms met with a severe repulse before Rochelle, to the relief of which place he had sent forty ships, under the young Earl of Pembroke. “They were encountered by a French squadron of forty sail of capital ships,” we are told, “besides thirteen able frigates, well manned, and commanded by four experienced officers. The earl was taken prisoner, and nearly every ship was captured or sunk.” Though employed by France, they were Spaniards, supplied by the King of Castile. In addition to the large number of men-at-arms on board the Spanish ships, whose weapons were crossbows and cannon, large bars of iron and lead were used. The Spaniards bore down upon the small English ships with loud shouts and great noise; the English shouted in return, but were unable to climb up the lofty sides of the Spaniards. In the first day of the battle the Spaniards lost two barges, and the next day the earl’s ship was attacked and captured by four large Spanish ships full of soldiers, while most of his fleet were either taken or destroyed.

Our national pride will make us examine narrowly to discover the cause of this disaster. In the first place, the earl, though brave, was inexperienced; then some of those forty French ships were larger than the forty English ships, and the able frigates were quick rowing galleys, full of men-at-arms, who must have done much mischief. The French on this occasion also made use of balistas and other machines for throwing bars of iron and great stones, to sink the English ships. They had also in another way got ahead of the English, for they had provided themselves with cannon, which the latter had not as yet got. This was the first naval engagement in which such engines of destruction were employed.

History is read by the naval and military man, and indeed by any one, to very little purpose, unless facts like these are not only carefully noted, but duly acted on; unless we take warning by the errors and neglects of our predecessors. It is not only necessary to be well-armed in appearance, but to be as well armed in reality, as those are with whom we may possibly be called to fight. It is wise not only to adopt new inventions likely to be of service, but if possible to have them already in use before they are adopted by our enemies. The gun of those days was a thick tube of wood, bound together with iron hoops, and probably could send a shot of three or four pounds little more than two or three hundred yards with very uncertain aim. What a contrast to the “Woolwich Infant” of the present day, with its shot of several hundredweight, whizzing for five miles or more through the air, with almost a certainty of hitting its object at the termination of its journey.

Chapter Four.

Ships and Commerce to the reign of Henry the Seventh—from A.D. 1327 to A.D. 1509.

In the early part of the reign of Edward the Third, the French introduced cannon on board their ships, chiefly in consequence of which his fleet, under the young Earl of Pembroke, as I have described, was defeated before Rochelle. He took care, however, that this should not again occur, and by the year 1338 he appears to have introduced them on board most of his ships, and by the end of his reign no ships of war were without them. Their employment, of course, effected a great change in naval warfare, but a far greater revolution was about to take place in the whole system of navigation, by the introduction of the mariner’s compass. I have before stated that if not discovered it was at all events improved by Flavio Gioja, of Amain, in the kingdom of Naples, about A.D. 1300. It was soon discovered that the needle does not point, in all places, truly to the North Pole, but that it varies considerably in different degrees of longitude, and this is called the variation of the needle. It has also another variation, called the declination, or dip. The cause of these phenomena is still utterly unknown. The means of steering with almost perfect accuracy across the pathless ocean, gave a confidence to mariners, when they lost sight of land, which they had never before possessed, and in time induced them to launch forth in search of new territories in hitherto unexplored regions. The English were, however, too much occupied with foreign wars or domestic broils to attend much to navigation. We hear of a certain Nicholas of Lynn, a friar of Oxford, who, A.D. 1360, just sixty years after the use of the compass became known, sailed in charge of certain ships to visit and explore all the islands to the north of Europe. He, it is said, returned and laid before King Edward the Third an account of his discoveries in those northern regions, but what they were or what benefit resulted from them, history does not tell us. Father Nicholas’s knowledge of navigation was probably somewhat limited and not very practical, and it is just probable that his voyage was not so extensive as it was intended to be; but that, having the pen of a ready writer, he drew on his imagination for a description of the countries he was supposed to have surveyed. At all events, we hear of no voyage undertaken at the sovereign’s instigation till nearly two centuries later.

In the reign of Edward the Third, the Island of Madeira is said to have been discovered by a certain Lionel Machin, a citizen of London. The young citizen had been paying court to a lady, Arabella Darcy, whose father indignantly refused his suit; and not without reason, if we may judge of his character by his subsequent conduct. He collected a band of rovers and pursued the fair Arabella, who had gone to live in the neighbourhood of Bristol. He had fixed his eyes on a ship ready prepared for sea, the crew of which were on shore. Securing the lady, he carried her on board the ship, cut the cables, and made sail to the southward, without leave of the captain or owners. He met with due punishment, for, having made the then unknown island of Madeira, and he and Arabella having landed, the ship was driven to sea by a gale, leaving the two alone. She soon died of starvation, and when his companions ultimately returned, they found him in a sinking state, and buried him by the hapless damsel’s side. A Portuguese captain hearing from the English pirates of the discovery of the island, sailed thither, and took possession of it in the name of his sovereign, Don John, and the infant Don Henry.

This account of Machin’s adventures is doubted by many, but at all events it must be said that it is very much in accordance with the style of doing things in those days. Richard the Second began to reign A.D. 1377. Although probably no improvement took place in shipbuilding during his reign, it is not altogether destitute of nautical exploits. The maladministration of Government at the latter period of his grandfather’s life, left the people in a discontented state, and this induced the French to make a descent on the English coast with a fleet of fifty ships, commanded by the Admiral de Vienne. They plundered and burnt Rye in Sussex, levied a contribution of a thousand marks on the inhabitants of the Isle of Wight, and finished off by burning Plymouth, Dartmouth, Portsmouth, and Hastings.

They were sufficiently long about these proceedings to enable the Abbot of Battle to fit out a fleet, with which he met them off Winchelsea, and completely defeated them. Their example was, however, followed by a body of Scotch pirates, who, with a number of ships under a Captain Mercer, ravaged the east coast of England. The Government, occupied with the coronation of the king, paid no attention to these insults.

Indignant at this state of things, a wealthy and truly patriotic citizen and merchant of London, John Philpot, at his own expense, fitted out a fleet manned by a thousand men, and set sail in person in quest of the pirate. He succeeded in coming up with him, and in bringing him to action, when he not only completely defeated him, but made him prisoner, capturing his entire fleet, as well as retaking all his English prizes, and fifteen richly-laden French and Spanish vessels. On his return, instead of being thanked, the gallant Philpot was tried for a misdemeanour, but so entirely did he succeed in vindicating his character, and so evident were the services he had rendered to the public, that he ultimately received the thanks and honours which were his due.

These circumstances should be borne in mind, for people of the present day are apt to fancy that the shores of Old England, since the time of the Danes perhaps, have ever been free from insult and annoyance, whereas we see that our neighbours across the channel have managed, whenever they have had the opportunity, without being so very seasick, to effect a very considerable amount of both one and the other.

A fleet, also, was sent to take possession of Cherbourg, which had been mortgaged by the King of Navarre to the English. The expedition was under the command of Philip and Peter Courtray. It was, however, encountered by a far superior Spanish squadron, which the English attacked with great fury, but Philip Courtray was severely wounded, and his brother Peter, who was taken prisoner with a number of knights and gentlemen, was never again heard of, numbers also losing their lives. While a large fleet under the Duke of Lancaster sailed to retrieve the loss, and was laying siege to Saint Malo, the French were ravaging the coasts of Cornwall. While, also, the Duke of Buckingham was in France, a fleet of French and Spanish galleys sailed up the Thames as far as Gravesend, which they plundered and burnt, as well as other places on the Kentish shore. Leaving the Thames, they sailed along the west coast, plundering and burning as they went. They were, however, met by a west country fleet, fitted out to attack them, and pursued to the Irish coast, where many were captured, and their prizes retaken. Still a sufficient force escaped to plunder and burn Winchelsea on their return.

On the accession of Charles the Sixth to the throne of France, he resolved to put in execution a scheme formed by his father to drive the English out of France by invading England itself. For this purpose, he purchased of various nations a fleet of 1600 sail to carry across an immense army which he had raised for the purpose. To defend his kingdom, Richard raised an army of 100,000 men, horse and foot, and equipped a fleet, placed under the command of the Earls of Arundel and Nottingham. Portsmouth and Plymouth fitted out small fleets of privateers, which sailed up the Seine, and made many prizes. Although there was no general engagement, the French fleet were cut off in detail, and in consequence of the strenuous efforts made by the English, the intended invasion was abandoned.

Henry the Fourth began to reign A.D. 1399. The French, in 1402, sent a fleet to assist Owen Glendowyr with an army of 12,000 men. They put into Milford Haven, and plundered the neighbourhood; but a fleet fitted out by the Cinque Ports, under Lord Berkley and Harry Percy, arrived there in time to capture fourteen of them before they had time to make their escape.

The principal admiral in this reign was Admiral Beaufort. He was styled Admiral of all the King’s Fleet, both to the north and west; and among many other offices, he held those of Constable of Dover Castle and Warden of the Cinque Ports.

The fifth Henry, with whose name the famous victory of Agincourt over the French will ever be associated, began to reign A.D. 1413. He was so much occupied with his wars in France for the greater part of his reign, that he paid but little attention to naval affairs beyond obtaining the transports necessary to convey his armies across the channel. While he was carrying on his conquests in France, part of the French fleet came over and blockaded the English ships collected at Portsmouth and Southampton, and made an attempt to land on the Isle of Wight. They were, however, driven back with loss. Henry had, in the meantime, taken possession of Harfleur on the Seine. He was besieged by the French both by land and sea. The king accordingly despatched his brother the Duke of Bedford with a fleet of 500 ships, containing 20,000 men, to the relief of the town. They found the enemy’s fleet, in which were several large Genoese carracks, lying before the haven of Harfleur, and pressing the siege with all possible vigour. As no relief could be given to the town without forcing a passage through the French fleet, an engagement was unavoidable. The English began the attack, and though the French maintained the fight for some hours, they gave way at last, and were totally defeated. Five hundred vessels were taken or sunk, together with five of the Genoese carracks, and nearly 20,000 men are reported to have been killed. The whole English fleet entered the port in triumph, and carried a seasonable relief to the town.

Another important naval battle was fought during Henry’s reign. Before he commenced his great and successful expedition to Normandy, which province he regained for the crown of England, after it had been lost for 215 years since the reign of King John, he despatched the Earl of Huntingdon with a fleet of about 100 sail to scour the seas, that his transports might cross without molestation. At this time the Duke of Genoa had, in consequence of a treaty made with France, supplied the French government with a squadron, consisting of eight large carracks, and as many galleys, which had on board 600 crossbow-men, under the command of John Grimaldi. These had united with the French fleet, consisting of 100 tall ships, and commanded by the Bastard of Bourbon. The Earl of Huntingdon speedily came up with the united fleets of France and Genoa at the mouth of the Seine. The engagement was long and desperate; the Genoese sustained the brunt of the engagement, their ships being larger and better formed than the French. One carrack especially, commanded by Lawrence Foglietta resisted the attacks of seven English ships. The English ships, it appears, were furnished with stages, which could be let down on the decks of the vessels they were attacking, so as to form a bridge across into them. Foglietta’s ship was at length disengaged from her enemy by the dexterity of a sailor, who cut the cordage with which the stage had been secured to her side. Notwithstanding, however, all the efforts of the Genoese, who are in this instance their own historians, the French and they were completely defeated. John de Franguemont, the son of the vice-admiral, was slain, the Bastard of Bourbon was taken prisoner, and four, if not six, of the Genoese carracks fell into the hands of the English. On board of the carracks was a sum of money, the wages of the whole fleet for three months, the English accounts say for six months. They also assert that three carracks were taken and three sunk. This was a great victory, and it is evident that the enemy were numerically superior to the victors. This is the only account I have met with in which mention is made of stages or bridges used by the English to enable them to board the ships of the enemy. The carracks spoken of were undoubtedly large and powerful ships compared to those in general use at that period. The Genoese were at that time, and for long continued, the first maritime people in Europe, and from their shipwrights and seamen, as well as from the captured ships, the English obtained many of the improvements which were soon afterwards brought into the art of shipbuilding in England.

Henry died on the 31st of August, 1422, aged thirty-three years, worn out with the fatigues of his late campaign in Normandy. He had reigned nine years, five months, and eleven days.

I have before me a curious history in verse relating to navigation and nautical affairs, written during the reign of Henry, entitled De Politia conservativa Maris. The author, in his preface, urges the importance of England maintaining the dominion of the channel.

“The true process of English policy,

Of utterward to keep this regne in

Of our England, that no man may deny,

Nor say of sooth but it is one of the best,

Is this that who seeth south, north, east, and west,

Cherish merchandise, keep the Admiralty

That we be masters of the narrow sea.

Who can here pass without danger and woe?

What merchandise may forby be ago?

For needs him must take trewes every foe:

Flanders, and Spain, and other, trust to me

Or else hindered all for this narrow sea.”

The whole poem is very curious, and full of information respecting the commerce of England in those days. It shows us how extensive it had already become, and how much alive the British merchants were to its importance, although the monarchs and chief nobles, madly engaged in civil wars or foreign conquests, did their utmost to destroy it, instead of endeavouring to protect and improve it. The more we study history, the more we shall be convinced that England owes her present greatness and prosperity to the enlightened energy and perseverance of her merchants and manufacturers, and the seamen of the mercantile marine.

Without them her brave armies and navies could not have been created or maintained, nor won the renown which England proudly claims.

“From Spain,” says our poetical author, “we import figs, raisins, wine, dates, liquorice, oil, grains, white pastil soap, wax, iron, wool, wadmolle, goat-fell, kid-fell, saffron, and quicksilver.

“From Flanders, fine cloth of Ypre and Curtike, fine cloth of all colours, fustian, linen cloth; for which England returns wool and tin.

“From Portugal, always in unity with England, we obtain wine, osey, wax, grain, figs, raisins, honey, cordmeynes, dates, salt, hides.

“With Bretaigne we deal in salt, wine, crest cloth, and canvas; but this is only of late years, for the Bretons were noted pirates, and greatly interrupted the navigation of this kingdom, both by taking the merchant-ships and plundering and burning the towns on the sea-coast, till Edward the Third granted letters of reprisal to the inhabitants of Dartmouth, Plymouth, and Fowey, which obliged the Duke of Bretaigne to sue for peace and engage for the future good behaviour of his subjects.”

Here we have an example of the advantage of allowing people who possess the sinews of war to take care of themselves. We may depend on it they will, in most instances, give a good account of their proceedings.

The same principle may be applied to our larger colonies at the present day, and we may have little fear that if attacked they will maintain their independence, and the honour of the British name.

“We trade with Scotland for felts, hides, and wool in the fleece; and with Prussia, High Germany, and the east countries for beer, bacon, almond, copper, bow-staves, steel, wax, pelt ware, pitch, tar, peats, flax, cotton, thread, fustian, canvas, cards, buckram, silver plate, silver wedges, and metal.

“From Genoa we import most of the articles which we now procure from Africa, and which come in large ships called carracks, such as cloth of gold, silk, black pepper, and good gold of Genne (Guinea).”

Our author does not at all approve of the articles which were imported from Venice and Florence. They were very similar, in some respects, to those which now come from France, and without which, most undoubtedly, we could do very well.

“The great gallies of Venice and Florence

Be well laden with things of complacence,

Allspicery and of grocer’s ware,

With sweet wines, all manner of chaffare;

Apes and japes, and marmusets tailed,

Nifles and trifles that little have availed,

And things with which they featly blear our eye,

With things not enduring that we buy;

For much of this chaffare that is wastable,

Might be forborne for dear and deceivable.”

On the death of his father, August, 1422, the unfortunate Henry the Sixth, when not a year old, was proclaimed King of England and heir of France, and when eight years of age he was crowned both in London and Paris. No improvements in naval affairs were introduced during his inglorious and disastrous reign. The chief battle at sea was fought by a fleet under the command of the famous king-maker, the Earl of Warwick. In the Straits of Dover he encountered a fleet of Genoese and Lubeck ships laden with Spanish merchandise, and under the convoy of five carracks. Of these he captured six, and sunk or put to flight twenty-six more, took numerous prisoners, and slew a thousand men, while his prize-money amounted to 10,000 pounds, an enormous sum in those days, when the whole revenue of England did not exceed at one time 5000 pounds.

The Earl of Warwick was soon afterwards, with his fleet, instrumental in dethroning Henry, and placing Edward of Lancaster on the throne, under the title of Edward the Fourth. It was not, however, till the victory of Tewkesbury placed the crown securely on his brows that Edward was able to turn his attention to naval affairs. In the year 1475, having resolved to make war on France, he collected at Sandwich five hundred flat-bottomed vessels, in which he purposed to carry his army across the channel. He succeeded, indeed, in transporting them to the French coast, but the King of France suing for peace, and undertaking to pay a large tribute to England, he returned home. By similar means he brought the King of Scotland to submission. He granted many privileges to merchants trading to foreign countries, and encouraged commerce by every means in his power.

It is scarcely necessary to allude to the reign of his son, poor young Edward the Fifth, who had worn the crown but two months, when it was grasped by his uncle, Richard the Third, who was crowned at Westminster on the 5th of July, 1483.

When threatened with an invasion of England by the Earl of Richmond, he kept a powerful fleet in readiness to defend the shores of his kingdom. On hearing, however, that the earl had been driven off the coast, he very unwisely laid up most of his ships, and disbanded the greater part of his army. On discovering this, the sagacious earl immediately embarked all the forces he could collect in a few transports, and, landing at Milford Haven, gained the battle of Bosworth, which placed the crown of England on his head, and in which Richard lost his life.

Since old Nicholas of Lynn’s expedition to the northern regions of the world in the reign of Edward the Third up to this period, no voyages of discovery had been performed under the patronage of Government; and probably but little, if any, improvement had taken place in marine architecture. A new era was about to commence, which was to see the establishment of England’s naval glory. Other European nations were at that time far in advance of our country as regarded all affairs connected with the sea. It was a period rife with maritime adventure and enterprise. Men began to perceive that there were other achievements more glorious than those which the sword could accomplish, more calculated, at all events, to bring wealth into their coffers.

It was now that the ardent, bold, and sagacious spirit of Columbus devised the scheme for reaching India by the west, which resulted in the discovery of a new world. In 1485, having fully instructed his brother Bartholomew in his intended project, he sent him to England in order that he might apply to Henry, under the belief that the king would at once embrace his proposals. Unfortunately, he fell, it is said, into the hands of pirates, who stripped him of all he had; and on his reaching England in poverty he was attacked with a fever, which caused a still further delay. When he recovered he had to raise funds for his purpose by making and selling maps, and thus it was not till 1488 that he was in a condition to present himself before the king. He was, however, then well received, and an arrangement was made by which Christopher Columbus was to proceed on a voyage of discovery under the flag of England. Circumstances occurred to prevent the accomplishment of this plan, and Henry lost the glory he would have gained as the supporter of one of the greatest and truest heroes who has ever figured on the page of history. This honour was reserved for Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, who, on the 17th of April, 1492, signed the articles of agreement with the Genoese navigator at the little town of Santa Fé, in the kingdom of Grenada.

The squadron prepared for this expedition, which was to prove of such mighty importance to the world in general, consisted but of three vessels, carrying in all but 120 men. I will describe them, as they give us some idea of the vessels of that period, and which were considered fit, by the mariners of those days, to contend with the stormy winds and waves they would in all probability have to encounter on so long a voyage. There was, first, the admiral’s ship, called by him the Santa Maria, a carrack, or a ship with a deck. The second was the Pinta, commanded by Martin Alonso Pinçon; and the third the Minna of which Viconte Yannes Pinçon was master. These two were carvels, which are described as open vessels without decks. I suspect, however, that they must have been nearly, if not entirely, decked over—in fact, that they were what are now called flush-decked vessels, while probably the carrack was a frigate-built ship, or, at all events, a ship with a high poop and forecastle. Supposing the carrack to have earned sixty men, and the carvels thirty each, how could all the necessary stores, provisions, and water have been stowed away for those thirty, unless in a vessel of good size? or how could they have been protected from wet unless below a deck?

Carvels were strongly built craft, and we still speak of a vessel being carvel, or ship-built. I therefore do not hold to the idea that the two consorts of Columbus’s ship were little better than open boats, but believe that they were stout, well-formed vessels, not so utterly unworthy of the great sovereigns who sent forth the expedition. Right honoured was the little town of Palos, whence it sailed on Friday, 3rd August, 1492.

Henry, although he had lost this great opportunity of increasing his renown, wisely perceived that in no way could he more effectually gain the respect of his subjects and consolidate his power than by affording every encouragement to naval enterprise, and to the extension of commerce. He therefore gladly listened to a proposal to search for certain lands said to exist in the north-west, made by John Cabot, a Venetian by birth, settled at Bristol. A commission, signed in 1496, was granted to him and his three sons, Lewis, Sebastian, and Sanctius, who were skilful in navigation and cosmography.

The record is as follows:— “The King, upon the third day of February, in the thirteenth year of his reign, gave licence to John Cabot to take six English ships, in any haven or havens of the realm of England, being of the burden of 200 tons or under, with all necessary furniture; and to take, also, into the said ships, all such masters, mariners, and subjects of the King as might be willing to go with him.”

The expedition sailed early in the year 1497, and reached the coast of Labrador, Newfoundland, in June of the same year. There is some doubt whether the father, John, was alive at that time, so that the more celebrated Sebastian has the credit of the discovery. At all events, he performed several successful voyages in the same direction, and made many important discoveries. Thus, though the Spaniards claim the honour of being the discoverers of the middle portion of the great continent of America, there can be no doubt that the English were the first visitors to its northern shores, where many millions of their descendants are now established.

Henry, with his usual sagacity, saw the advantage of having a fleet of ships exclusively fitted for war, instead of drawing off those which might be well calculated for the purposes of commerce, but were not, from their construction, suited to stand the brunt of battle. He could not but perceive, besides this, that by employing the merchant-vessels, as had before been done, for the purposes of fighting, he crippled the merchants in their commercial pursuits, and prevented them from supplying him with the sinews of war. He desired also to have a permanent fleet ready, should war break out, to protect the coasts of his kingdom from foreign invasion. The first ship he built was called the Great Harry. She cost 14,000 pounds. She had four masts, a high poop and forecastle, in which were placed numerous guns, turning inboard and outwards. She had only one tier of guns on the upper-deck, as ports were not used in those days. She was, however, what would now be called frigate-built. She was burnt by accident at Woolwich in 1553. The Great Harry may properly be considered the first ship of what is now denominated the Royal Navy. There is a model of her in Somerset House, and there are numerous prints of her which give a notion of what she was like. Few seamen of the present day, I fancy, would wish to go to sea in a similar craft. I certainly used to doubt that such a vessel could have ventured out of harbour at all, till I saw the Chinese junk which was brought to the Thames all the way round from China, and which, in appearance and construction, is not very dissimilar to what, from her model, the Great Harry must have been, except in point of size. She probably did not measure much less than 1000 tons; she must have been, therefore, about the size of a modern frigate.

Chapter Five.

Establishment of the Royal Navy of England—from A.D. 1509 to A.D. 1558.

No sovereign of England was ever proclaimed with more universal joy than was Henry the Eighth, when, at the age of eighteen, he succeeded to the throne of his father, A.D. 1509. Tyrant and despot as he became at home, he did not neglect the interests of commerce, while he maintained the honour of England abroad. He made very great improvements in the work his father had commenced. By his prerogative, and at his own expense, he settled the constitution of the present Royal Navy. An Admiralty and Navy Office were established, and commissioners to superintend naval affairs were appointed by him.

Regular salaries were settled for admirals, vice-admirals, captains, and seamen, and the sea-service at this time became a distinct and regular profession.

In 1512, Henry, having entered into a league with Spain against France, fitted out a fleet under the command of Sir Edward Howard, Lord High Admiral, and by an indenture, dated 8th of April of that year, granted him the following allowance:—For his own maintenance, diet, wages, and rewards, ten shillings a-day. For each of the captains, for their diet, wages, and rewards, eighteenpence a-day. For every soldier, mariner, and gunner, five shillings a-month for his wages, and five shillings for his victuals, reckoning twenty-eight days in the month. But the admiral, captains, officers, and men had also further allowances, under the denomination of dead shares. I doubt whether the naval officers and men of the present day would be satisfied with a similar amount of pay. Certainly the mariners of those days had more dangers and hardships to encounter than have those of the present time under ordinary circumstances. That year Henry’s fleet consisted of forty-five ships, of which the largest was the Regent, of 1000 tons; the two next in size being the Sovereign and the Mary Rose, of about 500 tons each.

The Regent and Cordelier.

War was now declared against France, and the English fleet put to sea under the command of Sir Edward Howard. It carried a considerable body of land forces, under the command of the Earl of Dorset, which were landed at the Port of Passages, in Spain. Afterwards, being reinforced by a number of stout ships, the admiral sailed for Brest, in the hopes of encountering the French. Sir William Knevet had command of the Regent, and Sir Charles Brandon, who had sixty of the tallest yeomen of the Guard under him, commanded the Sovereign. The fleet arrived off Brest just as the French fleet, consisting of thirty-nine sail, was coming out of the harbour. On seeing the enemy, Sir Edward made the signal for an immediate engagement. Scarcely was the signal seen, than the Regent and the Cordelier, the latter being the largest ship in the French navy, attacked each other as if by mutual consent. The Cordelier, it is said, carried 1200 soldiers. Undoubtedly her commander hoped to carry the English ship by boarding. In the course of the action, when locked in a deadly embrace with their grappling-irons, another English ship threw into the Cordelier a quantity of combustibles, or fire-works, as they were called, and set her on fire. In vain the crew of the Regent endeavoured to free their ship from her perilous position. The magazine of the Cordelier was reached, and she and the Regent went up into the air together. In the Regent, Sir William Knevet and 700 men were lost, and in the Cordelier, Sir Pierce Morgan, her captain, and 900 of her crew are supposed to have perished. After this dreadful catastrophe the action ceased; the French, horror-stricken, hurriedly making their way into Brest. The ships, also, of both parties, had received considerable damage.

Although cannon had been employed on board ships since the time of Edward the Third, this was probably one of the first sea-fights in which they were used by both parties on board all the ships engaged. Even on this occasion the combatants seem to have trusted more to their battle-axes and swords than to their artillery. The French give a different account of this battle. They say that an English ship having discharged a quantity of fire-works into the Cordelier, she caught fire, when her Breton commander, finding that the conflagration could not be extinguished, and determined not to perish alone, made up to the English admiral and grappled her, when they blew up into the air together. On this the two fleets separated by mutual consent.

The following year another fleet of forty-two men-of-war, under the command of the Lord High Admiral, sailed for Brest, when the French squadron was found at anchor, protected by batteries on shore, and a line of twenty-four hulks chained together across the harbour’s mouth. The admiral, however, making a feint with his boats, drew the enemy down to the shore, when he ran up past the batteries, and ravaged the country round the town. The French had been waiting the arrival of six galleys from the Mediterranean, under Monsieur Pregent.

I cannot refrain from giving the first account I have met with of what may properly be called a cutting-out expedition. While the English fleet were at Brest, Monsieur Pregent arrived on the coast with six galleys and four foists, and, apprehensive of being attacked by the enemy, he entered the Bay of Conquêt, which was the nearest place to Brest. He here placed his squadron between two rocks, on which he mounted cannon and threw up a breastwork. Notwithstanding the advantageous position of this squadron, the Lord High Admiral resolved to attack it. He had two galleys in his fleet. He went on board one of these, and entrusted the other to Lord Rivers. He had, besides, only two large barges and two boats. With these, on the 20th of April, he boldly ventured into the Bay of Conquêt to attack the French galleys. He no sooner came abeam of the galley commanded by Monsieur Pregent, than, ordering his vessel to be lashed alongside, he boarded her sword in hand, followed only by Don Carroz, a Spanish cavalier, and seventeen of his men. He appeared at first to be gaining the day; but, by some accident, his galley swinging loose, he and his followers, deprived of all succour, were so hard-pressed by the enemy that they were driven headlong into the sea. Lord Ferrers, who had during this time been engaging the enemy without success, seeing the admiral’s galley fall off, retreated. When, however, Lord Howard was missed, a flag of truce was sent to the French commander, who replied that only one seaman had escaped death, and that the admiral and the rest of his companions had been forced overboard. After this the English fleet returned home. In a short time Monsieur Pregent, flushed with success, ravaged the coast of Sussex; but was driven away by Sir Thomas Howard, who succeeded his brother as Lord High Admiral. In the year 1514, the ever-active Pregent again paid the Sussex coast a visit, and burnt Brighthelmstone, as Brighton was then called. In return for this compliment, Sir John Wallop was sent with a fleet to the coast of Normandy, where he burnt twenty-one towns and villages. In consequence of the energetic and summary way in which he carried out his system of retaliation, those who have imitated him have been said to “wallop” the enemy. To replace the Regent destroyed in the terrible way above described, the king built a ship at Erith in 1515, and called her the Henri Grâce de Dieu. She was of 1000 tons burden, and manned with 301 mariners, 50 gunners, and 349 soldiers. Up to that period, when ships were to be manned in a hurry, soldiers were sent on board to do the duty of seamen as best they could, and generals were turned into admirals at very short notice. However, it would be more correct to say that the fighting was done chiefly by soldiers, and consequently that military officers went to command them, while the ships were navigated by professional seamen, who had their own sea-officers, though generally of an inferior grade, over them. A vestige of this custom still remains in the Royal Navy. On board every ship, besides the captain and his lieutenants, there is a sailing-master, who has also his mates or assistants, who have especial charge of the navigation of the ship. Formerly the captain and his lieutenants were not of necessity seamen. Now, they are so by profession, though they still retain a remnant of their military character. In time, probably, the last representative of the master-of-the-mariners, as he was called, will disappear from the British navy—it being the duty of the lieutenants to attend to the navigation of the ship, as they do now to the management in every other respect.

One of the wisest acts of Henry the Eighth was making the sea-service a regular profession—though long after his time ships, and even fleets, were commanded by men who had hitherto lived and fought only on shore. About the year 1545 port-holes were generally introduced on board the larger ships. Before that time the guns were fought over the bulwarks, or were alone placed on the forecastle, and the aftercastle, which latter portion of the ship is now called the poop. This word poop is evidently derived from the Latin puppis, as originally the after-part of a ship was called by the Romans, and thence the name was given to the ship herself, a part being taken for the whole. The ports were, however, placed not more than sixteen inches from the water, so close, indeed, as greatly to peril the ship. It was in consequence of this faulty construction that the Mary Rose of sixty guns, one of the largest ships in the British navy, heeling over to a squall while encountering the French at Spithead, was capsized, when her captain, Sir George Carew, and upwards of 500 of his men, perished in the waves. As late as the year 1835, Mr Deane, by means of his ingenious invention, the diving-bell, was enabled to recover several guns, parts of the wreck, and some stone-shot of the Mary Rose.

Ships generally carried but few guns. A writer, describing a battle which took place off the Isle of Wight, and which lasted two hours, when upwards of ninety ships were engaged, speaks of 300 shot being fired, to prove how desperate was the contest. I have before me an account of the battle in which the Mary Rose was lost, not, as the French say, in consequence of their fire, but because it was attempted to keep her ports open when a considerable sea was running, and a strong breeze had suddenly sprung up. The French king had sent over a large fleet to annoy the English coasts. Henry, hearing of the expedition, hurried down to Portsmouth to hasten the equipment of 100 sail, which he had ordered to be got ready. The French appearing, the English sailed out to Saint Helen’s to meet them. A squall came on, and the Mary Rose foundering, the Great Harry which was attacked by the French row-galleys, bore the brunt of the action. The French quickly retired, though they attempted to make a lodgment on the Isle of Wight, but were compelled to return to their ships. The English are described as using pinances, which are vessels of great length and little beam, moving very rapidly, and fitted both with sails and oars. We hear, also, that the Carracon the ship of the French Admiral, was destroyed by fire before the fleet left their coasts. She is described as appearing like a castle among the other ships of the fleet, and so strong that she had nothing to fear at sea but fire and rocks. It is stated that she had 100 brass cannon on board; but as she was not more than 800 tons burden, they must have been very small ones. Still, it is certain that she was the stoutest ship possessed by the French.

From a French account of one of the attacks made on the English fleet before Portsmouth, we ascertain the character of the galleys employed by the French. We are told that they were worked by oars, and we read that so many galley-slaves were killed. It is said, also, that “the galleys had all the advantage of working that they could desire, to the great damage of the English, who, for want of wind, not being able to stir, lay exposed to the French cannon, and being so much higher and bulkier than their galleys, hardly a shot missed them; while the galleys, with the help of their oars, shifted at pleasure, and thereby avoided the danger of the enemy’s artillery.” The same writer says that, later in the day, “the violence of the wind, and the swelling of the sea, would deprive us of our galleys.” We thus see at once that these galleys, though from their lightness easily manoeuvred in smooth water, were unfit to buffet with the winds and waves. They were probably similar to the galleys I have before described, and which for centuries were in use in the Mediterranean.

Another writer says: “A gale arising, the French galleys were in danger, the English ships bearing down upon them with full sail, a danger from which they escaped purely by the skill and experience of their commanders, and the intrepidity of the Prior of Capua, who exposed his galley with undaunted courage, and freed himself from danger with equal address.” The title of Prior of Capua sounds oddly enough when applied to a naval commander. From these accounts it would appear that the English ships were more powerful than those of the French, and were better calculated to stand the brunt of battle than to chase a nimble enemy, as the French seem to have been. The larger ships in the British navy were at that time fitted with four masts, like the Henri Grâce de Dieu.

Though the yards and sails were unwieldy, the rigging heavy, and the top hamper prodigious, we find that they were tending towards the form they had assumed when Howe, Jervis, and Nelson led our fleets to victory.

They had short stout masts, a vast number of shrouds to support them, and large heavy round tops on which a dozen men or more could stand. The sterns were ornamented with a profusion of heavy carved-work, and they had great lanterns stuck up at the taffrail, as big, almost, as sentry-boxes, while the forecastle still somewhat resembled the building from which it took its name. This vast amount of woodwork, rising high above the surface of the water, was very detrimental to the sailing qualities of ships, and must have caused the loss of many. What sailors call fore-and-aft sails had already been introduced, and we hear constantly of ships beating to windward, and attempting to gain the weather-gage. In those days a great variety of ordnance were employed, to which our ancestors gave the odd-sounding names of cannon, demi-cannon, culverins, demi-culverins, sakers, mynions, falcons, falconets, portpiece-halls, port-piece-chambers, fowler-halls, and curthalls. These guns varied very much in length and in the weight of their shot. When a ship is spoken of as carrying fifty or sixty guns it must be understood that every description of ordnance on board was included, so that a very erroneous idea would be formed, if we pictured a ship of sixty guns of those days as in any way resembling in size a third, or even a fourth-rate at the end of the last century. An old author says: “By the employment of Italian shipwrights, and by encouraging his own people to build strong ships of war to carry great ordnance, Henry established a puissant navy, which, at the end of his reign, consisted of seventy-one vessels, whereof thirty were ships of burden, and contained in all 10,550 tons, and two were galleys, and the rest were small barks and row-barges, from eighty tons down to fifteen tons, which served in rivers and for landing men.”

Stone-shot had hitherto been used both at sea and on shore, but about the middle of the century they were superseded by iron shot. About the same period matchlocks were introduced on board ships.

An Act was passed in this reign encouraging merchants to build ships fit for men-of-war, such ships being exempt from certain duties, the owners also receiving from the king, when he required them, twelve shillings per ton a-month.

Henry the Eighth established an Office of Admiralty, with a Navy Office, under certain commissioners; and appointed regular salaries, not only for his admirals and vice-admirals, but for his captains and seamen. This established the system, pursued with various alterations, for the maintenance of the Royal Navy. These regulations and appointments encouraged the English to consider the sea as a means of providing for their children, and from this time forward we have a constant series of eminent officers in the Royal Navy, many of them noblemen of the first distinction. Among the most celebrated in this reign were Sir Edward Howard, his brother Sir Thomas Howard, afterwards Earl of Surrey, Sir William Fitzwilliams, afterwards Earl of Southampton, and John Russell, first Earl of Bedford. The most eminent navigator in the reign of Edward the Sixth was Sebastian Cabot, son of John Cabot, who, under Henry the Seventh, discovered Newfoundland. Nothing was done concerning trade without consulting him; he was at the head of the merchant adventurers, and governor of a company formed to find out a passage by the north to the East Indies. Among the regulations for the government of the fleet destined for the voyage to Cathay were several which show a considerable amount of worldly wisdom and sound so quaint, that I am tempted to quote a few of them. Clause 22—“Item—not to disclose to any nation the state of our religion, but to pass it over in silence without any declaration of it, seeming to bear with such laws and rites as the place hath where you shall arrive.” Item 23—“Forasmuch as our people and ships may appear unto them strange and wondrous, and theirs also to ours, it is to be considered how they may be used, learning much of their nature and dispositions by some one such person whom you may first either allure or take to be brought on board your ship.” Item 24—“The persons so taken to be well entertained, used, and apparelled, to be set on land to the intent he or she may allure others to draw nigh to show the commodities; and if the person taken may be made drunk with your beer or wine, you shall know the secrets of his heart.”

Under the judicious management of Sebastian Cabot, the Russian Company was established, though their charter was not granted till the year 1555. Among other discoverers and navigators Captain Wyndham merits notice, having opened up a trade with the coast of Guinea. Both he and his companion Pintado died, however, of fever, forty only of his crew returning to Plymouth. Captain Richard Chancellor is another able navigator of this reign. He sailed with Sir Hugh Willoughby in the service of the company, at the recommendation of Cabot. He made several voyages to Russia; in the last, he parted with Sir Hugh Willoughby, who, putting into a port to winter, was, with all his crew, frozen to death. His ship was found riding safe at anchor by some Russian fishermen, and from a journal discovered on board it was found that the admiral and most of his fellow-adventurers were alive in January, 1554.

During Henry the Eighth’s reign the infamous slave-trade was commenced by Mr William Hawkins of Plymouth, father of the celebrated Sir John Hawkins. He, however, evidently did not consider the traffic in the light in which it is now regarded. In his ship, the Paul, of Plymouth, he made three voyages to the Brazils, touching at the coast of Guinea, where he traded in slaves, gold, and elephants’ teeth. At that time the English, considering themselves lords paramount at sea, insisted that ships of all other nations should strike their flags in presence of their fleets. Even when William Lord Howard, Mary’s high admiral, went with a fleet of twenty-eight men-of-war to await the arrival of King Philip, who soon after appeared in the channel, escorted by one hundred and sixty sail, the Spanish flag flying at his main-top, the English admiral compelled him to lower it, by firing a shot before he would salute the intended consort of the Queen. This determination of the English to maintain the sovereignty of the seas was the cause hereafter of many a desperate naval engagement between themselves and the Dutch, who disputed their right to the honour.

Henry died A.D. 1547. No great improvements were made in navigation during his reign, but the encouragement he gave to shipbuilding, and the establishment of a permanent Royal Navy, contributed much to enable England to attain that supremacy on the ocean which she has ever since maintained.

During the early part of Edward the Sixth’s reign the navy of England was employed chiefly in operations against the Scotch, but in 1550 the French formed a plan to capture Jersey and Guernsey, which they surrounded with a large fleet, having 2000 troops on board. The inhabitants held out stoutly, and gained time for Captain (afterwards Sir William) Winter to arrive to their succour. Though he had but a small squadron, so hastily did he attack the French, that he captured and burnt nearly all their ships and killed a thousand men, the rest with difficulty escaping to the mainland.

Mary’s reign is a blank, as far as most achievements were concerned, and, had the miserable queen obtained her wishes, the ships of England, and all the English hold dear, would have been handed over to the tender mercies of Philip and the Spaniards.

Chapter Six.

Reign of Elizabeth—from A.D. 1558 to A.D. 1603.

When Elizabeth came to the throne, she, without loss of time, took measures to restore the navy, which had been allowed to fall into decay during the reign of her wretched sister Mary. Timber was stored up for building, numerous pieces of brass cannon cast, and gunpowder, which had hitherto been brought from abroad, was manufactured at home. She raised the wages of seamen, increased the number of naval officers, and augmented their salaries, giving also encouragement to foreigners skilled in shipbuilding to repair to her ports and construct strong ships, both for war and commerce. The fortresses in the Isle of Wight and other parts were increased, and scarcely had she governed four days when Vice-Admiral Malyn was ordered to sail, with as many ships as were fit for sea, to protect trade and to defend the channel.

She, of course, took these steps by the advice of Cecil, who likewise directed Sir Thomas Gresham to send over coin from Holland, and to purchase arms and munitions of war. Cecil was thoroughly cognisant of the designs of the Spaniards, and he had soon a proof of their perfidious intentions. A squadron under the command of Sir John Hawkins had been driven into the port of Saint Juan d’Ulloa in the Bay of Mexico, and was suddenly attacked by a Spanish fleet, the commander of which had just before been professing his friendly intentions. Sir John suspected treachery in consequence of observing that the Spaniards were shifting arms from one ship to another, planting and levelling their cannon from their ships towards an island on which some of the English had landed. The master of one of the ships being sent to the Spanish admiral, he was seized; and, causing the trumpet to be sounded, the Spaniards set on the English on all sides. The men on shore being dismayed at the unexpected onset, fled, and endeavoured to recover their ships, but the Spaniards, landing in great numbers, slew most of them without quarter. Several of the English ships were destroyed—the Minion and Judith, with a small bark of fifty tons, alone escaping. The crews underwent incredible hardships, though they at length found their way to England. The English captured on the island by the Spaniards were afterwards thrown into the Inquisition, where they remained shut up asunder in dungeons for a year and a-half. Three were afterwards burnt; others were condemned to receive two and three hundred blows on horseback with long whips, and to serve in the galleys for many years; and others were confined in monasteries, dressed in the S. Benito or fool’s coats. One of them, Job Hartob, after enduring captivity for twenty-three years, escaped, and reached England. So enraged were the nation at this treachery of the Spaniards, that it was with difficulty they could be restrained from breaking the peace with that perfidious nation.

A further cause of dissension arose in consequence of a convoy of vessels, bound from the coast of Biscay for the Low Countries with a large quantity of money on board, being chased by French pirates, having taken shelter in Plymouth, Falmouth, and Southampton. The queen, being informed that the money was on the merchants’ accounts, and that the Duke of Alva would certainly seize it to enable him to carry on the war, made bold to borrow the sum. This brought matters to a crisis; reprisals were made by Spain, and the English seized many Spanish and Flemish ships. The English on this, with incredible alacrity, fitted out vessels, and fell upon all merchant-ships belonging to the Spaniards. Spain, it was now known, was preparing a formidable force for the invasion of England; but the queen and her ministers, unintimidated by the boasts of the Spaniards, omitted no precautionary measures to defeat Philip’s plans. In 1587, a fleet under Sir Francis Drake was despatched to Cadiz. The admiral here forced six galleys, placed for the guardianship of the port, to shelter themselves under the cannon of the castle; and then, having burnt upwards of a hundred ships laden with ammunition and provisions, he sailed for Cape Saint Vincent, where he surprised some forts, and destroyed all the fishing craft he could fall in with. From thence, appearing off the mouth of the Tagus, he challenged the Spanish admiral, Santa Cruz, to come out and fight; but the Spaniard, obeying his master’s orders, allowed Drake to burn and destroy every vessel he could find, rather than hazard an engagement. The King of Spain, hoping to frighten the English, published in every country in Europe a full account of the armada he was preparing for the subjugation, as he hoped, of England. For three years had Philip been making the most mighty efforts to fit out a fleet with which he hoped to humble the pride of the queen of that “tight little island,” who had dared to refuse his hand, and to enslave her heretical subjects. The Most Happy Armada, for so he had styled it, consisted of 134 sail of towering ships, of the total burden of 57,868 tons; on board of it wore 19,295 soldiers, 8450 sailors, 2088 slaves, and 2830 pieces of cannon. In addition to the foregoing, there were galleys, galliasses, and galleons stored with 22,000 pounds of great shot, 40,000 quintals, or hundredweights of powder, 1000 quintals of lead for bullets, 10,000 quintals of match, 7000 muskets and calivers, 1000 partisans and halberds, besides double-cannon and field-pieces for a camp on disembarking, and a great many mules, horses, and asses, with six months’ provisions of all sorts. To this may be added a large band of monks, with racks, thumbscrews, chains, whips, butchering knives, and other implements of torture, with which it was proposed to convert the English from the error of their ways, and to bring them to the true faith as expounded by the pope and his pupil Philip.

The larger of these ships measured from 1000 to 1200 tons, they carried 50 guns, about 180 mariners, and 300 soldiers. A still larger number measuring from 600 to 800 tons, and carrying from 30 to 40 guns, with crews of about 100 seamen, and 300 soldiers. There was a fleet of pataches and zabras, a considerable number of which measured no more than 60 tons, and carried 8 guns and 30 seamen. The galliasses must, however, have been ships of great bulk, as they carried 50 guns, and crews of about 120 men, with a still larger number of soldiers, besides which they each had about 300 slaves for working their oars. The galleys also carried 50 guns and about 230 slaves. This fleet was divided into ten squadrons, each commanded by an experienced officer. The pataches are more commonly called carvels. Besides the Dominicans, Franciscans, Flagellants, and Jesuits, there were on board many hundred persons of the best families of Spain; some maintained by the king, with their servants, and those belonging to the duke’s court.

This vast armada was followed by a fleet of tenders, with a prodigious quantity of arms on board, intended to put into the hands of those whom it was expected would rise on their reaching the shores of our own land. The command of this mighty squadron, generally known as the Spanish Armada, was given to the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and under him was Don Martinez de Recaldo, an experienced admiral, who managed the affairs of the fleet. The reports of the enormous preparations made by the Spaniards for the destruction of everything they held dear naturally caused the greatest anxiety, if not consternation, among the English, but the nation was true to itself. The queen and her ministers, in no way daunted at the mighty preparations for their enslavement, vigorously prepared for resistance, taking all the measures wisdom could dictate and their means would allow for repelling the invaders. The country flew to arms; every county raised a body of militia; the sea-ports were fortified, and a system of signals arranged so that troops could be brought to the point where they were required with the greatest possible speed. Orders were also given that, should the enemy land, the whole country round should be laid waste, so that the Spaniards might find no food except what they brought with them. The regular army was disposed, a part along the southern coast, another near Torbay, under the command of the Earl of Leicester, while a third, under the leading of Lord Hunsdon, was destined to guard the queen’s person. The English Government, not misled by the assurances of the Spanish minister that his master’s wish was to remain at peace, took care to keep themselves well informed of the proceedings of the Spaniards, and of the time the Armada was likely to be ready to put to sea.

Offers had been made by Philip to conclude a treaty, and a meeting was held between his envoys and the English commissioners in April near Ostend. The Spaniards, however, purposely squandered away the time, hoping to stop the preparations of the English while their own were going forward, and at length fixed on Brouckburg in Flanders as the place for concluding a treaty of peace. Before the time agreed on had arrived, the Spanish Armada had sailed from the Tagus. The pope having blessed the fleet which was to be engaged in the pious office of subjugating the heretics of England, it was named the Great, Noble, and Invincible Armada, the terror of Europe.

The English fleet was placed under the command of Lord Howard of Effingham, who had, however, only seventeen ships of war actually belonging to the queen. The largest of these, the Triumph, was of 1100 tons, carried 500 men, and was commanded by Sir Martin Frobisher. The next in size was the White Bear, also with a crew of 500 men, commanded by Lord Edmund Sheffield. The third in size was the Ark, the admiral’s flag-ship, of 800 tons, commanded by Raleigh. Of the same size was the Victory, carrying the flag of Sir John Hawkins, the rear-admiral, with a crew of 400 men. There were two others of 600 tons, the Elizabeth Bonaventure and the Hope. There were six of 500 tons, two of 400 tons, another of 360 tons, while the rest ranged from 30 to 120 tons. To these were joined twelve hired ships and six tenders. The city of London provided sixteen ships, twice the number demanded, with four store-ships; the city of Bristol, three; Barnstaple, three; Exeter, two, and a tender and stout pinance; Plymouth, seven stout ships, equal to the men-of-war. Sixteen ship were under Lord Henry Seymour. The nobility and gentry and commons of England furnished forty-three ships; the merchant adventurers, ten; to which may be added a fly-boat and Sir W. Winter’s pinnace, making in all 143 ships.

Of these ships, thirty-two were under the command of Sir Francis Drake, and several of them were of 400 tons burden; but the greater number were not of more than 200 tons. The largest London ship was only of 300 tons, but the greater number were above 100 tons, and the smallest of 60 tons. Lord Henry Seymour’s ships were mostly under 150 tons, the largest being only 160. Altogether the number of their crews did not amount to more than 15,000 men, but they were one and all gallant tars, resolved to fight and conquer, and fearless of danger. Sir Francis Drake, with fifty sail, had been stationed at Plymouth, and here the Lord High Admiral, with a large part of his fleet, joined him on the 23rd May, when Sir Francis was made his vice-admiral. Hence, with about ninety ships, the fleet sailed up and down between Ushant and Scilly, waiting for the arrival of the Armada, which had sailed, as has been said, on the 1st June. A tremendous storm, which compelled the English to run into harbour, had, however, dispersed the Spaniards, and driven them back with some damage into port. Shortly afterwards a report reached England, circulated probably by the Spaniards themselves, that the whole of their fleet had been weather-beaten, and that they would be unable to proceed to sea till the next year. This was actually believed by the English Government, who ordered the Lord High Admiral to send back four of his largest ships into port; but Lord Howard, alleging how dangerous it was to be too credulous, retained the ships, observing that he would rather keep them at his own charge than expose the nation to so great a hazard.

The wind coming from the north, on the 8th of June Lord Howard sailed towards Spain, looking out for the Armada; but the wind changing to the south, and he seeing that it would be favourable to the Spaniards, returned towards England, lest they might slip by and reach the coast before him. On the 12th he arrived at Plymouth, where the whole fleet was assembled, waiting for the enemy, and on the 19th of June—

“’Twas about the lovely close of a warm summer’s day.

There came a gallant merchant-ship, full sail to Plymouth Bay.

Her crew hath seen Castile’s black fleet, beyond Aurigny’s isle,

At earliest twilight, on the wave, lie heaving many a mile;

At sunrise she escaped their van, by God’s especial grace,

And the tall Pinta, till at noon, had held her close in chase.”

This tall ship was commanded by Captain Thomas Fleming, who had been stationed on the look-out to the eastward. The wind blowing almost directly into the sound, it was scarcely possible for the English fleet to put to sea; at length, however, by dint of warping, the admiral’s ship and six more got out of the haven, and by daylight, on the 20th, sixty others joined him; with these he sailed, and when off the Eddystone caught sight of the enemy to the westward. Notice of the appearance of the Armada was spread far and wide throughout the land.

“Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea;

Such night in England ne’er had been, nor ne’er again shall be.

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flames spread,

High on Saint Michael’s Mount it shone, it shone on Beachy Head.

Far on the deep the Spaniards saw, along each southern shore,

Cape beyond cape in endless range, those twinkling spots of fire.”

Onward came the Armada in perfect order, forming a crescent, the horns of which were seven miles apart, the concave part to the rear. Formidable, indeed, from their size and number, did they appear, like so many floating castles, such as had never in the world’s history sailed over the surface of the deep. The English captains were eager for the attack, but Lord Howard wisely checked their ardour, pointing out the enormous size of the enemy’s ships, which also being full of troops, they could hope to do nothing with by boarding. Had, indeed, the Spaniards ventured to attack the English on that day, it would have been difficult to escape from them. Having wisely waited till the following morning, Sunday, the 21st of June, the admiral was joined by the rest of the fleet, which had got out of the sound, and had, moreover, the wind in its favour. The battle commenced at nine o’clock in the morning, when Lord Howard attacked a Spanish ship commanded by Don Alfonso de Lara. Lord Howard pressed in upon her, tore her hull with his broadside, and brought her to the verge of sinking. Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher attacked, also, the rearmost of the Spanish ships, commanded by Recaldo, the vice-admiral, ship engaging ship, till the Spaniards were so disabled that they took to flight, and were received into the main body. The British seamen, elated by their success, pressed on more and more boldly, till, darkness coming on, the Lord High Admiral, by signal, ordered them to desist. About midnight the English saw a large ship in the centre of the Spanish fleet blow up. As it proved afterwards, she had on board a large amount of treasure, which was moved before she was deserted to another ship, commanded by Don Pedro Vargas. It coming on to blow hard at night, this ship sprang her foremast, and falling astern, was attacked and captured by Sir Francis Drake. Besides the treasure, several persons of distinction were found on board, the first Spanish prisoners made on this occasion. The ship was sent into Dartmouth, where the plunder of the vessel was divided among the sailors.

A ship which had been destroyed was fallen in with the next day, having fifty men on board cruelly burnt, and vast numbers dead. In the evening Sir Francis Drake was induced to sail in pursuit of several ships he saw in the south-west, but which proved to be German merchant-vessels; and it was evening of the next day before he could rejoin the fleet. Next morning, the two fleets having manoeuvred for some time to gain the weather-gage, about noon the Spaniards at length bore down on a number of the London vessels; but the Lord High Admiral sending a reinforcement, rescued his ships, and nearly took the vice-admiral. So high were the sides of the Spanish ships that their shot generally flew over the heads of the English, and did little damage; while scarcely a shot from the ships of the latter missed its aim. After the fleets had engaged for some time, the wind shifted to the south-south-west. On this Lord Howard led his fleet to the attack of the Armada. One of his ships, the Triumph, pushing too far, was surrounded by the Spaniards; but the admiral, with six other vessels, bore down to her assistance, having given orders to his captains not to fire a gun till within musket-shot. The Triumph was rescued, and the Spaniards driven back, miserably shattered.

About this period one William Cox, captain of a little pinnace called the Violet, belonging to Sir William Winter, behaved valiantly against the enemy, but his gallant little craft was sunk, and he was killed by a great piece of ordnance. As an old author writes on this occasion: “Also the May Flower of London, a name known to fame, performed an honourable part. Never, indeed, was seen so vehement a fight; either side endeavouring to bring about the destruction of the other. For albeit the musqueteers and arquebusiers were in either fleet many in number, yet could they not be discerned or heard by reason of the roar of the greater ordnance that followed so thick one upon another, and played so well that day on either side that they were thought to be equal in number to common arquebusiers in a hot skirmish. The battle was not only long, but also near at hand—within half a musket-shot—and that to the great advantage of the Englishmen, who, with their ships being, as was aforesaid, excellent of sail and of steerage, yet less a great deal than the Spanish ships, and therefore more light and nimble, fought not according to their manner otherwise, to board them, but keeping themselves aloof at a reasonable distance, continually beat upon the hull and tackling of the enemy’s ships, which, being a good deal higher, could not so easily beat the English ships with their ordnance. Thus in the space of one day, with the loss only of one small ship and less than a hundred men on the part of the English, was the so-called Invincible Armada utterly beaten and nearly destroyed—though to the God of battles must truly be ascribed the victory, for the power of the elements more than man’s strength, caused the destruction of the larger number of the Spanish ships.”

At evening the engagement ceased, by which time several of the enemy’s ships had been taken, among them a Venetian ship of large size and force. The next day, for want of ammunition, the English were unable to renew the attack; but the Spaniards, not knowing this, did not attempt to molest them. It had been intended, on the night of the 24th, by Lord Howard, to attack the Armada in the dead of the night, but the wind failing he was disappointed in his object. On the 25th, a vast galleon, dropping behind, was captured by Sir John Hawkins after a desperate resistance. Several galliasses, sent by the Spanish admiral to the rescue of the galleon, were nearly taken. The persevering English, in their small vessels, continued their assaults on the vast ships of the enemy, never failing to inflict considerable damage on them. In the meantime, more powder and shot were brought on board to enable them to carry on their assaults. On the following day the admiral determined, however, to allow the Armada to proceed towards the Straits of Calais, where another fleet, under Lord Henry Seymour and Captain Winter, lay in wait for them. Thus the Armada sailed forward till the English saw them anchor before Calais, on the 27th of July. Here, being joined by the before-mentioned squadron, the Lord High Admiral found himself in command of nearly 150 stout ships, and, bearing down on the enemy, anchored at a short distance from them. The Spanish admiral had anchored in the hopes of being joined by the Duke of Parma, but the fleets of Holland and Zealand blockaded him in the ports of Dunkirk and Niewport, and he dared not sail out. Seeing that the Spanish ships lay very close together, Lord Howard planned a new method for their destruction. Eight of the least valuable vessels being fitted out as fire-ships, and having their guns loaded, were conducted towards the Spaniards by Captains Young and Prowse, who, in the most undaunted manner, firing the trains as they got close to the Spaniards, retired. As the burning ships bore down upon them, the Spaniards, struck with dismay, cut their cables, and put to sea. The largest galliasse in the fleet ran on shore, and was captured by the boats of the squadron, after all her fighting men had been killed—the slaves at the oars alone escaping. Several thus ran on the shoals on the coast of Flanders.

The greater number were attacked fiercely by the English, who disabled many of their ships. The Earl of Cumberland sent a large galleon to the bottom, another was sunk by the Lord High Admiral, and two other vessels by Drake and Hawkins. Another large galleon, the Saint Matthew, was captured by the Dutch, as was the Saint Philip, after in vain endeavouring to escape, having been driven by the English towards Ostend.

One of the most gallant of the English commanders was Captain Robert Cross, who, in a small vessel, sunk three of the enemy; while the Spaniards fled whenever they were attacked—indeed, the whole engagement this day was more a pursuit than a battle. On the 31st of July, the Spaniards, who had attempted to regain Calais Roads, were driven towards the coast of Zealand, when, the wind favouring them just as they were almost on the shoals, their admiral came to the resolution of returning home round the northern end of the British Isles, and making all sail, they steered the course proposed, throwing overboard their horses and mules, and everything that could impede their progress. Lord Howard, leaving Lord Henry Seymour with a squadron to assist the Dutch in blockading the Duke of Parma, sent Admiral Winter with another into the narrow seas to guard the coast, while he himself pursued the Spaniards. Many more were lost in their hurried flight; some were wrecked on the coast of Scotland, and others on the Shetland and Orkney Islands. Those who landed in Scotland were brought to Edinburgh, to the number of 500, where they were mercifully treated; but nearly thirty ships were cast away on the Irish coast, where nearly all their crews, to the number of several thousands, who escaped drowning, were put to death by the inhabitants. About fifty-four ships alone of this mighty Armada returned to Spain, and of those who had embarked upwards of 20,000 men had perished. Not a family in Spain but had lost a relative, though King Philip, in a vain endeavour to conceal his rage and disappointment, forbade any persons to wear mourning.

The encouragement given to maritime adventure raised up a host of gallant seamen and explorers, whose names became renowned for their exploits, and who carried the flag of England into all quarters of the globe. Perhaps of these the most celebrated was Sir Francis Drake, who, having performed numerous daring exploits in the West Indies, sailed round the world, and returned to England, his ship laden with the booty he had taken from the Spaniards; good Sir Humphrey Gilbert, who, after making many discoveries, sank with all his crew off the coast of Newfoundland; Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Richard Grenville, Sir John Hawkins, and a host of others.

Among other expeditions was one intended for the South Seas, under the command of the Earl of Cumberland, who, at his own charge, fitted out three ships and a pinnace—namely, the Red Dragon, of 160 tons and 130 men; the Clifford, of 30 tons and 70 men; and the Rose and the Dorothy. Having touched on the African coast, they crossed over to South America, where they took two Portuguese ships, one of which had forty-five negroes on board, while the only riches in the other, besides slaves and friars, were beads and other spiritual trinkets, and the furniture designed for a new monastery. Several other prizes were made, when, without attempting to reach the Pacific, they returned to England. While numerous English vessels were cruising on the coasts of Old Spain, and destroying its trade and navigation, Thomas Cavendish was despatched with a small squadron to do the like on the coast of New Spain. He carried out his instructions, crossing the South Seas to the Philippines, and afterwards visiting China, having taken on his way many of the ships of the enemy.

To Sir John Hawkins the navy is indebted for the institution of that noble fund the Chest at Chatham, to which, also, Sir Francis Drake contributed considerably. Elizabeth, determined to retaliate on the Spaniards, fitted out a fleet in the following spring of 146 sail, which destroyed Corunna and Vigo, as well as the Castle of Cascacs at the mouth of the Tagus, and captured sixty large ships. In 1590 the queen allotted 8790 pounds a-year for the repairs of the Royal Navy; a sum which would go but a short way at the present day in building a single ship.

About this time the telescope was invented by Janssen, a spectacle-maker of Middleburgh, in Zealand. Hearing of it, Galileo immediately constructed his first very imperfect instrument, which magnified only three times. Further experiments enabled him to construct another with a power of eight, and ultimately, sparing neither labour nor expense, he formed one which bore a magnifying power of more than thirty times. With this instrument, he commenced that survey of the heavenly bodies which rendered his name famous as the first of astronomers. In the reign of Charles the Second, in 1671, Sir Isaac Newton constructed his first reflecting telescope, a small ill-made instrument, nine inches only in length—valuable as it was, a pigmy in power compared to Lord Rosse’s six-feet reflector of sixty feet in length. Torricelli, the pupil of Galileo, invented the barometer.

In 1591 the first voyage to the East Indies was undertaken by Captain Lancaster, in three ships. One was sent back with invalids, another was lost with all on board, and the crew of the captain’s ship mutinied while he was on shore on an uninhabited island, and ran off with her, leaving him and his companions for three years, till they were rescued.

Among the brave admirals of this period, one of the most gallant was Sir Richard Grenville, who, after serving his country for many years, sailed in the Revenge as Vice-Admiral to Lord Admiral Howard, in 1591, in search of the Spanish West India merchant-fleet, with a squadron of six men-of-war, six victuallers, and a few pinnaces. The English squadron was at anchor near the island of Flores, when the admiral received intelligence of the approaching Spanish fleet. He was in no condition to oppose the Spaniards, for, besides being greatly inferior in numbers, nearly half the men were disabled by the scurvy, a large proportion of whom were on shore. The admiral immediately weighed and put to sea, and the rest of his squadron followed his example. Sir Richard Grenville, however, remaining to receive the sick men, was the last to weigh. The admiral and the rest of the fleet with difficulty recovered the wind, but Sir Richard, not being able to do this, was advised by his master to set his mainsail and coast about, trusting to the sailing of his ship. As the Spanish squadron was already on his weather-gage, Sir Richard utterly refused to fly from the enemy, declaring that he would rather die than dishonour Her Majesty’s ship, persuading his company that he would pass through the two squadrons in spite of them. Standing for the Spaniards, he compelled several of them to spring their luff, who thus fell under the lee of the Revenge. Meanwhile, as he was engaging those nearest to him, an enormous Spanish ship, the great San Philip, of 1500 tons, being to windward, and bearing down upon him, becalmed his sails, so that his ship could neither make way nor feel the helm. This enormous ship now laid the Revenge aboard; while she was thus becalmed, the ships under her lee luffing up, also laid her aboard, one of them the Spanish admiral’s ship, mighty and puissant, two on her larboard, and two on her starboard side. The fight, which began at three o’clock in the afternoon, continued very terrible all that evening. The great San Philip, however, having received the broadside of the Revenge, discharged with cross-bar shot, shifted herself with all diligence from her sides, utterly misliking her first entertainment. The Spanish ships were filled with companies of soldiers, in some 200, in others 800, while the Revenge had no soldiers, besides the mariners, but the officers’ servants and a few volunteers. After a long interchange of broadsides, and small shot, the Spaniards attempted to board the Revenge, hoping by the multitudes of their armed soldiers and musqueteers to force her, but were repulsed again and again, and driven back into their own ships or into the sea. In the beginning of the fight a victualler, the George Noble, of London, after receiving some shot, fell under the lee of the Revenge, and asked Sir Richard what he commanded him to do. Sir Richard bade him save himself, and leave him to his fortune. After the fight had continued without intermission while the day lasted and some hours of the night, many of the English were slain and wounded, the great galleon had been sunk, while terrific slaughter had been made on board the other Spanish ships. About midnight Sir Richard was struck by a musket-ball; while the surgeon was dressing his wound, he was again shot in the head, the surgeon being killed at the same moment.

The first ships which had attacked the Revenge having been beaten off, others took their places, so that she had never less than two mighty galleons by her sides, and before morning she had fifteen other ships assailing her; and so ill did they approve of their entertainment that by break of day they were far more willing to hearken to a composition than again to attack her. But as the day increased, so did the gallant crew decrease; no friends appeared in sight, only enemies, saving only one small ship called the Pilgrim, commanded by Jacob Widdon. He deserves to be handed down to fame, for he hovered near all night in the hopes of helping the admiral, but in the morning, bearing away, was hunted like a hare among many ravenous hounds; but, happily, he escaped.

By this time all the powder of the Revenge except the last barrel was spent, her pikes broken, forty of her best men slain, and the most part of the rest hurt. At the commencement she had had but a hundred free from sickness, and ninety lay in the hold upon the ballast. By this hundred was sustained all the volleys and boardings of fifteen ships of war. Sir Richard finding himself helpless, and convinced that his ship must fall a prey to the enemy who now circled round him, proposed to the master-gunner, whom he knew to be a most resolute man, to expend their last barrel of powder by blowing up the ship and sinking her, that thereby the Spaniards might lose the glory of a victory. The master-gunner readily consented, and so did divers others, but the captain and master were of another opinion, alleging that the Spaniards would be ready for a compromise, and that there were many valiant men yet living who might do their country acceptable service hereafter—besides which, as the ship had already six-feet of water in the hold, and three shot-holes under water, which were so weakly stopped that by the first working of the ship she must needs sink, she would never get into port. Sir Richard refusing to hearken to these reasons, the captain went on board the ship of the Spanish admiral, Don Alfonso Bacan, who promised that the lives of all should be preserved, that the ship’s company should be sent to England, the officers to pay a reasonable ransom, and in the meantime to be free from the galleys or imprisonment.

From the report which the admiral received, no one showed any inclination to return on board the Revenge, lest Sir Richard should blow himself and them up together. On this news being returned, the greater part of the crew, the master-gunner excepted, drew back from Sir Richard, it being no hard matter to dissuade men from death to life. The master-gunner finding himself and Sir Richard thus prevented and mastered by the greater number, would have slain himself with the sword, had he not by force been withheld, and locked into his cabin. The Spanish admiral then sent many boats on board the Revenge, the English crew, fearing Sir Richard would still carry out his intention, stealing away on board the Spanish ships. Sir Richard, thus overmatched, was sent unto by Don Alfonso Bacan to remove out of the Revenge, the ship being marvellous unsavoury, filled with bodies of dead and wounded men, like a slaughter-house. Sir Richard answered that he might do with his body as he list, for he esteemed it not. As he was carried out of the ship he swooned; on reviving again, he desired the ship’s company to pray for him.

Don Alfonso used Sir Richard with all humanity, and left nothing unattempted that tended to his recovery, highly commending his valour and worthiness, and greatly bewailing the danger wherein he was, while he admired the resolution which had enabled the English admiral to endure the fire of so many huge ships, and to resist the assaults of so many soldiers. During the fight two Spanish captains and no less than a thousand men were either killed or drowned, while two large ships were sunk by her side, another sunk in the harbour, and a fourth ran herself on shore to save her crew. Greatly to the regret of the Spanish admiral, the gallant Sir Richard died three days after the action; but whether he was buried at sea or on shore is unknown. His last memorable words were: “Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and quiet mind, for that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought to do, fighting for his country, queen, religion, and honour, my soul willingly departing from this body, leaving behind a lasting fame of having behaved as every valiant soldier is in duty bound to do.”

A storm coming on soon afterwards, the Revenge, as had been expected, went to the bottom, while fifteen Spanish men-of-war were cast away, as were many of the merchantmen; so that of the whole fleet, which originally amounted to upwards of a hundred, seventy were lost. While the English sailors were scattered among the Spanish fleet, they received a visit from a traitor, one of the Earl of Desmond’s family, who endeavoured to persuade them to serve the King of Spain, but in most cases without success. In 1592 an expedition was fitted out by Sir Walter Raleigh, consisting of several queen’s ships and some of his own, with which he intended to attack Carthagena and other places in the West Indies; but as he was about to sail, he was superseded in the command by Sir Martin Frobisher, the queen wishing to retain him in England. Sir Martin was directed to proceed only to the coast of Spain, where he captured a large Portuguese carrack, which, to escape the English, ran on shore, and was burned by her people after the goods had been landed; but the English following made themselves masters of a large part of the booty and of the town of Santa Cruz. After waiting patiently for some weeks, another still larger carrack, called the Madre de Dios hove in sight. Though the Portuguese fought bravely to defend her, she was captured in the space of an hour and a-half. On going on board, the English, after hunting about for plunder, each man with a lighted candle in his hand, a cabin was entered in which there was a quantity of powder. The carrack was set on fire, and had it not been for the courage of Captain Norton, both the plundered and the plunderers would have been blown together into the air. The carrack, which was brought home in safety, was larger than any man-of-war or merchantman belonging to England. She was of 1600 tons burden, and measuring from the beak-head to the stern, on which was erected a large lantern, she was 165 feet in length. Her greatest beam was 46 feet 10 inches. On leaving Cochin China she had drawn 31 feet of water, but on her arrival at Dartmouth she drew only 26. She had seven decks—one main or sleeping, three close decks, one forecastle, and a spar deck of two floors. The length of her keel was 100 feet, and of the main-mast 121 feet; the main-yard was 106 feet long. She carried between 600 and 700 persons, and considering the length of the voyage, the large amount of provisions can be calculated. She carried fully 900 tons of cargo, consisting of jewels, spices, drugs, silks, calicoes, quilts, carpets, and colours, as also elephants’ teeth, porcelain vessels and china, cocoa-nuts, hides, ebony, bedsteads of the same, cloths made from the rinds of trees, probably of the paper-mulberry tree; the whole valued at not less than 150,000 pounds sterling. This shows that a merchant-vessel of those days was not much less in size than an East Indiaman of late years.

On the death of Elizabeth, the navy consisted of forty-two ships—two only, however, of a thousand tons each, though there were several of 800 and 900 tons; but the greater number were much under that size, being of about 400 tons and less. The larger ships carried 340 mariners, 40 gunners, and 120 soldiers.

A sketch of the history of privateering, which, during the reign of Elizabeth, grew into vast proportions, must not be omitted. The fearful atrocities committed by the Spaniards on the inhabitants of the Low Countries naturally created the utmost horror in the breasts of the Protestants of England against them. Large numbers of the Dutch and Flemish escaping to England from their persecutors, and spreading everywhere the account of the barbarities their countrymen had endured, further increased this feeling, till it extended over the length and breadth of the land, but especially among the people of the sea-ports, where many of the fugitives took up their abodes. When, therefore, an English shipowner, Clark by name, proposed fitting out a squadron of three ships to cruise against the merchant-vessels of that nation, who, in their bigoted zeal, had vowed to stamp out the Protestant faith, not only in the countries subject to their rule, but in England herself, there was no lack of volunteers. Those who were not influenced by religious feelings, were so by the hope of filling their pockets with Spanish gold. When Clark’s squadron, after a cruise of six weeks, returned into Newhaven with eighteen prizes, their cargoes valued at 50,000 pounds, applications from all quarters were made to the queen for letters of marque which would enable ships legally to carry on war against the enemy.

At the period of Elizabeth’s accession, owing to the treachery as much as to the supineness of her predecessor, of the Royal Navy which had been created by Henry the Eighth, only twenty-three vessels of war, few of them of more than 600 tons burden, remained. There was one only of 800, one of 700, a few being above 200, while the remainder were sloops or other small craft. The Government had therefore to depend chiefly on private ships in the war with France, and the expected struggle of far greater magnitude with Spain. Numerous English subjects had also suffered from the Spanish Inquisition, and Englishmen of rank and wealth considered that they were justified in retaliating on the authors of the cruelties practised on their own countrymen. From every port and river vessels fitted out as traders went forth heavily armed to plunder on the high seas any of the ships of the common enemy of mankind with which they could fall in. At first the bold privateersmen confined themselves to the narrow seas, pouncing down upon any Spanish ship which approached their shores, either driven in thither by the wind, or compelled to seek shelter by stress of weather. Many a trader from Antwerp to Cadiz mysteriously disappeared, or, arriving without her cargo, reported that she had been set upon by a powerful craft, when, boats coming out from the English shore, she had been quickly unladen, her crew glad to escape with their lives. The Scilly Islands especially afforded shelter to a squadron of vessels under Sir Thomas Seymour, who, sailing forth into the chops of the channel, laid wait for any richly-laden craft he might happen to espy. Among other men of rank who thus distinguished themselves were the sons of Lord Chobham. Influenced by that hatred of Roman abominations which had long been the characteristic of their family, Thomas Chobham, the most daring of the brothers, had established himself in a strongly-fortified port in the south of Ireland, from whence, sailing forth with his stout ships, he attacked the Spaniards on their own coasts. Coming in sight of a large ship in the channel, laden with a cargo valued at 80,000 ducats, and having on board forty prisoners doomed to serve in the galleys, he chased her into the Bay of Biscay, where, at length coming up with her, he compelled her to strike, when he released the prisoners, and transferred the cargo to his own ship. The Spaniards declare that he sewed up all the survivors of the crew in their own sails and hove them overboard; but as the story rests on no better authority than that of the Spaniards themselves, we may be excused from giving it credence. The stories of the cruelties practised by the Spaniards on their prisoners are too well authenticated to be doubted. The men who could be guilty of one-tenth part of the horrors they compelled their fellow-subjects in the Netherlands to endure, or those inflicted on the hapless Indians of America, were capable of any conceivable cruelty.

Petitions upon petitions poured in on the queen from those whose fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons had been put to death, or were still groaning in the Spanish Inquisition, or in other prisons, both in the old and new worlds. Dorothy Seely, whose husband was among them, entreats that she and the friends of such of Her Majesty’s subjects “as be there imprisoned, inflicted, and tormented beyond all reason, may be allowed to fit out certain ships for the sea at their own proper charges, and to capture such inquisitors or other papistical subjects of the King of Spain as they can take by sea or land, and to retain them in prison in England with such torment and diet as Her Majesty’s subjects had suffered in Spain.”

To strengthen this petition, it is stated “that not long since the Spanish Inquisition executed sixty persons of Saint Malo, in France, whereupon the Frenchmen, having armed and manned their pinnaces, lay in wait for the Spaniards, and took a hundred and beheaded them, sending the Spanish ships to the shore with the heads, leaving in each ship only one man to relate the cause of the revenge—since which time the Spanish Inquisition has never meddled with those of Saint Malo.”

Froude tells us that one of the French rovers, commanded by Jacques Leclerc, called by the Spaniards Pié de Palo—“timber leg”—sailed from Havre, and captured a Portuguese vessel worth 40,000 ducats, as well as a Biscayan ship laden with iron and wool, and afterwards chased another papist ship into Falmouth, where he fired into her and drove her on shore. The captain of the Spaniard appealed for protection to the governor of Pendennis, but the governor replied that the privateer was properly commissioned, and that without special orders from the queen he could not interfere. Pié de Palo then took possession of her as a prize, and afterwards anchored under shelter of Pendennis, waiting for further good fortune. As it was the depth of winter, and the weather being unsettled, five Portuguese ships, a few days later, were driven in for shelter. Ascertaining the insecurity of their position, they attempted to escape to sea again, but Pié de Palo dashed after them and seized two of the five, which he brought back as prizes. Philip complained to the English Government of the robberies committed on his subjects, and attempts were made to put a stop to these proceedings. A few of the rovers were captured, but were very quickly set at liberty again, and the privateers swarmed everywhere in still increasing numbers. In truth, Cecil, who knew perfectly well what were the ultimate aims of Philip, had no wish to damp the ardour and enterprise of his countrymen.

Not content with the booty they obtained in the narrow seas, the privateers, often in large fleets, boldly traversed the ocean in search of Spanish argosies in the West Indies and on the Spanish main. Drake, Hawkins, and Cavendish were among the foremost in these enterprises. Whatever may be thought of their proceedings at the present day, their example tended to foster that courage, perseverance, and indifference to danger characteristic of British seamen.

The King of Spain having granted letters of reprisals to his subjects, especially to cruise in the Levant and the Mediterranean, the Turkey merchants fitted out five stout ships with letters of marque, to provide for their defence—the Royal Merchant, the Toby, the Edward Bonadventure, the William, and the John. While up the Levant they were informed that the Spaniards had fitted out two fleets, one of twenty and another of thirty galleys, to intercept them. On this, Mr Williamson, captain of the Royal Merchant, was chosen admiral, and the commander of the Toby, vice-admiral. As they were sailing between Sicily and the African coast, they descried seven galleys and two frigates under Sicilian and Maltese colours, in the service of Spain, the admiral of which ordered the pursers of the English ships to repair on board his galley. One alone, Mr Rowet, accompanied the messenger. He was received in a haughty manner by the Spanish admiral, who insisted on the surrender of the English ships. On Mr Rowet’s return, the Spaniard signified his resolution by firing at the English, which was immediately returned, when the engagement began. The five English merchant-vessels, though heavily laden, maintained an obstinate fight for five hours, and so shattered were the Spanish ships-of-war, that the admiral first, and then two others, were obliged to haul off, scarcely able to keep above water. The remainder not having men enough to man their guns, soon after followed his example. The English lost but two men in this engagement, but their cargoes were too valuable to run any risk by pursuing the enemy; they therefore made the best of their way to England, where they arrived in safety, having, by favour of a thick fog and a brisk easterly wind, escaped the other Spanish squadron, which had waited for them off the Straits of Gibraltar.

The instructions in the articles of war drawn up by the Lord High Admiral, to be observed by the captains and crews of the ships of the Royal Navy, prove that it was expected that the seamen of those days should be pious and well-conducted men. They were to be openly read at service time, twice every week.

“Imprimis, That you take special care to serve God by using common prayers twice every day, except urgent cause enforce the contrary; and that no man, soldier, or other mariner do dispute of matters of religion, unless it be to be resolved of some doubts, and in such case that he confer with the ministers.”

“Second, Item, you shall forbid swearing, brawling, and dicing, and such-like disorders as may breed contention and disorders in your ships.”

“Five, All persons, whatsoever, within your ship shall come to the ordinary services of the ship without contradiction.”

“Sixth, You shall give special charge for avoiding the danger of fire, and that no candle be carried in your ship without a lantern, which, if any person shall disobey, you shall severely punish. And if any chance of fire or other dangers (which God forbid) shall happen to any ship near unto you, then you shall, by your boats and all other your best means, seek to help and relieve her.”

“Eighth, You shall give order that your ship may be kept clean daily and sometimes washed, which, with God’s favour, shall preserve from sickness, and avoid many other inconveniences.”

“Fifteenth, Every captain and master of the fleet shall have a special regard that no contention be found betwixt the mariners and the soldiers.”

“Nineteenth, No captain or master shall suffer any spoil to be made aboard any ship or barque that shall be taken by them or any of their companies, because the rest of the company have interest in everything that shall be taken.”

“Twenty-second, The watch shall be set every night by eight of the o’clock, either by trumpet or drum, and singing the Lord’s Prayer, some of the Psalms of David, or clearing of the glass.”

“Twenty-sixth, No person shall depart out of the ship wherein he is placed into another without special leave of his captain.”

“Twenty-eighth, No person whatsoever shall dare to strike any captain, lieutenant, master, or other officer, upon pain of death; and furthermore, whatsoever he be that shall strike any inferior person, he shall receive punishment according to the offence given, be it by death or otherwise.”

Most of these articles are still in force; but the first, excellent as they are, have unhappily too often been set at nought by officers and men.

Chapter Seven.

James the First—from A.D. 1567 to A.D. 1625.

As James the First was totally unacquainted with nautical affairs, having possessed no fleet when King of Scotland, disputes constantly arose respecting the honour of the flag, which the English claimed, and this induced the famous Hugo Grotius to write a treatise, in which he endeavoured to prove the futility of their title to the dominion of the sea. England, however, still maintained her right to be saluted by the ships of all other nations, and the learned Selden supported the English, asserting that they had a hereditary and uninterrupted right to the sovereignty of the seas, conveyed to them by their ancestors in trust for their latest posterity. During this period numerous colonies were settled, and the commerce of England extended in all directions by her brave navigators. The navy was not neglected, twenty ships being added by the king, and 50,000 pounds voted for the maintenance of the fleet. In the year 1610 the largest ship of war yet constructed in England was built by order of the king, and called the Prince. Her keel was 114 feet, her cross-beam was 44 feet in length. She carried sixty-four pieces of great ordnance, and she was of the burden of 1400 tons. She was double built, and adorned most sumptuously within and without with all manner of curious carving, painting, and rich gilding, being in all respects the greatest and goodliest ship that ever was built in England. Raleigh’s remarks to Prince Henry on the subject are worthy of note, though it appears his advice was not followed. He recommended that the intended vessel should be of smaller size than the Victory, in order that the timber of the old ship might serve for the new. “If she be bigger,” he remarks, “she will be of less use, go very deep to water, and be of mighty charge (our channels decaying every year), less nimble, less manageable, and seldom to be used. A well-conditioned ship should be, in the first instance, strongly built; secondly, swift in sail; thirdly, stout sided; fourthly, her ports ought to be so laid that she may carry out her guns in all weathers; fifthly, she ought to hull well; sixthly, she should stay well when boarding or turning on a wind if required.” He then continues: “It is to be noted that all ships sharp before, not having a long floor, will fall rough into the sea from the billow, and take in water over head and ears; and the same quality of all narrow-quartered ships to sink after the tail. The high charging of ships is that which brings many ill qualities upon them. It makes them extremely leeward, makes them sink deep into the seas, makes them labour in foul weather, and ofttimes overset. Safety is more to be respected than show or niceness for ease. In sea-journeys both cannot well stand together, and, therefore, the most necessary is to be chosen. Two decks and a-half is enough, and no building at all above that but a low master’s cabin. Our masters and mariners will say that the ships will bear more well enough; and true it is, if none but old mariners served in them. But men of better sort, unused to such a life, cannot so well endure the rolling and tumbling from side to side, where the seas are never so little grown, which comes by high charging. Besides, those high cabin-works aloft are very dangerous, in that they may tear men with their splinters. Above all other things, have care that the great guns are four feet clear above water when all loading is in, or else those best pieces are idle at sea; for if the ports lie lower and be open, it is dangerous; and by that default was a goodly ship and many gallant gentlemen lost in the days of Henry the Eighth, before the Isle of Wight, in a ship called the Mary Rose.”

These remarks show how attentively Raleigh had studied the subject of shipbuilding and, undoubtedly, during his time great improvements were made in the construction of ships of the Royal Navy. A large East India ship of 1200 tons was also built at Woolwich, and was the first trading ship of that size launched in the kingdom. The king called her the Trade’s Increase.

In 1622 the first established contract for victualling the Royal Navy was made, and every man’s allowance settled. It appears not to have differed greatly from that served out at the present day, except that on Friday fish, butter, and cheese were served out; showing that the Romish custom of what is called fasting on Friday had not been abolished. The king also gave annually 30,000 pounds worth of timber from the royal forests for the use of the navy.

The Dutch and other nations had, up to this time, been in the habit of fishing in English waters, but, though the pusillanimous king would not, of his own accord, have interfered for fear of giving offence, so great an outcry was raised by the people, that he was compelled to issue a proclamation prohibiting any foreigners from fishing on the British coast. Though in terms it appeared general, it was in reality levelled only at the Dutch. They yielded, and obtained by treaty permission to fish, on payment of certain dues. The nation at large gaining a voice in the management of public affairs, discovered also that vast abuses existed in the administration of the navy, as the large sums granted by Parliament were squandered, the brave commanders were unemployed, and cowardice trusted with the highest offices; and that frauds, corruption, neglect and misdemeanours were frequent and open. Numberless petitions were sent to the sovereign, and a committee of inquiry was appointed; the alleged offences were strictly examined into, some of the culprits were discharged, others fined, and way made for better officers. The Royal Navy being thus placed on a more respectable footing, the spirit of enterprise was encouraged among private persons, and trade once more flourished.

Considerable progress was made by the East India Company, and, in 1610, Sir Henry Middleton sailed with a larger fleet than had ever before been despatched to that part of the world. On landing at Mocha, Sir Henry was treacherously attacked during an entertainment to which he had been invited, when many of his people were killed, and he and the rest made prisoners. After remaining six months in prison, he and some of his people escaped and regained their ships; then, returning to the town, he threatened to reduce it to ashes unless the remainder of the English were released and a heavy ransom paid him. On this the English were set at liberty, and the sum was paid. He afterwards encountered a large fleet of Portuguese, who, attempting to impede his progress, he sank some and captured others. Several Portuguese ships were captured, and seventeen Arab vessels also fell into the hands of the English. On his voyage home, seized with a mortal illness, he died, honoured and lamented.

About the same time Captain Hudson, who had already performed three voyages to the north, again sailed in search of a north-west passage; but his mate, Ibbott, fearing the dangers they would have to encounter, formed a conspiracy. Hudson, and those who adhered to him, were set on shore, and perished miserably.

In 1611 the East India Company sent out another fleet under Captain Hippin, and the following year a second under Captain Saris, who reached Japan. By judicious conduct, and the due administration of bribes to many persons nearest the emperor, he succeeded in establishing a trade for the English with Japan, returning home with a very profitable cargo.

In the year 1611 the Muscovy Company despatched two vessels to commence the whale fishery. On board these vessels went three Biscayans who were accustomed to the business. Having set sail late, they had only time to catch one whale, but from it were made seven tons of oil. The rest of the crew having observed the manner in which the Biscayans performed the work, became thorough masters of the operation. Though this commencement was but small, it led to great results, and from henceforward there was no want of people ready to enter into the undertaking.

In consequence of the account given by those who were wrecked in the Sea Venture on the Bermudas, a colony was sent out, and the hitherto desolate islands were peopled by English settlers.

One of the most gallant exploits of this period was performed by Captain Best, who sailed in command of a fleet sent out by the East India Company. After remaining for some time at Surat, he caught sight of a vast fleet of Portuguese, numbering no less than 240 vessels. Having beaten off a number of them that attacked him, he continued his course. They, however, having repaired damages, the whole fleet came in search of him. As they bore down under a cloud of sail, threatening his destruction, he was advised by one of the Sultan’s principal officers to fly. Best replied that he would advise that to the Portuguese, and, weighing anchor, stood out to meet the enemy. The shore was crowded with natives eager to witness the engagement. It ended, after four hours, as the other had done. The Portuguese, after receiving immense damage, sailed away as fast as they could, and Captain Best returned and anchored in the harbour, amid the shouts of the people. The account of the engagement was everywhere told among the natives, and the courage of the English magnified to the highest. After touching at Achin, and renewing his friendship with the people, in the succeeding year, he arrived in England, rich in his lading, more in honour.

In the year 1613 the Muscovy Company sent out seven stout ships to catch whales. They were followed by several Dutch, Flemish, and French ships, and half-a-dozen English interlopers. The Company’s ships gathering into a body, ordered the others, in the name of the King of England, to depart from the coast, the fishery of which he had appropriated to his own subjects. The Dutch sending a taunting answer, the English replied with their cannon, compelling their rivals to take their departure, and the English private ships to fish for them. With this help, they made a good return.

In 1614 the celebrated pirate Sir Andrew Barton, with two ships, laid the coasts of England and Scotland under contribution. Two ships of war, under the command of Sir William Monson and Sir Francis Howard, were sent out to effect their capture. One of them was taken off Sinclair Castle, the seat of the Earl of Caithness. Sir Andrew for long managed to keep at a distance from his pursuers, having friends in various places, especially in Ireland, who gave him assistance. Among others was a certain Mr Cormat, who treacherously betrayed the Scotch pirate into the hands of Sir William Monson. His ship was captured, and he, with two or three of his officers, executed.

Considerable progress at this period was made in the science of navigation. In the year 1624 Mr Gunter, professor of astronomy at Gresham College, Cambridge, published his scale of logarithms, sines, etcetera, and invented the scale which has since gone by his name.

No darker stain rests on the memory of James than that of his judicial murder of Sir Walter Raleigh. Influenced by his evil councillors, the pusillanimous king offered up the gallant seaman as a sacrifice to the revengeful Spaniards, or rather to their ambassador, Gondomar. Cheerful to the last, the noble Raleigh bade farewell to all around him; then, taking the axe, he felt along upon the edge, and smiling, said to the sheriff, “This is a sharp medicine, but it is a physician for all diseases.” On being asked which way he would lay himself, he placed his head on the block, observing, “So that the heart be right, it is no matter which way the head lieth.”

Some lines written on Sir Walter’s death thus finish:—

“I saw in every stander-by

Pale death; life only in thine eye.

The legacy thou gavest us then

We’ll sue for when thou diest again.

Farewell! truth shall this story say,

We died, thou only livedst that day.”

Such was the end of the great Sir Walter Raleigh, once so highly in favour with Queen Elizabeth, and, next to Drake, the great scourge and terror of the Spaniards.

The Algerines were then, as they were for many years afterwards, the pests of the ocean. Their chief cruising ground was in the Straits of Gibraltar. Numerous English merchantmen fell into their clutches. The same determined spirit, however, which has since been exhibited by British seamen, existed in those days, and induced, on several occasions, the captives to make gallant efforts to effect their escape. Among these instances two are especially worthy of note.

The Jacob, of Bristol, was entering the straits when she was pounced upon by an Algerine and captured. The pirates took all the crew out of her with the exception of four, and sent thirteen of their own people on board to bring her to Algiers. Four of the captives, knowing the terrible slavery to which they would be subjected should they reach Algiers, resolved to attempt the recapture of their vessel. Happily for them, on the fifth night after they had been taken, a heavy gale sprang up. While the Algerine captain was assisting his followers to shorten sail, two of the English, who had been liberated that they might lend a hand, coming suddenly upon him hove him overboard. Having got hold of a rope which was towing astern, he had almost regained the deck, when one of the Englishmen drove him back with the pump-handle, the act being, fortunately, unobserved during the darkness and confusion by the rest of the pirates. This done, they made their way into the master’s cabin, where they found two cutlasses, with which suddenly attacking the pirates, they drove them from one part of the ship to the other, killed two, and made a third leap overboard. The other nine they drove between decks, when they forced the hatches down upon them. Making use of two or three of the Algerines at a time, as they required them for making or shortening sail, they carried the ship triumphantly into Saint Luca, in Spain, where the Algerines were sold for slaves. At the same time the Nicholas, of Plymouth, of 40 tons burden, commanded by John Rawlins, and the Bonaventure of 70 tons, were bound out together up the straits. On the 18th of November they came in sight of Gibraltar, when they discovered five ships, which they soon perceived to be pirates, making all sail towards them. In vain they attempted to reach Gibraltar; the Algerines coming up with the Bonaventure, she was captured by their admiral, while the vice-admiral soon afterwards compelled Rawlins to strike. The same day the admiral put on shore twelve of the Bonaventure’s crew, with some other English captives before taken, but the vice-admiral ordered Rawlins and five of his men to be brought on board his vessel, leaving three men and a boy, with thirteen Algerines, on board the prize. The following night, during a storm, the Nicholas was lost sight of. On the 22nd the vice-admiral, with Rawlins on board, arrived at Algiers. A few days afterwards the Nicholas arrived, when the prisoners were carried to the pacha, who, having chosen one of them for himself, the rest were afterwards sent to the market to be sold. Rawlins was bought by the captain, who took him at a low price because he had a lame hand, but perceiving that this rendered him unfit for work, sold him again, with two more of his men, to an English renegado, John Goodhall, who, with his partners, had bought the Exchange, of Bristol, a ship formerly taken by the pirates, which at that time lay unrigged inside the mole, and for which they wanted some skilful seamen. On the 7th of January, 1622, the ship, being fitted, was hauled out of the mole. She carried twelve cast guns, with a crew of sixty-three Algerines, nine Englishmen, one Frenchmen, and four Hollanders, all freemen; and for gunners, she had two soldiers, one an English and the other a Dutch renegado. Rawlins, from the first going on board, resolved to attempt regaining his liberty. For this purpose he furnished himself with ropes and pieces of iron, and iron crowbars to secure the scuttles, gratings, and cabins, and when, having gained over the other Europeans, he hoped, by being masters of the gun-room, ordnance, and powder, either to blow up their captors or to kill them as they came out of their cabins. He first made known his design to the English, and by degrees won over the four Hollanders, who offered to join them and gain the assistance of the Dutch renegadoes, while the English undertook to obtain the assistance of the renegado of their own nation. During this time Rawlins, who was acting as sailing-master, persuaded the Algerine captain to steer to the northward, though he knew very well that they had already passed the straits. On the 16th of February they took an English barque from Torbay, laden with salt. With the exception of the mate and two men, the crew were removed from the prize, and ten Algerines, with the Dutch and one English renegado, who were all in the plot, were sent on board instead. Before they left the Exchange, Rawlins assured them that he would make his attempt that night or the next, and give them a signal by which they might know when he was about it, advising them to acquaint the English in the barque with their design, and to steer towards the English coast. Next morning the Algerine captain got very much out of humour in consequence of not seeing the prize; and Rawlins, fearing that he might return to Algiers, thought it high time to put his plan into execution. He had already made the master and crew of the Torbay vessel acquainted with it; he now told the Algerine captain that there was a great deal of water below, and that it did not come to the pumps because the ship was too far by the head. For the purpose of remedying this an order was issued to bring four guns astern; two of them were accordingly placed with their mouths directly before the binnacle. Rawlins had already provided himself with sufficient powder, which he obtained from the gunner, to prime the pieces. He now assured the captain that in order to right the ship all hands must work at the pumps. While this was doing, two matches were brought, one between two spoons, and the other in a can, and immediately one of the guns being discharged, the binnacle was shattered to pieces. On this signal, all the English collected together, and having seized such arms as they could lay hold of quickly cleared the hold, while another party made themselves masters of the magazine and arms. The pirates, who were on the poop, now attacked the English, who, being by this time all armed, compelled them to cry for quarter. They were ordered to come down one by one. So enraged were the English that several of the pirates were killed, while others leaped into the sea. Thus of forty-five Algerines who were on board, the captain and five more alone were saved. With these the gallant Rawlins and his men arrived at Plymouth on the 15th of February, 1622. The Torbay barque reached Penzance, in Cornwall, having all along persuaded the Algerines that they were going to Algiers, till they came in sight of England. When the pirates were below trimming the salt, they nailed the hatches down upon them. Having come to an anchor, they carried their captives to Exeter.

Chapter Eight.

Charles the First to Termination of Commonwealth—A.D. 1625 to A.D. 1660.

The unhappy Charles ascended the throne under disadvantageous circumstances. His father had left him a heavy debt; the Duke of Buckingham, his chief minister, was universally hated, and England had greatly sunk in the estimation of foreign nations. James had agreed to furnish the King of France with some ships of war to assist him against the King of Spain or his allies in Italy. In pursuance of this agreement, Captain John Pennington was despatched in the Vanguard, having under him six hired merchant-vessels. The King of France, however, being hotly engaged in a war with his Protestant subjects, intended to make use of the ships for the reduction of Rochelle. Pennington, on discovering this, immediately wrote to the Duke of Buckingham declining so odious a service, and requesting leave to return to England. Buckingham, in reply, having obtained an order from Charles, commanded him to employ his ships in such service as the King of France should direct. The latter, at the same time, sent a letter to the English captain, requiring him to take on board a number of French soldiers, with his admiral, the Duke of Montmorency, and repair before Rochelle. This Captain Pennington, with true English spirit, refused to do; on which the French officer who had brought the letter returned on board the Vanguard to protest against him as a rebel to his king and country. Not content with having once done this, he returned again and enforced his request by threats and menaces, at which the seamen were so enraged, that they weighed anchor and set sail, crying out they would rather be hanged at home than be slaves to the French, and fight against their own religion. The Vanguard accordingly returned to the Downs. On his arrival, the captain sending an express to court with advice of his proceedings, immediately received a positive order, under the king’s sign-manual, to return and deliver up the ships into the hands of a French officer at Dieppe. Having complied with this order, he quitted the command, and he and all the officers and seamen, both of the Vanguard and merchant-vessels, left their ships and returned to England.

The whole nation burned with indignation when they heard that Captain Pennington’s ships had been delivered up to the French and employed against Rochelle, and demanded their immediate restitution. The French king excused himself on the pretence that his subjects, by whom they were manned, would not now quit them; on which, to appease the people, the Duke of Buckingham issued commissions of reprisal. The Saint Peter, of Havre-de-Grâce, and other French vessels were on this captured. Hearing of this proceeding, the French king not only absolutely refused to restore the seven ships, but seized on all the English merchants’ property throughout his dominions. To carry on the war with Spain a powerful fleet of eighty English and Dutch ships was fitted out under the command of Cecil, afterwards created Viscount Wimbleton. Ten regiments were embarked on board the fleet, under the Earls of Essex and Denbigh. They proceeded to Cadiz, when the troops, having broken into the wine-stores, became so excessively intoxicated, that had the enemy set on them they must have been put to the sword. The officers hastened, therefore, their re-embarkation, and the expedition returned without having effected anything.

In 1627 three expeditions were undertaken, professedly to assist the people of Rochelle, but, being badly managed, possibly through treachery, they all failed. It was while fitting out one of these fleets that the Duke of Buckingham, then Lord High Admiral, was murdered by Felton.

A severe action was fought near Ormuz, in the Gulf of Persia, between four English ships, under the command of Captain John Weddell, and four Dutch ships, with eight Portuguese galleons and thirty-two frigates. On hearing of the approach of the enemy, the English captain told his Dutch allies that he had resolved, for the glory of God, the honour of his nation, the profit of the worthy employers, and the safeguard of their lives, ships, and goods, to fight it out as long as a man was living in his ship to bear a sword. To whom the Dutchmen answered that they were of a like resolution, and would stick as close to the English as the shirts to their backs; and so in friendly manner each took leave for that night. The Dutch the next morning were the first to get into action. Friends and foes were now within musket-shot of each other, when it fell a calm, and the ships of the allies could not work but as the tide set them. When the Portuguese were aboard and aboard, they had a great advantage with their frigates, which often towed them clear one of another. Thus they lay four or five hours pelting and beating one another with their ordnance, while the Portuguese frigates plied the English and Dutch with their small shot as fast as they could, the Royal James being forced to keep the barge ahead to pull the ship’s head to and fro. Thus they fought on till night, several men being killed, the Dutch having also lost their chief commander. For several days the fight lasted. On one occasion the James singled out a Portuguese lying by her side with foresail and fore-topsail aback, so near that a man might quoit a biscuit into her, and fired not less than five hundred shots before she got clear. Thus the small squadron kept the enemy at bay, till scarcely enough powder and shot remained on board the Royal James for another day’s fight. The English lost 29 officers and men, and the Dutch about the same number. The Portuguese, whose fleet carried 232 guns and 2100 men, had 481 killed.

Another fight in the same locality, in the year 1625, between three English East India ships, the Lion, Dolphin, and Palsgrave, and eighteen or twenty Portuguese frigates, under the command of Don Rufero, ended more disastrously. The Lion, being boarded by both the admiral and vice-admiral, was dreadfully shattered, and torn in pieces in the stem, in consequence of the poop blowing up with fifty or sixty of the enemy on it. The Portuguese then left her, expecting that she would sink or burn down to the water’s edge, and pursued the Palsgrave and Dolphin, which, however, effected their escape. The brave crew of the Lion, having put out the fire, succeeded in patching her up sufficiently to reach Ormuz, where they received every assistance they required from the Sultan. They were in hopes of being relieved by other English ships, when Rufero with his frigates came rowing towards them. The Lion lay in such a position that she could only bring her chase-pieces to bear upon the enemy. So well were they served that they sank two of the Portuguese frigates before they could board her, and two more after they were by her side. So closely were the English then pressed by Rufero that, unable to open a port in the ship, they were forced to shoot away ports and all. In addition to this, the Portuguese so completely surrounded her by fire-works, that all her masts and sails caught fire, as well as her upper-deck, which in half-an-hour fell down on their heads, and drove them from their guns. On seeing death on either side, some leaped overboard, and put themselves on the mercy of the enemy, while the rest set fire to the powder-room, and blew up the ship. Those who were received on board the frigates were carried into Ormuz Island, and the next morning Rufero gave orders to cut off all their heads, with the exception of one Thomas Winterbrune, whom he sent with a letter to the merchants at Gambroon. The rest, twenty-six persons, were immediately beheaded. This will give us some idea of the mode of proceeding between belligerents in those days. The object of the Portuguese was to prevent the English and Dutch from interfering with their trade, and they hoped by such horrible cruelty to intimidate others from coming out, or else were actuated by a spirit of barbarous revenge. In 1626 the wages of seamen in the Royal Navy were increased to twenty shillings a-month, and of ordinary seamen to fourteen shillings, besides an allowance to a chaplain of fourpence, to a barber twopence, and to the Chest at Chatham of sixpence per month. A clerk and a keeper of all the king’s stores and storehouses at Chatham, Portsmouth, Deptford, etcetera, were also appointed.

An arbitrary tax having been imposed in the year 1634, by the name of ship-money, which compelled all the seaport towns to furnish a fleet to prevent the Dutch fishing on the coast of Britain; it was now extended throughout the whole kingdom. The fleet was to consist of 44 ships, carrying 8000 men, and to be armed and fitted for war; but, as will be remembered, the unhappy king raised the money, but spent it on other objects.

In 1637 was laid the keel of the Royal Sovereign, of 128 feet, the first three-decked ship built for the Royal Navy. From the fore-end of the beak-head to the after-end of the stern she measured 232 feet, and she had a beam of 48 feet, while from the bottom of the keel to the top of the stern-lantern she measured 76 feet. She carried 30 guns on her lower-deck, 30 on the middle-deck, 26 on the main-deck, 14 on the quarter-deck, 12 on the forecastle, and had 10 stern and bow-chasers. She was of 1637 tons burden; she carried eleven anchors, the largest weighing 4400 pounds; she had five stern-lanterns, the centre so large as to contain ten persons upright. She was built by Peter Pett, under the inspection of Phineas Pett.

The French, at the same time, began to establish a regular marine, having fifty ships and twenty galleys in their navy. And now, for the first time, was showed their superiority over the Spaniards, on which Cardinal Richelieu ordered the following motto to be placed on the stern of the largest: “Even on the main, our Gallic lilies triumph over Spain.”

A fund was now established by the king for the relief of maimed and shipwrecked or otherwise distressed sailors in the merchant-service, and for the widows and children of such as should be killed or lost at sea. To form it, sixpence per month was deducted from the pay of sea-officers, and fourpence from all sailors’ wages from the port of London. This fund was placed under the management of the Corporation of the Trinity House.

In 1640 the first frigate, the Constant Hardwick, was built, under the direction of Peter Pett. The king added ten more ships to the Royal Navy, which, at the commencement of the Civil War, consisted of eighty-two sail.

The Commonwealth.

We now come to that period when one of the greatest men who ever ruled England was to raise her to the highest position among the nations of Europe.

Numerous engagements had taken place between the ships adhering to the king, chiefly under the command of Prince Rupert, and those of the Parliament, under Warwick, Dean, Popham, and Blake. Blake having finally dispersed Prince Rupert’s ships, was appointed commander-in-chief of the British fleet. He was at first employed in reducing the Scilly Islands and various places in the West Indies and America, which still held out for the king. On war breaking out with the Dutch, he was summoned home to take command of the fleet sent against them. The Dutch had long been jealous of the commercial progress made by the English, who everywhere interfered with their trade, and they only now sought for an opportunity to break with their ancient allies. It was not long wanting. England claiming the sovereignty of the seas, insisted that the ships of other nations should strike their flags whenever they met them. On the 14th May, Captain Young, the commander of an English man-of-war, fell in with a Dutch squadron off the back of the Isle of Wight. The Dutchman refused to strike his flag, on which Captain Young, without further ado, fired a broadside upon the Dutch commander’s ship, which induced her to haul down her flag. This was the commencement of hostilities, which were long carried on between the two nations—the Dutch, notwithstanding the gallantry of Van Tromp, De Witt, De Ruyter, and other admirals, being in most cases defeated by Blake, Penn, and other naval commanders.

Soon after this Admiral Van Tromp put to sea with a fleet of upwards of forty sail, under pretence of protecting the Dutch trade. He was met coming into the Downs by a squadron, when he stated that he was compelled to put in by stress of weather. The English commander immediately sent notice to Blake, who was lying off Dover. Blake at once sailed in search of Van Tromp, and on approaching, fired to put the Dutchman in mind that it was his duty to strike his flag. Blake commenced the action with but fifteen ships, and with them, for four hours, fought the Dutchmen till, late at night, he was joined by the rest of his fleet. By this time two Dutch ships had been taken and one disabled, the English having lost none, when Van Tromp bore away and escaped.

In the Mediterranean, Commodore Bodley, in command of four English ships, fought a gallant action against eight Dutch ships, commanded by Admiral Van Galen. The Dutchman laid the English commodore’s ships aboard, but having been thrice set on fire, he sheered off with much loss. The second ship, which then took her place, was also beaten off, having lost her main-mast. Two others next attacked the commodore, but were defeated; though the English lost a hundred men, killed and wounded. The Phoenix, an English ship, had meantime boarded one of the commodore’s assailants and carried her, but was in turn boarded and captured by another Dutch ship, and taken into Leghorn Roads. Here Captain Van Tromp took command of the Phoenix. The Dutchmen, thinking themselves secure, spent their time in mirth and jollity on shore, when Captain Owen Cox, now serving in Commodore Platten’s squadron, hearing of what was going forward, manned three boats with thirty men in each. In addition to their weapons, each man was provided with a bag of meal to throw in the eyes of the Dutchmen. Captain Cox pulled in during the night, and got alongside the frigate at daylight. The boats’ crews had each their appointed work; one had to cut the cables, the second had to go aloft and loose the sails, while the third closed the hatches and kept the crew in subjection. Van Tromp was below, but hearing the alarm, he rushed out of his cabin, and discharged his pistols at the English, who were by that time masters of the frigate. Finding that his ship was captured, he leaped out of the cabin window, and swam safely to a Dutch ship astern. The Phoenix was carried off in triumph, and reached Naples in safety. Of course, the Grand Duke of Tuscany remonstrated, and ordered Commodore Flatten either to restore the Phoenix or to quit Leghorn; he was determined not to do the former, and sending to Commodore Bodley, who was lying at Elba with his small squadron, it was arranged he should come off the port, and draw the Dutch away. This he did. Commodore Van Galen’s squadron, at the time lying off the port to intercept him, consisted of sixteen sail; while, besides the Alfred, of 52 guns, he had only the Bonaventure, of 44 guns, the Sampson, of 36, the Levant Merchant, of 28, the Pilgrim and Mary, of 30 guns. He contrived, however, to let Commodore Bodley know his position, who attempted to draw the Dutch off, and clear the way for his squadron. Van Galen, after chasing for some time, perceiving Platten’s squadron, returned to attack it. During the action which ensued, the Bonaventure blew up, while Van Galen lost a leg from a shot, of which wound he died. Commodore Bodley’s squadron having now joined, the action became general. Captain Cornelius Van Tromp, who attacked the Sampson, was beaten off, but she was directly afterwards destroyed by a fire-ship. The Alfred, the Levant Merchant, and Pilgrim were all overpowered and taken, and the Mary alone effected her escaped, and joined the squadron of Commodore Bodley.

Another desperate action soon afterwards took place between the Dutch and the English in the channel, the English having 105 ships, and the Dutch 104. The action had lasted about an hour when Admiral Dean, the second in command, was cut in two by a cannon-shot. Monk, the commander-in-chief, seeing him fall, threw a cloak over his body to conceal it from the seamen. The ship of Van Kelson, the Dutch rear-admiral, was blown up after this. From eleven in the morning till six in the evening the battle raged, when the Dutch endeavoured to escape. Blake joined the English fleet during the night, and pursued them. About noon the battle was renewed, and for four hours continued to rage. Van Tromp grappled Admiral Penn’s ship, the James, and attempted to board, but was repulsed, and was boarded in return. The English having driven the Dutchmen below, Van Tromp ordered the deck to be blown up, when numbers of the boarders were killed, though he escaped. His ship was again boarded by the crews of the James and of another ship, and he would have been captured had not De Witt and De Ruyter bore down and saved him. The battle was decisive; eleven Dutch ships were taken and thirteen hundred prisoners, while seven were sunk, two were blown up, thus making twenty ships taken and destroyed.

Grand naval engagements were carried on in those days with very little order or regularity, each ship singling out an antagonist, and attacking her as opportunities offered. Even then, however, some of the more sagacious naval commanders discerned that this was not the wisest plan for gaining a victory. Sir William Monson, one of the most skilful admirals of the period, observes, that the most famous naval battles of late years were those of Lepanto against the Turks, in 1577, of the Spaniards against the French, 1580, and the English against the Spanish Armada, in 1588. After making various remarks, he continues: “The greatest advantage in a sea-fight is to get the wind of one another; for he that has the wind is out of danger of being boarded, and has the advantage where to board and how to attempt the enemy. The wind being thus gotten, the general is to give no other directions than to every admiral of a squadron to draw together their squadron and every one to undertake his opposite squadron, or where he should do it to his greatest advantage, but to be sure to take a good distance of one another, and to relieve that squadron that should be overcharged or distressed. Let them give warning to their ships not to venture so far as to bring them to leeward of the enemy, for it would be in the power of the enemy to board them, and they not to avoid it.”

The strict ordering of battles by ships was before the invention of the bowline, for then there was no sailing but before the wind, nor any fighting but by boarding; whereas now a ship will sail within six points of thirty-two, and by the advantage of wind, may rout any force that is placed in that form of battle—namely, that of the Spanish Armada, to which he is referring. The Admiralty, however, did not appear to agree with Sir William Monson, for the following instructions were issued:—“You are to take notice, that in case of joining battle you are to leave it to the vice-admiral to assail the enemy’s admiral, and to match yours as equally as you can to succour the rest of the fleet, as cause shall require, not wasting your powder nor shooting afar off, nor till you come side by side.”

The more sagacious commanders saw, that in order to ensure victory, something beyond a vast host of ships fighting without order was necessary, and perceived that the fleet which fought in line was in most cases victorious. The fiercest action of this period was fought on the 9th and 10th of August, when the English fleet, under Monk, came in sight of the Dutch, commanded by Admiral Van Tromp, who had with him many other celebrated officers, and nearly a hundred ships of war. Monk had about the same number of ships, which he drew up in line. The English manoeuvred to gain the wind, but Van Tromp, who had it at the first, kept it with advantage, and drew up his own fleet in a line parallel to that of the English, when, bearing down upon them, he began the battle with so great a fury, that many ships were soon seen dismasted, others sunk, and others on fire. A spectator, who was on board a vessel at a distance, describes the scene: “The two fleets were now enveloped in a cloud of smoke so dense that it was impossible to form a judgment of the fierceness of the battle otherwise than by the horrible noise of the cannon with which the air resounded, and by the mountains of fire which every now and then were seen rising out of the smoke, with a crash that gave sufficient notice that whole ships were blowing up. The battle lasted for eight hours, and was the most hard fought of any that had happened throughout the war. The Dutch fire-ships were managed with great dexterity, and many of the large vessels in the English fleet were in the utmost danger. The Triumph was so effectually fired, that most of her crew threw themselves into the sea, though others remaining behind put out the fire. Admiral Lawson engaged Admiral Ruyter, killed and wounded above half his men, and so disabled his ship, that she was towed out of the fleet. About noon Van Tromp was shot through the body by a musket-ball as he was giving his orders. This greatly discouraged the Dutch, so that they began to beat to windward, and to engage only in retreating, having but one flag still flying. As the smoke cleared off, the two fleets were seen in a condition which showed the horrible fury of the conflict in which they had been engaged. The whole sea was covered with dead bodies, with fragments, and with hulls of wrecks, still smoking or burning. Throughout the remainder of the two fleets were seen only dismasted vessels, and sails perforated through and through by cannon-balls. The English pursued them, but being afraid of the shoals, they came to an anchor six leagues off the Texel.” The loss of the Dutch amounted to 6200 men, including Admiral Van Tromp and Evertzen, with many other persons of distinction, with twenty-six ships of war sunk or burnt. On the side of the English, 7 captains and 500 men were killed, and 5 captains and 800 men wounded, besides which three of their ships were destroyed. Among the English ships were several merchantmen, and in order to take off the thoughts of their captains from their owners’ vessels and cargoes, Monk sent them to each other’s ships, a scheme which answered perfectly well, no ships in the fleet having behaved better. He also, it was said, to save time, issued orders at the commencement of the fight, that no quarter should be given or taken. This, however, was not so strictly observed, but that 1200 Dutchmen were saved from the sinking ships. On this occasion the Dutch set the example of fighting in line, though in their case, owing to the desperate valour of the English, the plan did not succeed as well as it did on many other subsequent occasions. Not without difficulty did the English ships get back to England. This victory compelled the Dutch to sue for peace.

It was at this time that the following song is supposed to have been written, showing the spirit which animated the nation. It is probably, as will be seen, the original of “Ye Mariners of England.”

“When gallants are carousing

In taverns on a row,

Then we sweep o’er the deep

When the stormy winds do blow.”

“Jack,” however, was to have his consolation, for at the end, as we read—

“When we return in safety,

With wages for our pains;

The tapster and the vintner

Will help to share our gains.

We’ll call for liquor roundly,

And pay before we go;

Then we roar on the shore

When the stormy winds do blow,” etcetera.

The gallant Blake’s latest achievement was the capture of numerous Spanish galleons, after a desperate battle off Teneriffe. He, however, did not live to receive the fresh honours Parliament was ready to bestow on him, as he died on the 17th of August, on board the George, just as she was entering Plymouth Sound. As Clarendon says of him: “He was the first to infuse that proportion of courage into seamen, by making them see by experience what mighty things they could do if they were resolved, and taught them to fight in fire as well as upon water; and although he had been very well imitated and followed, he was the first to give an example of that kind of naval courage which leads to bold and resolute deeds.”

The first duty of the English fleet after the restoration had been determined on was to bring over Charles the Second, who landed in Kent on the 23rd May, 1660.

Chapter Nine.

Charles the Second and James the Second—from A.D. 1660 to A.D. 1689.

The object of Roman Catholic France was to keep Protestant England embroiled with Holland, and in the profligate Charles the Second, a willing instrument was found for carrying out her designs. War was declared, and the Duke of York took command of a fleet consisting of 109 men-of-war, and 28 fire-ships and ketches, with 21,000 seamen and soldiers on board. The Duke having blockaded the Texel, was compelled at length for want of provisions to return to England, and immediately the Dutch fleet sailed out under the command of Baron Opdam, Evertzen, and Cornelius Van Tromp. Directly afterwards nine merchant-ships of the English Hamburgh Company and a frigate of 34 guns fell into their hands. Opdam at all risks was ordered to attack the English, which he did, contrary to his own opinion, while his opponents had the advantage of the wind. At first the battle appeared tolerably equal, but the Earl of Sandwich, with the Blue Squadron, piercing into the centre of the Dutch fleet, divided it into two parts, and began that confusion which ended in its total defeat. The Duke of York, who was in the Royal Charles, a ship of 80 guns, was in close fight with Admiral Opdam in the Endracht, of 84 guns. The contest was severe, the Earl of Falmouth, Lord Muskerry, and Mr Boyle, second son of the Earl of Burlington, standing near the duke, were killed by a chain-shot. In the heat of the action the Dutch admiral’s ship blew up, and of five hundred of his gallant men, among whom were a great number of volunteers of the best families in Holland, only five were saved. A fire-ship falling foul of four Dutch ships, the whole were burnt. Shortly afterwards three others suffered the same fate. The whole Dutch fleet seemed now to be but one blaze, and the cries of so many miserable wretches who were perishing either by fire or water was more frightful than the noise of the cannon. The English gave their vanquished enemy all the assistance they could, while with continued fury they assailed the rest. The English lost but one ship, while they took eighteen of the largest Dutch ships, sunk or burnt about fourteen more, killed four thousand men, and took two thousand prisoners, who were brought into Colchester. Among them were sixteen captains. As the bards of old stirred up the warriors of their tribe to deeds of valour, so the naval poets of those days wrote songs to animate the spirits of British tars. The following lines are said to have been written on the eve of the battle by Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset:—

I.

To all you ladies now on land

We men at sea indite,

But first would have you understand

How hard it is to write;

The muses now, and Neptune too,

We must implore to write to you.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

II.

For tho’ the muses should prove kind,

And fill our empty brain;

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind

To wave the azure main,

Our paper, pen and ink, and we

Roll up and down our ships at sea.

With a fa, la, etcetera.

III.

Then if we write not by each post,

Think not we are unkind,

Nor yet conclude our ships are lost

By Dutchmen or by wind,

Ours tears we’ll send a speedier way—

The tide shall bring them twice a-day.

With a fa, la, etcetera.

IV.

The king, with wonder and surprise,

Will swear the seas grow bold,

Because the tides will higher rise

Than e’er they used of old,

But let him know it is our tears

Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs

With a fa, la, etcetera.

V.

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be you to us but kind,

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,

No sorrow shall we find;

’Tis then no matter how things go,

Or who’s our friend, or who’s our foe.

With a fa, la, etcetera.

VI.

And now we’ve told you all our loves,

And likewise all our fears,

In hopes this declaration moves

Some pity from your tears;

Let’s hear of no inconstancy,

We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa, la, etcetera.

Notwithstanding this defeat, the Dutch in a short time were again ready for battle. The fight lasted without interruption from three in the morning till seven in the evening. The remains of the Dutch fleet made sail for the Texel, but were not pursued by the duke. “After the fight,” says Burnet, “a council of war was called to concert the method of action when they should come up with the enemy. In that council, Penn, who commanded under the duke, happened to say that they must prepare for better work the next engagement. He knew well the courage of the Dutch was never so high as when they were desperate. The Earl of Montague, who was then a volunteer, and one of the duke’s corps, told him it was very visible that remark made an impression upon him; and all the duke’s domestics said, ‘He had got near enough—why should he venture a second time.’ The duchess had also given a strict charge to all the duke’s servants to do all they could to hinder him to engage too far. When matters were settled they went to sleep, and the duke ordered a call to be given him when they should get up with the Dutch fleet. It is not known what passed between the duke and Brouncker, who was of his bed-chamber, and then in waiting, but he came to Penn as from the duke and said, ‘The duke orders the sail to be slackened.’ Penn was struck with the order, but did not go about to argue the matter with the duke himself as he ought to have done, but obeyed it. When the duke had slept, he upon his waking went out upon the quarter-deck, and seemed amazed to see the sails slackened, and that thereby all hopes of overtaking the Dutch was lost.” It was not the only occasion on which James the Second showed the white feather.

Of the unfortunate Dutch officers who escaped, three were publicly shot at the Helder, four were ordered to have their swords broken over their heads by the common hangman, and the master of the vice-admiral to stand upon a scaffold with a halter about his neck under the gallows, while the others were executed, and he was afterwards sent into perpetual banishment. Two more were degraded and rendered incapable of serving the States more.

Before long the Dutch had their revenge. Charles being easily persuaded to lay up his ships and pocket the money voted for their maintenance, the Dutch, prompted by the French, who promised their assistance, rapidly fitted out a fleet under Admiral Van Ghendt. To deceive the English, he sailed for the Firth of Forth, which he entered, and after firing away to little purpose for some time, took his departure, and joined De Ruyter, who with seventy sail of ships appeared in the mouth of the Thames on the 7th of June, 1667. A squadron was immediately despatched up the river, when the fort of Sheerness was burnt and plundered, though bravely defended by Sir Edward Spragg. Monk, Duke of Albemarle, hastening down with some land forces, sank several vessels in the entrance of the Medway, and laid a strong chain across it; but the Dutch, with the high tide and strong easterly wind, broke their way through and burnt the Matthias, the Unity, and the Charles the Fifth, which had been taken from them. The next day they proceeded with six men-of-war and five fire-ships as far as Upnor Castle, but met with so warm a reception, that they advanced no farther. On their return they burnt the Royal Oak, and damaged the Loyal London and the Great James. They also carried off with them the hull of the Royal Charles, which the English twice set on fire, but which they as often quenched. Captain Douglas, when the enemy had set her on fire, having received no command to retire, said it should never be told that a Douglas had quitted his post without orders, and resolutely continuing on board, was burnt with his ship, falling a glorious sacrifice to discipline, and showing an example of no common bravery.

While the Dutch were in the Thames, a large number of their merchantmen, however, fell into the hands of the English, amply recompensing the latter for the loss they had sustained. The gallant action of Captain Dawes, commanding the Elizabeth frigate, must be mentioned. Falling in with fifteen sail of Rotterdam men-of-war, he fought their rear-admiral, of 64 and five others of 48 and 50 guns, and presently fought the admiral, of 70 guns, and two of his seconds, yet got clear of them all. Shortly afterwards he engaged two Danish men-of-war, of 40 guns each, in which action, after four hours’ fight, he was struck by a cannon-ball, crying with his last breath, “For God’s sake! don’t yield the frigate to those fellows.” Soon after, his lieutenant being desperately wounded, and the master who succeeded him slain, the gunner took their places, and so plied the two Danes, that they were glad to sheer off. The English anchored within a mile of them during the night to repair damages. The next morning they expected the Danes again, but though they were to windward and had the advantage of the current, yet they would not venture—upon which the English, after having saluted them with a shot of defiance, bore away for England.

A squadron under Sir Edward Spragg was sent out to punish the Algerines for their piracies. He drove many of their ships on shore and burnt seven, each carrying thirty-four guns. In the same year, 1670, the captain and first lieutenant of the Sapphire were condemned to be shot for cowardice, having run from four sail which they supposed to be Turkish men-of-war, and also for getting the ship on shore, by which she was lost, contrary to the opinion of the master and crew, who offered to defend her. The sentence was executed on board the Dragon at Deptford.

The peace of Breda terminated for a time the contest with the Dutch. War was, however, soon again to break out. The statesmen Clifford, Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, and Lauderdale, the initial letters of whose titles gave the name of the Cabal to their ministry, now formed a scheme for rendering the king absolute; Charles, acting under the influence of the King of France, who agreed to assist England in humbling the States-General. Every slight offence committed by the Dutch was magnified into a sufficient reason for engaging in a fresh war with the States, till it at last broke out with great violence. The English had formed an alliance with the French, when their united fleets, under the command of Prince Rupert—the English having sixty men-of-war and frigates and the French thirty—encountered the Dutch under De Ruyter, who had about seventy ships. De Ruyter bearing down with his fleet in three squadrons prepared to attack the Prince himself, while Tromp engaged Spragg and the Blue Squadron, the English admiral having, contrary to the express orders of Prince Rupert, laid his fore-topsail to the mast in order to stay for him. The French admiral had received orders to keep aloof, which he in part obeyed, while owing to Spragg’s too daring conduct Prince Rupert found himself separated from a large portion of his fleet. The fiercest engagement was that between Tromp, in the Golden Lion, and Spragg, in the Royal Prince. For long they fought ship to ship, till the Royal Prince was so disabled, that Sir Edward Spragg was forced to go on board the Saint George, and Tromp quitted his Golden Lion to hoist his flag on board the Comat, when the battle was renewed with incredible fury. The aim of the Dutch admiral was to take or sink the Royal Prince, but the Earl of Ossory and Sir John Kempthorne, together with Spragg himself, so effectually protected the disabled vessel, that none of the enemy’s fire-ships could come near her, though this was often attempted. At last the Saint George, being terribly torn and in a manner disabled, Sir Edward Spragg designed to go on board a third ship, but before he was got six boats’ length a shot, which passed through the Saint George, struck his boat, and, though her crew immediately rowed back, yet before they could get within reach of the ropes the boat sank, and Sir Edward was drowned. The fight continued till sunset, when darkness and smoke obliged them on all sides to desist, the English having all this time maintained the fight alone against the whole Dutch fleet, while the French continued to look on at a distance.

The English could not claim this action as a victory, for though the Dutch carried off no trophies, they had decidedly the best of it. The English officers, however, behaved with the greatest gallantry, and had they not been so shamefully deserted by their pretended allies, would have won the day. Prince Rupert highly praised the conduct of the Earl of Ossory for the way in which he bore down to the rescue of the Royal Prince. Sir John Chichely and Sir John Kempenthorne, as did many others, behaved with conspicuous courage, while several commanders of distinction lost their lives. The conduct of the gunner of the Royal Prince, Richard Leake—whose son became the famous Sir John Leake—is worthy of mention. Before Sir Edward Spragg quitted the ship, she had lost all her masts, the larger number of her upper deck guns were disabled, and 400 of her crew, out of 750, were killed or wounded. While in this disabled condition, a large Dutchman, with two fire-ships, bore down on her for the purpose of effecting her capture or destruction. The lieutenant who had been left in command, believing that it was hopeless to resist, was on the point of striking, when the gallant Leake, calling on the crew to support him, took the command, and so ably fought the remaining guns that both the fire-ships were sunk, his large assailant compelled to sheer off, and the ship preserved from capture.

The nation, discovering that England had become the mere tool of France, loudly cried out for peace with Holland, which was signed in London on the 9th of February, 1674. By this treaty it was agreed on the part of the Dutch that their ships, whether separate or in fleets, should be obliged, as a matter of right, to strike their sails to any fleet or single ship carrying the King of England’s flag.

Very considerable improvements were carried out in the naval service during Charles the Second’s reign by the influence of the Duke of York. In 1662 a judge-advocate, John Fowler, was first appointed to the fleet. In 1663 an established number of seamen was fixed to each ship of war according to her rate, and servants were at this time first allowed to the captains and officers. Under this rating it was usual for officers to take a certain number of young gentlemen to sea, who, in consequence, gained the name of midshipmen. They are often spoken of as captains’ servants or cabin-boys, signifying that they were berthed and messed in the cabin—not that they had of necessity menial duties to perform. An allowance of table-money was first established to the flag-officers; a Surgeon-General to the fleet was also first appointed by warrant from the Lord High Admiral.

In 1666, in addition to the complement of men borne on board a ship bearing the flag of an admiral, fifty men were allowed; to a Vice-Admiral, twenty; and to a Rear-Admiral, ten.

We have the first instance in this year of gratuities being allowed to captains in the navy who were wounded in battle.

From the instances already given, it will be seen that the naval officers of those days possessed a dashing, dauntless courage which no dangers could subdue. The following is one among many others. The Tiger frigate, commanded by Captain Harman, was lying in the Port of Cadiz at the same time that a Dutch squadron was there. De Witt, the captain of one of the Dutch frigates, was particularly friendly with Captain Harman; this made the Spaniards insinuate that he dared not fight the English frigate. Evertzen, the Dutch admiral, on hearing this report, told De Witt that he must challenge the English captain to go to sea and fight him, to support the honour of his nation, and that he would assist him with sixty seamen and seventy soldiers. Captain Harman readily accepted his proposal, and on a day fixed both ships stood to sea, and began to engage within pistol-shot of each other. In a short time the Dutch ship’s main-mast was shot away. Captain Harman, availing himself of the confusion into which this disaster had thrown the enemy, boarded and compelled her to surrender, with the loss of 140 men. The English had only nine killed and fifteen wounded.

Since the increase of the navy, the Cinque Ports being of less consequence than formerly, the king granted them a new charter confirming their ancient privileges, with the addition of some regulations more suitable to modern times.

As an encouragement for seamen to enter into the navy, a bounty was given to all who entered on board first and second-rates of six weeks’ pay, and on board of third-rates one month’s pay.

In 1673 an order was issued to all commanders of His Majesty’s ships of war that in future they were not to require French ships to strike the flag or topsail, or salute, neither were they to salute those of the French king.

In 1673 the oaths of allegiance and supremacy were first administered to the officers in His Majesty’s navy. The king granted half-pay to several captains in the navy, according to the rates they commanded, as a gratuity for their bravery during the war.

The regulating and allotting of cabins to each particular officer was first established.

For some years merchant-ships had been sheathed with lead, and the experiment was now tried on the Harwich and Kingfisher ships of war, as also on several other ships ordered for foreign service. The practice was, however, in a few years discontinued.

The Royal Navy was now becoming far larger than it had ever before been. In 1675 the Parliament granted 300,000 pounds for the building of twenty large ships of war, one first-rate of 1400 tons, eight second-rates of 1100 tons, and eleven third-rates of 700 tons. At the same time the tonnage and poundage money was applied to the benefit of the Royal Navy. The Newfoundland fishery had begun to assume considerable importance, it being considered especially useful as a nursery to furnish seamen for the Royal Navy. Thus in the year 1676, 102 ships were employed, each ship carrying 20 guns, 18 boats, and 5 men to each boat, making in all 9180 men.

The corsairs which sailed forth from the States of Tunis, Tripoli, and Algiers, continuing their depredations on English merchant-ships, Sir John Narborough was in 1675 despatched with a powerful squadron to teach them better behaviour. On arriving off Tripoli Sir John sent Lieutenant Cloudesly Shovel, of whom we now first hear, to open negotiations with the Dey. That Oriental potentate, despising Mr Shovel for his youthful appearance, sent him back with a disrespectful answer. He had, however, made a note of everything he saw, and on returning on board he assured the commodore of the practicability of burning the piratical fleet. The night being extremely dark, the commodore despatched Lieutenant Shovel with all the boats of the fleet to destroy the ships in the mole. Lieutenant Shovel first seized the guard-boat, then entered the mole, and burnt four large armed ships, without losing a man. The Dey, terrified by these unexpected proceedings of the English, sued for peace; but, according to time-honoured eastern custom, delayed the fulfilment of his engagements, on which Sir John sailing in, cannonaded the town, landed a party of men, burnt some stores, and finally brought him to terms. One of the pirate ships carried 50 guns, one 30, one 24, and another 20 guns. These powerful rovers were indeed a match for any ordinary merchant-vessel, and often contended desperately with men-of-war. In 1677 the 26-gun ship Guernsey, Captain James Harman, fell in with one of them, an Algerine called the White Horse, carrying 50 guns, and 500 men, while the crew of the Guernsey numbered only 110. A fierce action ensued, when at length the Algerine, taking advantage of the Guernsey’s disabled state, sheered off, these pirates always fighting for booty rather than for honour. The gallant Captain Harman received three musket-balls in his body, and a severe contusion from a cannon-shot. He still fought his ship till he sank from exhaustion, when Lieutenant John Harris took command. The Guernsey in the action lost nine killed and many wounded, besides the captain, who three days afterwards expired.

A still more successful action was fought between the 40-gun ship Adventure, Captain William Booth, and an Algerine ship of war called the Golden Horse, of 46 guns, commanded by Morat Rais, a notorious Dutch renegado, who had a crew of 508 Moors and 90 Christian slaves. During the action a stranger hove in sight under Turkish colours; but night coming on, the Algerine drew off, when Captain Booth, having a fire-ship in company, gave orders to burn her or the new-comer. Fortunately, the fire-ship failed to reach either one or other, and in the morning the stranger hoisted English colours, and proved to be the 40-gun ship Nonsuch. The Golden Horse being dismasted, and 109 of her crew killed and 120 wounded, and having six-feet of water in the hold, surrendered.

In the same year a 42-gun ship, Captain Morgan Kempthorne, beat off seven Algerine corsairs, after they had made several desperate attempts to board her. Unhappily the Captain and eight of his crew were killed, and 38 wounded.

Many other similar gallant actions were fought with the Algerines and Sallee rovers, who, however, notwithstanding their frequent defeats, continued their depredations on the commerce of England and other European countries. Tangiers had been in possession of the English about twenty years, but, to save the expense of keeping it up, a fleet under Lord Dartmouth was sent out to destroy all the works, and to bring home the garrison. The destruction of the mole, which was admirably built, caused much labour, it being necessary to blow it up by piecemeal. Its ruins, as well as the rubbish of the town, were thrown into the harbour to prevent its again becoming a port.

The navy had long been held in high estimation by the English, who were always ready to grant any sum required for its improvement. It is stated that between the years 1660 and 1670 never less than 5000 pounds a-year was granted for its support. On the death of Charles the Royal Navy amounted to 113 sail.

James the Second.

James, on his accession, assigned a stated sum of 400,000 pounds a-year, to be paid quarterly from the treasury, for the service of the navy. Four additional commissioners were also appointed for the better regulating of the docks and naval storehouses, and for the more speedy repairs of ships of war. During this time a plan was proposed and patent granted for making salt water fresh by distillation. All captains and officers received orders to despatch perfect copies of their journals to the Secretary of the Admiralty. An increased allowance of table-money was granted in lieu of several perquisites and advantages they had before enjoyed.

The larger number of the officers and men of the navy were sound Protestants, who regarded the proceedings of James with jealous eyes; and thus, notwithstanding his magnificent fleet, Lord Dartmouth could only muster 17 sail of the line, chiefly third and fourth-rates, 3 frigates, 13 fire-ships, and 3 yachts to oppose the landing of the Prince of Orange.

On the 12th of December, 1688, James the Second finished his short reign by abdicating the throne, at which time the navy consisted of 173 sail, showing that he must have either built or purchased sixty ships.

Chapter Ten.

A View of Naval affairs in Charles the Second’s Reign.

A.D. 1660 to A.D. 1689.

When great guns or cannon came into use, the old style of fighting at sea was completely changed. We hear of them as early as the thirteenth century, employed in a naval engagement between the King of Tunis and the Moorish King of Seville. They were first used on shore by the English at the battle of Crescy, fought in 1346, and at sea by the Venetians about the year 1380. In the reigns of Richard the Third and Henry the Seventh they were first employed by the English at sea. They were not then, however, as now, pointed through port-holes, but were mounted so as to fire over the bulwarks of the vessel. In those days, therefore, ships of war could have had but one armed deck, and were probably urged by oars as well as by sails. Port-holes were invented by Descharves, a French builder at Brest, and the first English ship in which they were formed was the Henry Grâce de Dieu, built at Erith in 1515. She was said to have been of no less than 1000 tons burden, but as we are ignorant of the mode in which ships were measured for tonnage in those days, we cannot tell her actual burden. She must, however, have been a large vessel, for she had two whole decks, besides what we now call a forecastle and poop. She mounted altogether eighty pieces, composed of every calibre in use; but of these not more than fifty-four, according to the print before us, were pointed through broadside ports. The rest were either mounted as bow or stern chasers, or as “murdering pieces,” as they were called, which pointed down on the deck; their object apparently being, should a ship be boarded, to fire on the enemy. The calibre of great guns was not in those days designated by the weight of the shot they discharged. This was probably from the reason that the balls were not all made of the same materials. At first they were of stone; then those of iron were introduced; and sometimes they were formed of lead; and, at an early period, hollow iron shot, filled with combustible matter, were brought into use. Thus the weight of shot fluctuated too much to serve for the classification of the gun from which it was fired. Ships’ guns in those days were known as cannon, cannon royal, cannon serpentine, bastard cannon, demi-cannon, and cannon petro.

The Sovereign of the Seas was built at Woolwich Dockyard, in 1637, by Mr Phineas Pett, and Mr Thomas Haywood was the designer of her decorations. She measured, probably, about 1500 tons. He describes her as having three flush-decks and a forecastle, one half-deck, a quarter-deck, and a round house. Her lower tier had 30 ports which were furnished with demi-cannon and whole cannon throughout; her middle tier had also 30 ports of demi-culverins and whole culverins; her third tier had 36 ports for other ordnance; her forecastle had 12 ports; and her half-deck 13 ports. She had 13 or 14 ports more within-board for murdering pieces, besides a great many loop-holes out of the cabins for musket-shot. She carried, moreover, 10 pieces of chase ordnance forward and 10 right aft. This first-rate of the seventeenth century would thus have had 126 guns; in reality, however, these ports right forward and right aft, as well as those on the forecastle, had no guns, and thus she actually carried only 100.

About the middle of the seventeenth century the ships of the British Navy ceased to carry guns of a similar calibre on the same deck. At the same time the cumbrous forecastles and aftercastles, which must have been equally inconvenient both in action and in a sea way, were removed. The murdering pieces were likewise got rid of, and at the same time, an English ship of war could fire from her broadside half the number of guns she carried.

In 1546 Henry the Eighth possessed fifty-eight ships, which were classed according to their quality; thus there were shyppes, galliasses, pinnaces, and row-barges. The galliasse was somewhat like the lugger or felucca of modern days. She probably was a long, low, and sharp-built vessel, propelled by oars as well as sails—the latter not fixed to a standing yard, but hoisted like a boat’s sail when required. The pinnace was a small kind of galliasse.

In 1612 we find a list in which the vessels of the Royal Navy were classed as ships-royal, which measured from 800 to 1200 tons, middling ships from 600 to 800 tons, small ships from 350 tons, and pinnaces from 80 to 250 tons, divided into rates. They were six in number, and each rate consisted of two classes, to which different complements of men were assigned. We are not told what were the armaments of the classes. The division into rates was adopted to regulate the pay of the officers and seamen, as is the case at the present day.

In 1651-2, we find a list of all ships, frigates, and other vessels belonging to the States’ Navy classified by the guns they carried. Of these there were twenty-three classes comprised within the second-rates, exclusive of two unrated classes—namely, hulks and shallops or row-barges. The former were used either to lodge the officers and crews of vessels undergoing repair, or were fitted with shears to erect or remove masts. In the course of a few years after this, sloops, bombs, fire-ships, and yachts are spoken of as among the unrated classes; but in the sixth-rate were comprised vessels mounting only two guns. Towards the end of the century such small craft were classed by themselves as sloops.

In 1675 fire-ships first appear in a list of the navy. They were much used at that time for the purpose of setting fire to the enemy’s vessels. Mr Pepys, who is the chief authority on naval affairs at this period, says that the Dutch, in the year 1660, made a present of a yacht, called Maria, to Charles the Second, remarking, “until which time we had not heard of such a name in England.”

About the year 1650 a difference was made between the number of guns and men carried by ships in war time and in peace time, and in war and peace abroad. This difference, it is evident, arose from the inability of a ship to carry a sufficient amount of provisions for her crew when sent on a long voyage. When such was the case it was necessary to reduce both the number of men and guns, in order to allow room for a sufficient supply of provisions. As far as we can judge, a first-rate of the latter end of the seventeenth century mounted her guns on three whole decks, a quarter-deck, forecastle, and poop; a second-rate mounted hers on three whole decks and a quarter-deck; a third-rate on two whole decks, a quarter-deck, forecastle, and poop; a fourth-rate on two whole decks and a quarter-deck; a fifth-rate on her first gun-deck, with a few guns on her quarter-deck; a sixth-rate on a single-deck, with or without any on her quarter-deck.

There were at that period three-deckers of sixty-four guns, and two-deckers of only thirty guns. With regard to the guns themselves, the demi-cannon was probably a 32-pounder, the cannon petro a 24-pounder, and the basilisk a 12-pounder; the whole culverin an 18-pounder, and the demi-culverin a 9-pounder; the saker a 6-pounder, and the mignon a 4-pounder. The smaller guns were called swivels, and were mounted on upright timbers, having a pivot on which the gun traversed. Guns at sea were formerly known by the names of beasts and birds of prey, till about the year 1685 they were designated by the weight of the shot they carried.

In 1688 we find mention made of bombs, which were vessels carrying six or eight light guns, and one or two heavy mortars for the purpose of throwing shells into a town. It is said that they were invented by Reynaud, a Frenchman, and that they were first employed at the bombardment of Algiers in 1681.

In the year 1714 we find the navy divided into ten classes, ships carrying 100, 90, 80, 70, 60, 50, 40, 30, 20, and 10 guns. The first-rate descended no lower than to ships carrying 100 guns; the second no lower than to those of 90 guns; the third admitted all classes below and above 60; the fourth between 60 and 50; the fifth between 50 and 30; the sixth comprised all vessels below 50, except sloops, bombs, etcetera.

By the end of the reign of George the First, ships no longer carried guns on their poops.

The English style of naming the decks of a ship differs from that of other nations, and though perfectly understood by her crew, is calculated to puzzle a landsman. In a one-decked ship the deck on which the guns are carried is called the main-deck, while the deck below it, to which there are no ports, the lower or gun-deck. Hence the term gun-room, occupied by lieutenants or gun-room officers; indeed, the lowest deck of every ship is called the gun-deck. The quarter of a ship is that part of the side which lies towards the stern, and hence that part of the deck is called the quarter-deck, in reference to that portion of the ship’s length over which it originally extended. The elevation above it is known as the poop, and the raised deck over the fore-part of the ship is known as the top-gallant forecastle. In early days, as we have seen in the case of the Great Harry and other ships, and even in later days, both at the fore and after-part of the ship there were elevated structures, very properly called castles. In time these were done away with, but short decks elevated above the main or chief deck were still retained, as it was found inconvenient for the seamen when working the ship to descend from one of these elevated decks and then to be compelled to mount the other to get either fore or aft. They were connected by a grating or gangway of sufficient width to allow the crew to pass backwards and forwards. This gangway was still further widened; it being strengthened by beams running across the ship, allowed guns to be carried on it. The after-part had long been called the quarter-deck, and the fore-part the forecastle, while the intermediate part was now known as the gangway. This name was also applied to the space left in the bulwarks for entering or leaving the ship. These portions of the decks now assumed the appearance of an entire even deck running fore and aft, but it still retained the names originally bestowed on it, and its imaginary divisions. The centre part of the ship, where the gangway is placed, is also commonly called the waist, because originally there was no deck. The deck immediately below this once-divided deck is always called the main-deck. In a three-decker the next is called the middle-deck, and the lowest deck on which guns are carried the lower-deck. Below this again is one still lower-deck called the orlop-deck. A two-decked ship has no middle-deck, but possesses only a main and lower-deck, besides the before-mentioned quarter-deck, gangway, and forecastle. The deck on which a frigate’s single battery is carried is always called her main-deck, because the sailors are wont to denominate the upper-deck of every ship carrying guns the main-deck. In a sloop-ship or corvette the only deck, without any one above it on which guns are carried, is thus invariably called the main-deck, and, as has before been said, the one beneath it on which the officers and crew live, and which has no guns, the gun-deck. Ships which have their only gun-deck running fore and aft for the same height all along are called flush-decked ships. When the after-part of the deck is raised they are known as being deep-waisted, as is the case with many merchantmen. The highest deck of many men-of-war of all rates is often perfectly level, but others have a short raised deck, extending from just before the mizen-mast to the stern, which is called the poop, and in many instances serves as a cover to the captain’s cabin. When the admiral is on board he occupies the after-cabins on the upper-deck. In small men-of-war no cabins are placed under the poop, nor are they ever under the topgallant forecastle. On board merchantmen, however, where the poop is of sufficient elevation and extent to allow of it, the best cabins are always placed under it, while the crew are almost invariably berthed under the top-gallant forecastle. Of course, speaking of men-of-war, we are referring to ships as they were till the invention of low-sided armour-plated craft, which necessitated a great, if not an entire, change of terms, and the introduction of a considerable number of new ones.

Line of battle ships, as their name implies, were such as were capable from their size, strength, and the number of their guns, of entering into the line of battle and contending with the largest ships of the enemy. We first hear of ships appearing in that character in 1691, forming the British Channel Fleet under Admiral Russell. As far back, however, as the year 1614, in a list of the ships of the navy, the line of battle ships are separated from the others. They included all ships from the first-rate to the fourth-rate. A fleet was now attended by smaller, swift vessels, whose duty it was to look out for the enemy, and to perform other detached services. These vessels were comprised in the fifth and sixth-rates, and from an early period were denominated frigates. In early days a large number of fast-sailing or fast-rowing vessels, whether intended for war or for carrying merchandise, were called frigates. The word friggot or frigat, as it was often written, derives its origin from a class of long, sharp vessels used in the Mediterranean, and impelled either by sails or oars, which had a deck, the topside of which was higher than that of the galley. It in general had openings like port-holes, through which the oars passed. An Italian describes the fregata as a little vessel with oars, but whence that name is derived is uncertain. A species of swift-flying sea-gull is called by the French a frégate. We have also the frigate-bird; but the name is generally supposed to be derived from the ship, which, however, may not really be the case. It is very clear that its principal quality was the power of moving rapidly either with sails or oars. The French transferred the frégate of the Mediterranean to the northern shore of their country, and constructed it with bluffer bows and of a large size, to contend with the heavy seas of a northern region. English merchant-ships of the early part of the sixteenth century are frequently spoken of as frigates, and in the latter part of the century were often, as we have seen, hired by the sovereign to serve as ships of war. As we know from the accounts we have already given of the early voyages, some of their ships were denominated frigates. Thus, one of the ships serving with Sir Francis Drake is called the frigate Elizabeth Fownes, of 80 guns and 50 men. The Duke of Northumberland, then Sir Robert Dudley, towards the close of the sixteenth century, designed a ship to measure 160 feet in length and 24 in breadth, and constructed to carry a tier of guns on a single whole deck, besides other guns on two short decks, resembling the poop and top-gallant forecastle of a modern ship. He named his vessel a fregata, and her guns were placed exactly as those of a modern frigate.

He designed at the same time seven distinct classes of ships of war, which he named the Galleon, Ranibargo, Galizabra, Frigata, Gallerone, Gallerata, and Passavolante. His designs not being accepted, he, in the year 1594, built a vessel for himself at Southampton, which measured 300 tons and mounted 30 guns—of course, of small calibre. In her he made a voyage to India.

Charles the First possessed two frigates, the Swan and Nicodemus, each of 60 tons, 10 men, and 3 guns. They probably were only used as yachts. The Duke of Buckingham, who was Lord High Admiral from 1619 to 1636, ordered some frigates to be built from the model of two called the Providence and Expedition, captured from the Dunkirkers, mounting, it is supposed, from 20 to 30 guns, the greater number of which were on a single-deck. In consequence of seeing a French frigate in the Thames, Mr Peter Pett took her as his model for building the Constant Warwick in 1649, which was, as he says, the first frigate built in England. She was intended as a privateer for the Earl of Warwick, who afterwards sold her to the king. She measured somewhat under 400 tons, and mounted 60 guns, consisting of 18 light demi-culverins or short 9-pounders on the main-deck, 6 light sakers on the quarter-deck, and 2 mignons on the after-raised deck, which we should now call the poop.

In those days, and for many years afterwards, the English were addicted to crowding their vessels with guns, and there can be no doubt that many, like the Mary Rose and others, were in consequence lost; especially as their lower-deck ports were often not more than three feet above the water. The Constant Warwick had afterwards many more guns placed in her, so that she ultimately rated as a 46-gun ship, when, from being an incomparable sailer, she became a slug. Mr Pepys remarks on this subject, in 1663 and 1664: “The Dutch and French built ships of two decks, which carried from 60 to 70 guns, and so contrived that they carried their lower guns four feet from the water, and could stow four months’ provisions—whereas our frigates from the Dunkirk build, which were narrower and sharper, carried their guns but little more than three feet from the water and but ten weeks provisions.”

Attempts were made to counteract this great defect, but without much success. For several years afterwards Mr Pepys still complained that frigates were unable to stow a sufficient quantity of provisions, or to carry their guns high enough out of the water to make them safe.

Up to the early part of the eighteenth century it was a general complaint that ships of war had more guns placed on board than they could carry—in consequence, that their lower batteries could not be opened when there was any sea on, and that they sailed and worked heavily. It is wonderful, indeed, how British seamen managed to keep them afloat, as it is worthy of note that those which fell into the hands of the enemy were nearly always lost under charge of their new masters. The English, it was said, employed the best materials and workmanship on their vessels, but the French greatly surpassed them in their models. The English were the first to abandon the flat form of the stern under the counter, and to introduce the curved instead, by which greater strength and lightness as well as beauty was obtained.

In 1748 a ship of 585 tons, to carry 28 guns, 9-pounders on the main-deck and 3-pounders on the quarter-deck, was built; and in 1757 five other vessels, also called frigates, to carry 28 guns, were constructed of fir instead of oak, of the same size; but one of them was captured by the French, and the others in about nine years were broken up as unserviceable.

The first ship which, according to our present ideas, could properly be considered a frigate, was the Southampton, built at Rotherhithe in the year 1757 by Mr Robert Inwood, according to a draft of Sir Thomas Slade, one of the surveyors of the navy. She measured 671 tons, and mounted 26 12-pounders on the main-deck, 4 6-pounders on the quarter-deck, and 2 6-pounders on the forecastle. She thus carried all her guns on a single whole deck, a quarter-deck and forecastle, the characteristic of the true frigate. She was considered a prime sailer and first-rate sea-boat, and lasted for fifty-six years, and possibly would have lasted longer had she not gone to pieces on the rocks.

Shortly after this several 36-gun frigates were built. Each was about fifty tons larger than the Southampton, and carried four guns more, which were placed on the quarter-deck.

Several French 36-gun frigates captured by the English were found to be considerably larger. One, the Dana, was of 941 tons; and three French 32-gun frigates averaged about 700 tons, though armed like the Southampton.

About 1779 five frigates of 38 guns, and averaging 946 tons, were launched. They were the Minerva, built at Woolwich, the Arethusa, Latona, Phaeton, and Thetis. They were first armed with 28 18-pounders on the main-deck and 10 6-pounders, 8 18-pound carronades and 14 swivels on the quarter-deck and forecastle, and with a complement of 270 men. Shortly afterwards the complement was increased to 280 men, 9-pounders were placed on board instead of the sixes, the swivels were omitted, and carronades substituted.

About the same time frigates of 880 tons, to carry 36 guns, 18 and 9-pounders, were built.

Formerly, as has been seen, a number of small vessels were classed as frigates. About the year 1775 they were placed in a different rate, and those carrying 20 guns had now the name of 20-gun post-ships given to them, signifying that they were commanded by post-captains. Afterwards vessels still called frigates, carrying 24 guns, were also ranked as post-ships. The French called vessels of this size corvettes, from the Italian word corvettore, to leap or bound, from which we have derived the word curvet. The French afterwards applied the name to ships of 24 guns. In order to mount all these guns on a single tier, it was necessary to increase the dimensions of the ship, and thus she could carry heavier metal than those ships mounting their guns on a quarter-deck and forecastle. The English, following their example, afterwards called all ships carrying 24, 22, and 20 guns post-ships, and those carrying 18, 16, and 14, or any less number, ship-sloops, to which the general term of corvette was afterwards applied. The English did not apply the term corvette to brigs, but designated such two-masted vessels as brigs-of-war, though they are sometimes spoken of as brig-sloops.

It will thus be understood that a ship that mounts 24 guns at least on a single-deck, and other guns on a quarter-deck and forecastle, is properly called a frigate. When, however, the waist is decked over and has raised bulwarks with ports in them filled with guns, the vessel becomes a two-decked ship.

It is necessary to explain the term “flush.” In sea language it means level, a flush-deck is consequently a level deck extending fore and aft. Such are all the decks of a man-of-war, except of the upper ones. Many merchantmen are also built in the same way, but others rise abruptly a foot, or two or three feet, towards the stern, the higher part of the deck becoming the quarter-deck. Ships thus built are spoken of as deep-waisted, because the centre part is deeper or lower than the after-part. The bulwarks in the same way sink in proportion at the break of the quarter-deck. Up to the present day many of the largest ships-of-war are flush-decked, as are all brigs-of-war and many corvettes, but a frigate, which must have a quarter-deck and forecastle, cannot properly be said to be flush-decked, although, in fact, the gratings or gangway at the waist give her the appearance of being so to the unsophisticated eye.

Our knowledge of the state of the navy during the reigns of Charles the Second and his brother is derived chiefly from Mr Samuel Pepys, who was clerk of the Acts, through the interest of his relative the Earl of Sandwich, and was ultimately clerk of the treasurer to the commissioners of the affairs of Tangier, and surveyor-general of the victualling department. He spared no pains to check the rapacity of contractors by whom the naval stores were then supplied; he studied order and economy in the dockyards, advocated the promotion of old-established officers in the navy, and resisted to the utmost the infamous system of selling places, then most unblushingly practised. During the Dutch war the care of the navy in a great measure rested upon him alone, and by his zeal and industry he gained the esteem of the Duke of York, with whom, as Lord High Admiral, he was in constant intercourse. Thus from his diary we can gain a pretty accurate knowledge of the customs of the times in the naval service, and the way the affairs of the navy were managed.

In an entry of the 4th of June, 1661, he describes a dinner, where the discourse was on the subject of young noblemen and gentlemen who thought of going to sea, the naval service being considered as noble as that of the land. Lord Crewe remarked that “in Queen Elizabeth’s time one young nobleman would wait with a trencher at the back of another till he come of age himself;” and he mentioned the Earl of Kent, who was waiting on Lord Bedford at table when a letter came to that lord announcing that the earldom had fallen to his servant the young lord; at which he rose from table and made him sit down in his place, taking a lower for himself.

It was undoubtedly in this way that many lads of family went to sea to serve as cabin-boys to captains of distinction, and at the same time to learn seamanship and navigation.

He gives an amusing account of the sale of two ships at an auction by an inch of candle. The auctioneer put them up when the candle was first lighted, and bidding went on till it was burnt down. He describes “how they do invite one another, and at last how they all do cry, and we have much to do to tell who did cry last. The ships were the Indian, sold for 1300 pounds, and the Half-Moone, sold for 830 pounds.” Of course, the ships were knocked down to the person who made the last bidding before the candle was burnt out.

It is no wonder that naval affairs went wrong in those days, when money was wanting to pay both officers and seamen, and to supply stores and provisions; indeed, what should have been devoted to the purpose was fearfully misappropriated. On the 14th of August, 1661, he says: “This morning Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Penn and I waited upon the Duke of York in his chamber, to give him an account of the condition of the navy for lack of money, and how our own very bills are offered upon the exchange to be sold at 20 in the 100 loss. He is much troubled at it, and will speak to the king and council of it this morning.”

The debts of the navy at that time amounted to near 374,000 pounds. He tells us that he was “writing a little treatise to present to the duke, about our privileges in the seas, as to other nations striking their flags to us.” The English had long claimed the right to have this honour paid to their flag, though the people of other countries were naturally inclined to dispute it, and if not the cause was the pretext of our wars with the Dutch.

On the 25th of January he met Sir Richard Brown, and discussed with him Sir N. Crisp’s project for “making a great sluice in the king’s lands about Deptford, to be a wet-dock to hold 200 sail of ships. But the ground, it seems, was long since given by the king to Sir Richard.”

On the 14th of March the German Dr Knuffler “came to discourse about his engine to blow up ships. We doubted not the matter of fact, it being tried in Cromwell’s time, but the safety of carrying them in ships; but he do tell us that when he comes to tell the king his secret (for none but the kings successively and their heirs must know it), it will appear to be of no danger at all. We concluded nothing, but shall discourse with the Duke of York tomorrow about it.”

Chaplains were appointed in those days to ships, though several instances are given which prove that they were not men likely to advance the interests of religion. After visiting the yard, he went on board the Swallow in the dock, “where our navy chaplain preached a sad sermon, full of nonsense and false Latin; but prayed for the Right Honourable the principall officers.”

Again, he speaks of many rogueries practised. Among others, on the 4th of June he went “by water to Woolwich, and there saw an experiment made of Sir R. Ford’s Holland’s yarne (about which we have lately had so much stir, and I have much concerned myself for our ropemaker, Mr Hughes, who represented it so bad), and we found it to be very bad, and broke sooner than upon a fair trial, five threads of that against four of Riga yarne; and also that some of it had old stuffe that had been tarred, covered over with new hempe, which is such a cheat as hath not been heard of.”

The war with the Dutch had not yet commenced, but there was every probability of it soon breaking out, though the English fleet was at that time in a sadly unprepared state. On the 28th of June, 1662, he says: “Great talk there is of a fear of a war with the Dutch, and we have orders to pitch upon 20 ships to be forthwith set out; but I hope it is but a scarecrow to the world to let them see that we can be ready for them; though God knows, the king is not able to set out five ships at this present without great difficulty, we neither having money, credit, nor stores.”

With regard to the stores, he says, on the 21st of July: “To Woolwich to the rope-yard, and there looked over several sorts of hemp, and did fall upon my great survey of seeing the working and experiments of the strength and the charge in the dressing of every sort; and I do think have brought it to so great a certainty, as I have done the king some service in it, and do purpose to get it ready against the duke’s coming to towne to present to him. I see it is impossible for the king to have things done as cheap as other men.”

On the 4th of September he remarks, notwithstanding all their shortcomings, that the fleet was in a far better condition than in the days of Queen Elizabeth. “Sir William Compton I heard talk with great pleasure of the difference between the fleet now and in Queen Elizabeth’s days; where, in 1588, she had but 36 sail great and small in the world, and ten rounds of powder was their allowance at that time against the Spaniards.”

He speaks of yachts as pleasure vessels, a name derived from the Dutch, one of which class of vessels so-called had been presented by them to the late king. “By water to Woolwich; in my way saw the yacht lately built by our virtuosos (my Lord Brunkard and others, with the help of Commissioner Pett also), set out from Greenwich with the little Dutch bezan to try for mastery; and before they got to Woolwich the Dutch beat them half-a-mile (and I hear this afternoon that, in coming home, it got above three miles), which all our people are glad of.”

On the 18th of February, 1663, he says that he finds “the true charge of the navy” to be “after the rate of 374,743 pounds a-year.”

On the 14th of April Sir George Carteret tells him that Parliament “will call all things in question; and, above all, the expenses of the navy;” “and into the truth of the report of people being forced to sell their bills at 15 per cent, losse in the navy.”

On the 23rd of May Sir George says that Parliament intend to report 200,000 pounds per annum as the ordinary charge of the navy.

The importance of having wet-docks in which ships could be fitted out was well understood. He speaks of finding certain creeks at Portsmouth, and mentions Commissioner Pett’s design to form a wet-dock in Saint Mary’s creek, “which can be done at no great charge, and yet no little one; he thinks, towards 10,000 pounds;” and that the place is likely to be a very fit one when the king has money to do it with.

He mentions a letter of Sir William Petty, “wherein he says that his vessel, which he hath built upon two keels (a model whereof, built for the king, he shewed me), hath this month won a wager of 50 pounds, in sailing between Dublin and Holyhead, with the pacquett-boat, the best ship or vessel the king hath there; and he offers to lay with any vessel in the world. It is about 30 ton in burden, and carries 30 men, with good accommodation (as much more as any ship of her burden), and so any vessel of this figure shall carry more men, with better accommodation by half, than any other ship. This carries also ten guns of about five tons weight. In their coming back from Holyhead they started together, and this vessel came to Dublin by five at night, and the pacquett-boat not before eight the next morning; and when they come they did believe that this vessel had been drowned, or at least behind, not thinking she could have lived in that sea.” He concludes, “I only affirm that the perfection of sailing lies in my principle, find it out who can.”

By his account we find that machines to perform the same service as torpedoes were thought of in those days. He tells “Dr Allen,” with whom he had “some good discourse about physick and chymistry, what Dribble, the German Doctor, do offer of an instrument to sink ships he tells me that which is more strange, that something made of gold, which they call in chymistry aurum fulminans, a grain, I think he said, of it, put into a silver spoon and fired, will give a blow like a musquett, and strike a hole through the silver spoon downward, without the least force upward.”

He gives an amusing account of a trial about the insurance of a ship, before Lord Chief-Justice Hide. “It was pleasant to see what mad sort of testimonys the seamen did give, and could not be got to speak in order; and then their terms such as the judge could not understand; and to hear how sillily the counsel and judge would speak as to the terms necessary in the matter, would make one laugh; and, above all, a Frenchman, that was forced to speak in French, and took an English oath he did not understand, and had an interpreter sworn to tell us what he said, which was the best testimony of all.”

On the 3rd of December, 1663, he gives us the satisfactory intelligence “that the navy (excepting what is due to the yards upon the quarter now going on) is quite out of debt; which is extraordinary good news, and upon the ’Change, to hear how our credit goes as good as any merchant’s upon the ’Change is a joyfull thing to consider, which God continue!”

The next day he remarks, “The King of France, they say, is hiring of 60 sail of ships of the Dutch, but it is not said for what design.”

On the 22nd of January he went down to Deptford, “and there viewed Sir William Petty’s vessel; which hath an odd appearance, but not such as people do make of it.”

On the 4th of March he “saw several people trying a new-fashion gun, brought by my Lord Peterborough this morning, to shoot off often, one after another, without trouble or danger.” This must have been something of the fashion of a revolver of the present day.

One of the first entries regarding the Dutch war is on the 21st of November, 1644. “This day, for certain, news is come that Teddiman hath brought in eighteen or twenty Dutchmen, merchants, their Bourdeaux fleet, and two men-of-war to Portsmouth. And I had letters this afternoon, that three are brought into the Downes and Dover; so that the warr is begun: God give a good end to it!”

On the 31st of December he says: “My Lord Sandwich at sea with the fleet at Portsmouth, sending some about to cruise for taking of ships, which we have done to a great number.”

On the 11th of January, 1665: “This evening, by a letter from Plymouth, I hear that two of our ships, the Leopard and another, in the Straights, are lost by running aground; and that three more had like to have been so, but got off, whereof Captain Allen one; and that a Dutch fleet are gone thither; and if they should meet with our lame ships, God knows what would become of them. This I reckon most sad news; God make us sensible of it!”

The following remarks show the threatening attitude of the Dutch: on the 12th of January, 1665, “Spoke with a Frenchman, who was taken, but released, by a Dutch man-of-war, of 36 guns (with seven more of the king’s or greater ships), off the North Foreland, by Margett. Which is a strange attempt, that they should come to our teeth; but, the wind being easterly, the wind that should bring our force from Portsmouth, will carry them away home.”

On the 15th he was called in, with Sir William Penn, to see the king, “And there Sir W. Penn spoke pretty well to dissuade the king from letting the Turkish ships go out; saying (in short), the king having resolved to have 130 ships out by the spring, he must have above 20 of them merchantmen. Towards which, he, in the whole river, could find but 12 or 14, and of them the five ships taken up by these merchants were a part, and so could not be spared. That we should need 30,000 sailors to man these 130 ships, and of them, in service, we have not above 16,000; so that we shall need 14,000 more. That these ships will, with their convoys, carry about 2000 men, and those the best men that could be got; it being the men used to the southward that are the best men of warr, though those bred in the north, among the colliers, are good for labour. That it will not be safe for the merchants, nor honourable for the king, to expose these rich ships with his convoy of six ships to go, it not being enough to secure them against the Dutch, who, without doubt, will have a great fleet in the Straights.”

At a visit of the Duke of York, he hears, by a letter from Captain Allen, “First, of our own loss of two ships, the Phoenix and Nonsuch, in the Bay of Gibraltar; then of his and his seven ships with him, in the Bay of Cales, or thereabouts, fighting with the 34 Dutch Smyrna fleet; sinking the King Solomon, a ship worth 150,000 pounds, or more, some say 200,000 pounds, and another; and taking of three merchant-ships. Two of our ships were disabled by the Dutch unfortunately falling, against their will, against them—the Advice, Captain W. Poole, and Antelope, Captain Clerke. The Dutch men-of-war did little service. Captain Allen, before he would fire one gun, come within pistol-shot of the enemy. The Spaniards, at Cales, did stand laughing at the Dutch, to see them run away and flee to the shore, 34 or thereabouts, against eight Englishmen at most.”

“Captain Allen led the way, and himself writes that all the masters of the fleet, old and young, were mistaken, and did carry their ships aground.”

“Captain Seale, of the Milford, hath done his part very well, in boarding the King Solomon, which held out half-an-hour after she was boarded; and his men kept her an hour after they did master her, and then she sank, and drowned about 17 of her men.”

He speaks, a few days afterwards, of meeting the owners of the double-bottomed boat the Experiment, which again reminds us of the plan, at present adopted, to guard ships against the effects of torpedoes.

On the 17th of April he heard an account of the capture of three privateers, one of which was commanded by Admiral Everson’s son. Captain Golding, of the Diamond, was killed in the action. “Two of them, one of 32, and the other of 20 odd guns, did stand stoutly up against her, which hath 46, and the Yarmouth that hath 52, and as many more men as they. So that they did more than we could expect, not yielding till many of their men were killed. And Everson, when he was brought before the Duke of York, and was observed to be shot through the hat, answered, that he wished it had gone through his head, rather than been taken. One thing more is written; that two of our ships, the other day, appearing upon the coast of Holland, they presently fired their beacons round the country to give them notice. And news is brought the king, that the Dutch Smyrna fleet is seen upon the back of Scotland; and, thereupon, the king hath wrote to the duke, that he do appoint a fleet to go to the northward to try to meet them coming home round; which God send!”

On the 28th he went down the river to visit the victualling ships, “where I find all out of order.”

On the 8th of June he writes: “Victory over the Dutch, June 3, 1665. This day they engaged, the Dutch neglecting greatly the opportunity of the wind they had of us, by which they lost the benefit of their fire-ships. The Earl of Falmouth, Muskerry, and Mr Richard Boyle killed on board the duke’s ship, the Royall Charles, with one shot, their blood and brains flying in the duke’s face, and the head of Mr Boyle striking down the duke, as some say. The Earle of Marlborough, Portland, Rear-Admirall Sansum killed, and Capt. Kerby and Ableson. Sir John Lawson wounded, hath had some bones taken out, and is likely to be well again. Upon receiving the hurt, he sent to the duke for another to command the Royal Oake. The duke sent Jordan out of the Saint George, who did brave things in her. Capt. Jer. Smith, of the Mary, was second to the duke, and stepped between him and Captain Seaton, of the Urania (76 guns and 400 men), who had sworn to board the duke, killed him 200 men, and took the ship himself, losing 99 men, and never an officer saved but himself and lieutenant. His master, indeed, is saved, with his leg cut off; Admiral Opdam blown up, Trump killed, and said by Holmes; all the rest of their admiralls, as they say, but Everson (whom they dare not trust for his affection to the Prince of Orange), are killed, we having taken and sunk, as is believed, about 24 of their best ships, killed and taken 8 or 10,000 men, and lost, we think, not above 700. A greater victory never known in the world. They are all fled. Some 43 got into the Texell, and others elsewhere, and we in pursuit of the rest.”

On the 16th he goes down to Whitehall, and hears more about the battle. “Among other things, how my Lord Sandwich, both in his councils and personal service, hath done most honourably and serviceably. Jonas Poole, in the Vanguard, did basely, so as to be, or will be, turned out of his ship. Captain Holmes expecting upon Sansum’s death to be made rear-admirall to the prince (but Harman is put in), hath delivered up to the duke his commission, which the duke took and tore. Several of our captains have done ill. The great ships are the ships to do the business, they quite deadening the enemy. They run away upon sight of the prince. Captain Smith, of the Mary, the duke talks mightily of, and some great thing will be done for him. Strange to hear how the Dutch do relate, as the duke says, that they are the conquerors, and bonfires are made in Dunkirke in their behalf, although a clearer victory can never be expected. Mr Coventry thinks they cannot have lost less than 6000 men, and we not dead above 200, and wounded about 400; in all about 600. Captain Grove, the duke told us this day, hath done the basest thing at Lowestoffe, in hearing of the guns, and could not (as others) be got out, but staid there, for which he will be tried, and is reckoned a prating coxcombe, and of no courage.”

The fleet did not escape the plague, which was at that time raging in London. On the 12th of August it appeared at Deptford, on board the Providence fire-ship, which was just fitting out to go to sea.

At Sheerness, a yard was in course of being laid out to lay provisions for cleaning and repairing of ships, the most proper place for the purpose.

On the 19th the fleet came home, “to our great grief, with not above five weeks dry and six weeks wet provisions, however, must go out again, and the duke hath ordered the Soveraigne, and all other ships ready, to go out to the fleet and strengthen them. This news troubles us all, but cannot be helped.”

On the 9th of September, 1665, he meets Sir William Doyly and Evelyn at supper: “And I with them full of discourse of the neglect of our masters, the great officers of state, about all business, and especially that of money, having now some thousands prisoners kept to no purpose, at a great charge, and no money provided almost for the doing of it.”

“Captain Cocke reports as a certain truth that all the Dutch fleet, men-of-war and merchant East India ships, are got every one in from Bergen, the 3rd of this month, Sunday last, which will make us all ridiculous.”

On the 14th, however, he says: “A letter from my Lord Sandwich at Solebay, of the fleet’s meeting with about eighteen more of the Dutch fleet, and his taking of most of them; and the messenger says, that they had taken three after the letter was wrote and sealed, which being twenty-one, and the fourteen took the other day, is forty-five sail, some of which are good and others rich ships.”

On the 18th he goes to Gravesend in the bezan yacht, and “by break of day we come to within sight of the fleet, which was a very fine thing to behold, being above 100 ships, great and small, with the flag-ships of each squadron distinguished by their several flags on their main, fore, or mizen-masts. Among others, the Soveraigne, Charles, and Prince, in the last of which my Lord Sandwich was. And so we come on board, and we find my Lord Sandwich newly up in his night-gown very well.”

He attends a council of war on board, “When comes Sir W. Penn, Sir Christopher Mingo, Sir Edward Spragg, Sir Jos. Jordan, Sir Thomas Teddiman, and Sir Roger Omittance.” Sir Christopher Mings was one of the bravest admirals of the day. He was the son of a shoemaker, and had worked his way up in the sea-service. He was killed the following year, June, 1666, in action with the Dutch. Pepys describes him as “a very witty, well-spoken fellow, and mighty free to tell his parentage, being a shoemaker’s son.”

On the 25th of January, 1666, he writes: “It is now certain that the King of France hath publickly declared war against us, and God knows how little fit we are for it.”

As an example of the way affairs were managed, he tells us that, viewing the yard at Chatham, he observed, “among other things, a team of four horses coming close by us, drawing a piece of timber that I am confident one man could easily have carried upon his back. I made the horses be taken away, and a man or two to take the timber away with their hands.”

Still more abominable was the way in which the wages of the unfortunate seamen were kept back. On the 7th of October, 1665, he writes: “Did business, though not much, at the office, because of the horrible crowd and lamentable moan of the poor seamen that lie starving in the streets for lack of money, which do trouble and perplex me to the heart; and more at noon, when we were to go through them, for then above a whole hundred of them followed us, some cursing, some swearing, and some praying to us.” He continues: “Want of money in the navy puts everything out of order; men grown mutinous, and nobody here to mind the business of the navy but myself.”

On the 19th of May, 1666: “Mr Deane and I did discourse about his ship Rupert, built by him, which succeeds so well as he hath got great honour by it, and I some by recommending him—the king, duke, and everybody saying it is the best ship that ever was built. And, then, he fell to explain to me his manner of casting the draught of water which a ship will draw beforehand, which is a secret the king and all admire in him; and he is the first that hath come to any certainty beforehand of foretelling the draught of water of a ship before she be launched.”

On the 4th he describes the fight between the English and Dutch, the news brought by a Mr Daniel, “who was all muffled up, and his face as black as the chimney, and covered with dirt, pitch, and tar, and powder, and muffled with dirty clouts, and his right eye stopped with okum.” The English “found the Dutch fleet at anchor, between Dunkirke and Ostend, and made them let slip their anchors; they about ninety and we less than sixty. We fought them and put them to the run, till they met with about sixteen sail of fresh ships, and so bore up again. The fight continued till night, and then again the next morning from five till seven at night. And so, too, yesterday morning they began again, and continued till about four o’clock, they chasing us for the most part of Saturday, and yesterday we flying from them.” Prince Rupert’s fleet, however, was seen coming, “upon which De Ruyter called a council, and thereupon their fleet divided into two squadrons—forty in one, and about thirty in the other; the bigger to follow the duke, the less to meet the prince. But the prince come up with the generall’s fleet, and the Dutch come together again, and bore towards their own coast, and we with them. The duke was forced to come to anchor on Friday, having lost his sails and rigging.”

Some days afterwards he continues the description of the fight: “The commanders, officers, and even the common seamen do condemn every part of the late conduct of the Duke of Albemarle; running among them in his retreat, and running the ships on ground; so as nothing can be worse spoken of. That Holmes, Spragg, and Smith do all the business, and the old and wiser commanders nothing.”

“We lost more after the prince came than before. The Prince was so maimed, as to be forced to be towed home.” Among several commanders killed in the action was Sir Christopher Mings.

He describes the affection the seamen entertained for those commanders they esteemed: “About a dozen able, lusty, proper men come to the coach-side with tears in their eyes, and one of them that spoke for the rest begun and said to Sir W. Coventry, ‘We are here a dozen of us, that have long known and loved and served our dead commander, Sir Christopher Mings, and have now done the last office of laying him in the ground. We would be glad we had any other to offer after him, and in revenge of him. All we have is our lives; if you will please to get His Royal Highness to give us a fire-ship among us all, here are a dozen of us, out of all which choose you one of us to be commander, and the rest of us, whoever he is, will serve him; and, if possible, do that which shall show our memory of our dead commander, and our revenge.’ Sir W. Coventry was herewith much moved, as well as I, who could hardly abstain from weeping.”

“Sir Christopher Mings was a very stout man, and a man of great parts, and most excellent tongue among ordinary men; and would have been a most useful man at such a time as this.”

He gives a deplorable account of the state of the navy, the neglect of business by Charles and his brother, and the want of money. On the 8th of October, 1665, he writes: “I think of twenty-two ships, we shall make shift to get out seven. (God help us! men being sick, or provisions lacking.) There is nothing but discontent among the officers, and all the old experienced men are slighted.”

Speaking of the action with the Dutch, he says: “They do mightily insult of their victory, and they have great reason. Sir William Barkeley was killed before his ship taken; and there he lies dead in a sugar-chest, for everybody to see, with his flag standing up by him. And Sir George Ascue is carried up and down the Hague for people to see.”

The abominable system of the press-gang was then in full force, and was carried on with the same cruelty which existed till a much later period: “To the Tower several times, about the business of the pressed men, and late at it till twelve at night shipping of them. But, Lord! how some poor women did cry; and in my life I never did see such natural expression of passion as I did here in some women bewailing themselves, and running to every parcel of men that were brought one after another to look for their husbands, and wept over every vessel that went off, thinking they might be there, and looking after the ship as far as ever they could by moone-light, that it grieved me to the heart to hear them. Besides, to see poor, patient, labouring men and housekeepers leaving poor wives and families, taken up on a sudden by strangers, was very hard, and that without press-money, but forced against all law to be gone. It is a great tyranny.”

The next morning he went “to Bridewell to see the pressed men, where there are about 300; but so unruly that I durst not go among them; and they have reason to be so, having been kept these three days prisoners, with little or no victuals, and pressed out and contrary to all course of law, without press-money, and men that are not liable to it.”

“I found one of the vessels loaden with the Bridewell birds in a great mutiny; I think it is much if they do not run the vessel on ground.”

He continues: “With regard to the building of ten great ships, none to be under third-rates; but it is impossible to do it, unless we have some money.”

Sir W. Penn gives his advice as to the mode of fighting at sea: “We must fight in a line, whereas we fight promiscuously, to our utter and demonstrable ruin; the Dutch fighting otherwise; and we, whenever we beat them. 2. We must not desert ships of our own in distress, as we did, for that makes a captain desperate, and he will fling away his ship when there are no hopes left him of succour. 3rd. That ships when they are a little shattered must not take the liberty to come in of themselves, but refit themselves the best they can, and stay out—many of our ships coming in with very small disableness. He told me that our very commanders, nay, our very flag-officers, do stand in need of exercising among themselves, and discoursing the business of commanding a fleet; he telling me that even one of our flagmen in the fleet did not know which tack lost the wind or kept it in the last engagement. Then in the business of forecastles, which he did oppose, all the world sees now the use of them for shelter of men.”

He observes that “we see many women now-a-days in the streets, but no men; men being so afraid of the press.” He speaks of purchasing “four or five tons of corke, to send this day to the fleet, being a new device to make barricados with, instead of junke.” The importance of protecting men against shot was even then, it will be seen, thought of.

On the 10th he goes “to the office; the yard being very full of women coming to get money for their husbands and friends that are prisoners in Holland; and they lay clamouring and swearing and cursing us, that my wife and I were afraid to send a venison-pasty that we have for supper to-night, to the cook’s to be baked.”

On the 23rd July Sir W. Coventry talks to him of the “Loyal London (which, by the way, he commends to be the best ship in the world, large and small) hath above eight hundred men. The first guns made for her all bursted, but others were made, which answered better.”

Speaking of the late battle, he remarks that “the Resolution had all brass guns, being the same that Sir John Lawson had in her in the Straights. It is to be observed that the two fleets were even in number to one ship.”

Sir W. Coventry “spoke slightingly of the Duke of Albemarle, saying, when De Ruyter come to give him a broadside—‘Now,’ says he (chewing of tobacco the while), ‘will this fellow come and give me two broadsides, and then he shall run;’ but it seems he held him to it two hours, till the duke himself was forced to retreat to refit, and was towed off, and De Ruyter staid for him till he come back again to fight. One in the ship saying to the duke, ‘Sir, methinks De Ruyter hath given us more than two broadsides.’ ‘Well,’ says the duke, ‘but you shall find him run by-and-by,’ and so he did, but after the duke himself had been first made to fall of.”

From the accounts he gives of the condition of the navy, it is surprising that our ships were not everywhere beaten. On the 20th of October he writes: “Commissioner Middleton says that the fleet was in such a condition as to discipline, as if the devil had commanded it; so much wickedness of all sorts. Enquiring how it came to pass that so many ships had miscarried this year, he tells me that the pilots do say that they dare not do nor go but as the captains will have them; and if they offer to do otherwise, the captains swear they will run them through. That he heard Captain Digby (my Lord of Bristoll’s son, a young fellow that never was but one year, if that, in the fleet) say that he did hope he should not see a tarpawlin have the command of a ship within this twelve months”—tarpaulin being the common name applied to a sailor in those days.

On the 19th: “Nothing but distraction and confusion in the affairs of the navy.”

On the 28th he adds: “Captain Guy to dine with me. He cries out of the discipline of the fleet, and confesses really that the true English valour we talk of is almost spent and worn out; few of the commanders doing what they should do, and he much fears we shall therefore be beaten the next year. He assures me we were beaten home the last June fight, and that the whole fleet was ashamed to hear of our bonfires. The Revenge having her forecastle blown up with powder to the killing of some men in the river, and the Dyamond being overset in the careening at Sheerness, are further marks of the method all the king’s work is now done in. The Foresight also and another come to disasters in the same place this week in the cleaning.”

On the 2nd of November he describes the Ruby, French prize, “the only ship of war we have taken from any of our enemies this year. It seems a very good ship, but with galleries quite round the sterne to walk in as a balcone, which will be taken down.”

News of the Dutch having been seen off the mouth of the Thames alarms every one; and on the 24th of March, 1667, he writes: “By-and-by to the Duke of Yorke, where we all met, and there was the king also; and all our discourse was about fortifying of the Medway and Harwich; and here they advised with Sir Godfrey Lloyd and Sir Bernard de Gunn, the two great engineers, and had the plates drawn before them; and indeed all their care they now take is to fortify themselves, and are not ashamed of it.”

On the 9th of June he writes: “I find an order come for the getting some fire-ships presently to annoy the Dutch, who are in the king’s channel, and expected up higher.”

The next day: “News brought us that the Dutch are come up as high as the Nore; and more pressing orders for fire-ships. We all went down to Deptford, and pitched upon ships and set men at work, but, Lord! to see how backwardly things move at this pinch, notwithstanding that by the enemy being now come up as high as almost the Hope.”

Anxiety and terror prevailed in the city, and people were removing their goods—the thoughtful Mr Pepys making a girdle to carry 300 pounds in gold about his body. The alarm is further increased when a neighbour comes up from Chatham, and tells him that that afternoon he “saw the Royal James, the Oake, and London burnt by the enemy with their fire-ships; that two or three men-of-war come up with them, and made no more of Upnor Castle’s shooting than of a fly; that the Dutch are fitting out the Royal Charles.”

Ships were to be sunk in the river, about Woolwich, to prevent the Dutch coming up higher.

“The masters of the ships that are lately taken up, do keep from their ships all their stores, or as much as they can, so that we cannot despatch them, having not time to appraise them, nor secure their payment. Only some little money we have, which we are fain to pay the men we have with every night, or they will not work. And, indeed, the hearts as well as the affections of the seamen are turned away; and in the open streets in Wapping, and up and down, the wives have cried publickly, ‘This comes of not paying our husbands; and now your work is undone, or done by hands that understand it not.’”

Some of the men, “instead of being at work at Deptford, where they were intended, do come to the office this morning to demand the payment of their tickets; for otherwise they would, they said, do no more work; and are, as I understand from everybody that has to do with them, the most debauched, swearing rogues that ever were in the navy, just like their prophane commander.”

“Nothing but carelessness lost the Royal Charles, for they might have saved her the very tide that the Dutch came up. The Dutch did take her with a boat of nine men, who found not a man on board her; and presently a man went up and struck her flag, and jacke, and a trumpeter sounded upon her, ‘Joan’s placket is torn;’ they did carry her down at a time, both for tides and wind, when the best pilot in Chatham would not have undertaken it, they heeling her on one side to make her draw little water, and so carried her away safe.”

“It is a sad sight to see so many good ships there sunk in the river, while we would be thought to be masters of the sea.”

He also examines the chain which had been carried across the river, “and caused the link to be measured, and it was six inches and one-fourth in circumference.”

He commends the Dutch “for the care they do take to encourage their men to provide great stores of boats to save them; while we have not credit to find one boat for a ship.” The English mode “of preparing of fire-ships,” he observes, “do not do the work, for the fire not being strong and quick enough to flame up, so as to take the rigging and sails, lies smothering a great while, half-an-hour before it flames, in which time they can get the fire-ships off safely. But what a shame it is to consider how two of our ship’s companies did desert their ships. And one more company did set their ship on fire and leave her; which afterwards a Feversham fisherman came up to, and put out the fire, and carried safe into Feversham, where she now is. It was only want of courage, and a general dismay and abjectness of spirit upon all our men; God Almighty’s curse upon all that we have in hand, for never such an opportunity was of destroying so many good ships of theirs as we now had.”

To replace the Royal Charles carried away, a new ship was launched on the 4th of March, 1668, called the Charles; “God send her better luck than the former.”

At a Privy Council which he attended, “to discourse about the fitness of entering of men presently for the manning of the fleet, before one ship is in condition to receive them,” the king observed, “‘If ever you intend to man the fleet without being cheated by the captains and pursers, you may go to bed and resolve never to have it manned.’”

At another council he speaks of “a proposition made to the Duke of York by Captain Von Hemskirke, for 20,000 pounds to discover an art how to make a ship go two feet for one what any ship do now, which the king inclines to try, it costing him nothing to try; and it is referred to us to contract with the man.” He afterwards says that the secret was only to make her sail a third faster than any other ship.

On the 25th of March, 1669, a court-martial was held about the loss of the Defyance. The sentence was, “That the gunner of the Defyance should stand upon the Charles three hours with his fault writ upon his breast, and with a halter about his neck, and so be made incapable of any service.” The ship was burnt by the gunner allowing a girl to carry a fire into his cabin.

Whatever our shortcomings in regard to naval affairs, it is pleasant to believe that they cannot possibly be so great as in the days of Mr Samuel Pepys.

Chapter Eleven.

William and Mary—from A.D. 1689 to A.D. 1702.

One of the last acts of James was to send a fleet under the command of Lord Dartmouth to intercept that of William of Orange, which it was known was on the point of sailing. On board the Dutch fleet was Admiral Herbert, acting as commander-in-chief, though all the officers were Dutch. It was hoped that he would win over the English fleet. As it proved, both the officers and men of the navy were as ill-affected to James as were those of the army. Thus, as an old writer observes, “that naval force which James had cultivated with so much care, and on which he depended so much, proved of no use—so difficult a thing is it to bring Englishmen to enslave England.”

The Dutch fleet consisted of about 50 men-of-war, 25 fire-ships, and near 400 transports and victuallers and other vessels, carrying about 4000 horse and 10,000 foot. Admiral Herbert led the van of the fleet, Vice-Admiral Evertzen brought up the rear, and the prince himself was in the centre, carrying a flag with English colours, and their highnesses’ arms surrounded with this motto, “The Protestant Religion and the Liberties of England,” and underneath the motto of the House of Nassau, “Je Maintiendrai,” “I will maintain.”

After being driven back by a storm, the fleet came to an anchor in Torbay on the 4th of November. The prince wished to land that day, it being the one on which he was born and married, and he fancied that it would look auspicious to the army, and animate the soldiers, but the general wish was that he should not land till the following, being Gunpowder Treason day, that their landing on that day might have a good effect on the minds of the English. No sooner had the Dutch fleet got into harbour than a heavy storm sprang up from the westward, which compelled the English fleet to run into Portsmouth, from which they could not again issue till William had won the day. When Lord Dartmouth was able to leave the port he conducted the fleet to the Downs, and there holding council of war, it was resolved—first, to dismiss from their commands all such officers as were known to be papists, and then to send up an address to his highness setting forth their steady affection to the Protestant religion, and their sincere concern for the safety, freedom, and honour of their country.

Not long after this the ships were dispersed, some to the dockyards to be dismantled and laid up, others to be cleaned and repaired, and such as were in the best condition for sea were appointed for necessary services. The first service in which Admiral Herbert was employed was to endeavour to intercept the French fleet which had sailed for Ireland to support the landing of King James. On the 1st of May, 1689, the English admiral discovered the enemy’s ships at anchor in Bantry Bay; when the French stood out to sea in a well-formed line of battle to meet him. After a warm engagement of some hours the two fleets separated, when the French, claiming the victory, retired into Bantry Bay, and the English towards Scilly. After waiting for reinforcements in the chops of the channel, none arriving, Admiral Herbert returned to Portsmouth. Notwithstanding his ill-success, the king, in gratitude for the services he had before rendered him, created him Earl of Torrington, while Captains John Ashby, and Cloudesly Shovel were knighted. In 1690 Sir Cloudesly Shovel commanded a squadron of six men-of-war, which escorted the fleet of transports conveying King William’s forces to Carrickfergus, in Ireland. The Earl of Torrington, when in command of the combined English and Dutch squadrons in the channel, on the 30th of June, fell in with the French fleet commanded by the Count de Tourville between Cherbourg and the Isle of Wight. The combined fleets amounted to 56 ships only, while the French possessed 78 men-of-war and 22 fire-ships. The Dutch and Blue Squadrons being surrounded by the French, after making a gallant defence, were rescued by the Earl of Torrington. After this, finding that no impression could be made on the French fleet, it was decided in a council of war that it would be wiser to destroy the disabled ships than, by protecting them, hazard an engagement. The Anne, of 70 guns, which was dismasted, was forced on shore and destroyed. The enemy also attempted to destroy a Dutch 64 which was driven on shore, but her commander defended her with so much bravery, that he compelled the French to desist, and she, being got off, arrived safe in Holland. The earl then retreated into the Thames, leaving a few frigates to observe and watch the motions of the enemy, who remained masters of the channel. In consequence of his conduct, the earl was brought to a court-martial, but having ably defended himself, he was unanimously acquitted. The king, notwithstanding, to appease the clamours of the nation and the Dutch, took away his commission.

He was succeeded in the command of the fleet by Admiral Russell, who, greatly owing to the energetic proceedings of Queen Mary, while the king was absent in Ireland, had, by May, 1691, a squadron of considerable force, equipped and ready for sea, at his disposal. So elevated were the French at their unusual success, that they had the following inscription engraved on the stern of a new first-rate ship of war named the Saint Louis:—

“I, on the ocean, am the mightiest thing, As on the land, is my all-potent king.”

English men-of-war were ere long, however, to teach them to sing a different note. A fleet of ninety-nine sail, including the Dutch ships, was got ready by May, 1692. The English fleet was divided into two squadrons, the Red and the Blue. Among the ships we find the names of many which have become famous in naval history. There were six ships of 100 guns each. In the Red Squadron there was the Britannia, carrying the flag of Admiral Russell; the Royal Sovereign, that of Vice-Admiral Sir Ralph Delaval; the London, that of the rear-admiral, Sir Cloudesly Shovel; the Sandwich, of 90 guns; the Swiftsure, Hampton Court, Eagle, and Captain; of 70; the Ruby, Oxford, and Centurion, of 50. In the Blue Squadron there were the Victory, of 100 guns, with the flag of Admiral Sir John Ashby; the Windsor Castle, with that of Vice-Admiral Sir George Rooke; the Neptune, of 96 guns; the Albemarle and Vanguard, of 90 guns; the Royal Oak, of 74; the Northumberland, Berwick, Warspight, Monmouth, and Edgar, of 70; the Lion and Dreadnought, of 60—names long known in the British Navy. Altogether, the English fleet carried 4504 guns, and 27,725 men. The Dutch fleet carried rather more than half the number of guns, and less than half the number of men. No more powerful fleet had ever yet ploughed the ocean—it was, probably, immeasurably more so than that which encountered the Spanish Armada; while the commanders were as expert and daring as their predecessors, the seamen were infinitely better trained.

The combined fleet sailed from Spithead on the 18th of May, and stood across to the coast of France. The Chester and Charles galleys, being sent ahead, just at dawn on the 19th, Cape Barfleur bearing south-west by south, distant about seven leagues, made the signal of the French fleet being in sight, by firing some guns. Admiral Russell thereon ordered his fleet to form a line of battle, and directed the rear to attack, so that, should the French stand to the northward, they might the sooner come up and engage. As the sun rose above the ocean on that May morning, soon after four o’clock, the enemy were seen standing southward, forming their line on the same tack as that of the allied squadrons. The French admiral, De Tourville, who had till now supposed that he was about to meet only a portion of the English fleet, nevertheless considering that their hasty retreat would cause a confusion which might prove more hazardous than the battle itself, continued his orders for the engagement, and bore down on the allies. Admiral Russell on seeing this, annulled the signal for the rear to attack, and bore away to join the leeward-most ships, and formed a line ahead in close order of sailing. The French advanced till within musket-shot of the English line, when, hauling up to windward, the Soleil Royal, at 11:30 a.m., opened fire upon the Britannia. De Tourville’s object was to cut through the English line, but in consequence of the light breeze having dwindled to a calm, in bearing up as he did the French admiral lost his advantage. The Soleil Royal and the Britannia thus lay for an hour and a quarter about three-quarter’s musket-shot of each other, the English plying their guns so warmly, that the Frenchman was in that time dreadfully cut up in his rigging, sails, and yards; it being evident, also, that he had lost a great many men, for no effort was being made to repair damages. So actively did the English gunners work their pieces, that it was reckoned that during the whole fight they fired at least three broadsides while the French fired two. Captains Churchill and Aylmer who had come up to assist the admiral, had six of the enemy’s largest ships to deal with; while Sir Cloudesly Shovel, who had got to windward, briskly plied the Count de Tourville’s squadron. As the day advanced, however, a dense fog came on, so that in a short time not a ship of the enemy could be seen, and the English, for fear of injuring their friends, ceased firing. The ships which had not yet got into action on account of the calm, had their boats ahead, and used their utmost endeavours to tow them into the fight. The English fire-ships had, however, been put to good use, having burnt four of the enemy’s ships. The killed and wounded were already numerous; the Eagle alone having 70 men killed and 150 wounded. Among the former were Rear-Admiral Carter, and Captain Hastings of the Sandwich.

Night coming on, the darkness, increased by the thick fog, put an end to the fight for that day. On the morning of the 10th a portion of the French fleet was discovered, when, the wind springing up, a general chase was ordered. This continued till 4 p.m., when, the wind shifting to the southward, and the ebb ceasing, both fleets anchored and furled sails.

On the 21st the fleet anchored near the Race of Alderney, Cape La Hogue, bearing about south. Twenty-three of the French ships had anchored still nearer the Race, and fifteen others about three leagues to the westward. The flood-tide setting in strong, a number of the French ships were observed to be driving; on this Admiral Russell threw out a signal to Vice-Admiral Delaval to stand inshore and destroy them. On following out his directions, he found the Soleil Royal and two others aground, close to the beach. Finding, however, that his ships drew too much water, he sent in three fire-ships, embarking in one of them himself. He succeeded in burning two of the three-deckers, but another fire-ship was sunk by the enemy’s shot. The Saint Albans and Ruby standing in, now attacked a third French ship, when Vice-Admiral Delaval, observing that her crew had deserted their guns, boarded. On finding dead and wounded men alone on her decks, he ordered the latter to be removed, and then set the ship on fire.

One of the fire-ships, commanded by Captain Fowlis, who was conducting her against the Soleil Royal, was set on fire by her shot, though he and his crew escaped. Captain Heath, however, succeeded in burning her with another fire-ship, in the most gallant manner. The Conquirant was burnt by Captain Greenaway, and the Admirable by the boats. The greater number of the enemy’s ships had run in for shelter close to the shore. Accordingly, on the 23rd of May, Admiral Russell despatched Vice-Admiral Rooke with a squadron of men-of-war, frigates, and fire-ships, and the boats of the fleet, to destroy those ships. It was found, however, that the small frigates alone could advance near enough to effect anything. The boats, however, gallantly led by Rooke, pulled in at night and destroyed seven of them, and the next morning, again pulling in, burnt eight, with several transports and ammunition vessels. Several of the ships were first boarded, and the French, with their own guns, driven from their platforms and batteries on shore; and this was done in sight of the French and Irish camps, which lay ready to invade England. Altogether, sixteen sail of the line and numerous transports were destroyed. The victory was complete, and the annihilation of the French fleet entirely dissipating the hopes of James, its effect contributed greatly to place William the Third on his throne. Vice-Admiral Rooke, who became one of England’s greatest admirals, was knighted for his gallantry on this occasion.

While some of the ships returned to Spithead, a considerable portion were stationed in different parts of the channel to watch the French fleet, and to prevent them making their way either to the eastward or westward.

Among the gallant men who have contributed to the naval glory of England, the name of John Benbow must ever be had in remembrance. His father, Colonel Benbow, was one of those true-hearted cavaliers who fought bravely for their king to the last, and having seen one of his brothers shot by the Parliamentary forces, he made his escape, till an amnesty being granted, he was able to return and live in private in England. His fortune having been expended, he was glad to accept a small office belonging to the Ordnance, in the Tower. On the breaking out of the first Dutch war, the king came to examine the magazines. Charles, whose memory was as quick as his eye, recognised the veteran, who had for twenty years been distinguished by a fine head of grey hair. “My old friend, Colonel Benbow,” said he, “what do you here?”

“I have,” returned the colonel, “a place of 80 pounds a-year, in which I serve your majesty as cheerfully as if it brought me in 4000 pounds a-year.”

“Alas!” said the king, “is that all that could be found for an old friend of Worcester? Colonel Legge, bring this gentleman to me to-morrow, and I will provide for him and his family as it becomes me.”

Short as the time was, the colonel did not live to claim the royal promise; for, overcome by the king’s unexpected gratitude, sitting down on a bench, he there breathed his last before his majesty was well out of the tower. Whatever might have been the king’s intentions, he thought no more of the old cavalier’s family, and the colonel’s son, John, went to sea in a merchant-vessel, and shortly became owner and commander of a ship, called the Benbow frigate. No man was better known or more respected by the merchants upon the Exchange. The following anecdote shows his character, and is in accordance with the spirit of the times in which he lived. In the year 1688 he was, while in command of the Benbow frigate, attacked on his passage to Cadiz by a Sallee rover of far superior force, against which he defended himself with the utmost bravery. At last the Moors boarded him, but were quickly beaten out of his ship again with the loss of thirteen men, whose heads Captain Benbow ordered to be taken off, and thrown into a tub of pork pickle. On reaching Cadiz he went on shore, ordering a negro servant to follow him with the Moors’ heads in a sack. Scarcely had he landed when the officers of the revenue inquired of the servant what he had in his sack. The captain answered, “Salt provisions for his own use.”

“That may be,” answered the officers, “but we must insist upon seeing them.” Captain Benbow said that he was no stranger there, that he was not accustomed to run goods, and pretended to take it very ill that he was thus suspected. The officers told him that the magistrates were sitting not far off, and if they were satisfied, the servant might carry the provisions where he pleased. The captain consented to the proposal, and away they marched to the custom-house. The magistrates, when he came before them, treated Captain Benbow with great civility, telling him that they were sorry to make a point of such a trifle, but that since he refused to show the contents of his sack to their officers, they were compelled to demand a sight of them.

“I told you,” said the captain, sternly, “they were salt provisions for my own use. Cassar, throw them down upon the table; and, gentlemen, if you like them, they are at your service.”

The Spaniards were much struck at the sight of the Moors’ heads, and no less so at the account the captain gave them of his engagement, and defeat of so large a force of barbarians. They sent an account of the whole matter to the court at Madrid, and the King of Spain was so much pleased with it, that he requested to see the English captain, who made a journey to court, where he was received with much respect, and not only dismissed with a handsome present, but the king was to write a letter on his behalf to King James, who, upon his return, gave him a ship, which was his introduction to the Royal Navy.

He had always been looked upon as a bold, brave, and active commander, and one who, though he maintained strict discipline, took care of, and was therefore cheerfully obeyed by, his seamen. He maintained the same character in the Royal Navy, and was ever beloved and honoured by his ships’ companies. As the channel was much infested by French privateers, a large number of which were fitted out at Saint Malo, it had been considered advisable to destroy that town and the vessels within its harbour. Captain Benbow, with a squadron of twelve ships of the line, four bomb-galliots, ten or twelve frigates, and several sloops, having crossed the channel, entered the harbour and came to an anchor within half-a-mile of the town. The ships then opened fire, and continued battering away at the place till four in the morning, when they were compelled to come out to prevent grounding. Two successive days they continued doing the same, firing seventy bombs one day, but with frequent intermissions, inducing the inhabitants to believe that they were about to retire. The captain had, however, prepared a fire-ship, with which it was intended to have reduced the town to ashes. This vessel was a new galliot, of about 300 tons. In the bottom of the hold were placed above a hundred barrels of powder, covered with pitch, tar, resin, brimstone, and faggots. Over this was a row of thick planks or beams, with holes pierced through them in order to communicate the fire from above, and upon them were placed 340 carcases filled with grenadoes, cannon-balls, iron chains, firearms loaded with ball, large pieces of metal wrapped up in tarpaulins, and other combustible matters. This craft was sent in before the wind, and was near the very foot of the wall where it was to be fastened, when a sudden gust of wind drove it upon a rock, where it stuck, near the place where it was intended to have blown up. The engineer, however, had time to set fire to it before he retired. It blew up soon afterwards, but the carcases, which were to have done the greatest execution, being wet, did not take fire; yet the shock was so terrible, that it threw down part of the town wall, shook every house in the town, and overthrew the roofs of above 300 which were nearest. The capstan, weighing above a ton, was thrown over the wall on the top of a house, which it beat down. A similar machine had been used for blowing up the bridge at the siege of Antwerp in 1585.

In 1694 another expedition, under the command of Sir Cloudesly Shovel, was sent to the coast of Flanders, for the purpose of destroying the town of Dunkirk. Previous attacks had been made on the coast of France of a similar character. Mr Meesters, the inventor of some infernal machines, accompanied the expedition. He requested that a captain might be appointed to the command of the smaller craft, and Captain Benbow was accordingly directed to take command of the bomb-galliots and fire-ships. Owing to numerous delays, the French having got notice of the intended attack, had time to make preparations for defeating it, which resulted in the loss of several ships. Dieppe, however, had been bombarded, when 1100 bombs and carcases were thrown into it with such success, that the town was set on fire in several places, and the townsmen and some regiments sent to their assistance had to beat a rapid retreat.

An infernal machine, such as has before been described, was blown up at the pierhead. It made a frightful noise, but did little execution, occasioned, as was supposed, by the pierhead lying too low. The fuzee having gone out, Captain Dunbar, who commanded the vessel, again went on board and set fire to it in the most gallant manner.

Havre-de-Grâce was likewise bombarded, when the town was set in flames. Bad weather coming on, the bomb-vessels were ordered off, the mortars being either melted or the vessels so shattered, that no present use could be made of them. One of them, the Granado, was entirely blown to pieces by a bomb, which fell into her. It was it hoped, however, that Sir Cloudesly’s expedition would be more successful. Notwithstanding a heavy fire from a French frigate in the roads, from numerous forts, and from five other frigates near the basin, Captain Benbow carried his vessels and boats close up to the town, and came off again in the night without any damage. The next day, the weather being fair, the boats and vessels were again sent in, when the French frigate, after firing her broadside, ran in to the pier. In the afternoon, two infernal machines were blown up at a little distance from the pierhead, but without doing any damage, except to the crew of the boat which towed them in, who were all blown up on board. The French, also, having driven piles outside the pierheads, and sunk four ships, it was found impossible to approach nearer the town, and the undertaking was therefore abandoned. This is one of the many instances which prove that fire-ships, if resolutely met by the enemy against whom they are intended to act, are not capable of effecting much damage.

A remarkable instance of promotion for gallant conduct occurred early in the reign of William and Mary. On the 25th of March, 1689, the 36-gun frigate Nonsuch, Captain Roome Coyle, fell in with two French ships, one mounting 30, the other 22 guns, off Guernsey. He without hesitation engaged them, when he and the master being killed, and there being no lieutenant on board, the boatswain, Robert Simcock, took the command. So spiritedly did the brave boatswain continue the action, that both French ships were captured. For his gallant conduct Mr Simcock, on reaching Portsmouth with his prize, was forthwith promoted to the rank of captain, and appointed to command the Nonsuch.

Next year a ship called the Friends’ Adventure, belonging to Exeter, was captured by a French privateer, who took out of her the master and five of his men, leaving on board only the mate, Robert Lyde, of Topsham, twenty-three years of age, and John Wright, a boy of sixteen, with seven Frenchmen, who had orders to navigate the ship to Saint Malo. When off Cape la Hogue, a strong wind springing up, drove them off the French coast. Lyde now began to entertain hopes of recovering the ship, and on the 6th of March he and his companion took the opportunity, while two of the Frenchmen were at the pump, one at the helm, one on the forecastle, and three asleep in the cabin, to attack them. Lyde with an iron crowbar killed one of the men at the pump, and knocked down the other at one blow. Wright at the same moment knocked down the man on the forecastle, and they then secured the man at the helm. One of the Frenchmen hearing a scuffle, and running up from between decks to the assistance of his companions, was wounded by the mate, but the two others coming to his relief seized and had nearly secured the gallant fellow, when the boy, bravely hurrying to his aid, after a sharp struggle, killed one and gave the other quarter. Having thus made themselves masters of the ship, they put the two disabled men into bed, ordering a third to look after them, and secured them between decks. One they kept bound in the steerage, and made use of the remaining man to navigate the vessel, which, on the 9th of March, they brought safely into Topsham, with their five prisoners on board.

About the same time the sloop Tryal was captured by a French man-of-war, who put five Frenchmen on board, leaving only the master, Richard Griffiths, afterwards Captain Griffiths, commonly known by the name of “Honour and Glory,” and a boy, John Codamon, in the sloop. Griffiths and his boy having formed their design, suddenly set upon the five Frenchmen, and, having wounded three and forced all five down into the hold, carried their vessel with their prisoners safe into Falmouth.

I give these instances to show the stuff out of which the commanders and crews of men-of-war were formed in those days. They show, also, that the authorities who governed the navy appreciated bravery, and were ready to obtain the services of such gallant fellows for the advantage of the country.

We find fire-ships at this period universally sent to sea with fleets. Sir Francis Waller, on board the Sussex, was ordered to proceed to Cadiz, and from thence to convoy the merchant-vessels he might find there to Turkey or any ports in Spain or Italy. His fleet consisted of fifteen third-rates, seven fourth-rates, one fifth-rate, six fire-ships, two bomb-vessels, a hospital-ship, and a store-ship in company with several Dutch ships of war. Having touched at Gibraltar, he again put to sea, and met with gales of wind; and ultimately, in thick weather, he with part of his fleet running to the straits mistook the entrance. The Sussex, with 550 men on board, foundered, two Moors only escaping. The admiral’s body was afterwards discovered on shore much mangled. Besides this loss, 409 were drowned belonging to various ships which were either driven on shore or foundered. Among them was the Cambridge, a ship of 70 guns, and the Lumley Castle.

On most occasions the fire-ships, being generally old vessels fit for no other purpose, were the chief sufferers. A Dutch ship of 70 guns ran on shore, but was got off again, as were several other ships; indeed, few escaped without much damage. This was the most violent storm that had ever been known in those seas since the memory of man.

William was now taking measures for retrieving the honour of the British Flag, and appointed Admiral Russell commander-in-chief of the navy, and several other eminent officers to form a new commission of admiralty. He also, finding that the pay of sea-officers was less than that of other countries, directed that the sea pay of flag-officers, commanders, lieutenants, masters, and surgeons should be doubled; as also that all flag-officers and captains of first, second, third, fourth, and fifth-rate ships, and also the masters of first, second, and third-rates, who had served a year in the same post in the ships of those rates, or been in a general engagement, should have half-pay while on shore, to be paid quarterly out of the general estimate of the navy. From this it is evident that they before this time, as also those of other ranks, received no half-pay while on shore. It was also ordered that only such commissioned officers as had been put in by the Admiralty, and warrant officers as had been put in by the Navy Board, should receive the benefit of half-pay; that half-pay officers be expected to assist the Navy Board; that no convoy money be demanded or received under the penalty of forfeiting and losing employment for ever; that the commanders transmit to the Admiralty when and why they came into port.

The French had not abandoned their design of restoring James the Second to the throne. He had abdicated, and in 1696, while most of the British ships were laid up, and the rest were employed in the protection of the trade up the Mediterranean, it was discovered that 500 transports were in Dunkirk ready to take on board an army of 20,000 men, under the escort of fifteen sail of men-of-war, for the invasion of England. While these preparations were making, and every ship was of consequence, the Royal Sovereign, laid up at Chatham to be rebuilt, took fire, and was totally consumed. She was the first great ship that ever was built in England. The great object then was only to exhibit as much splendour and magnificence as possible. In the reign of Charles the Second, however, being taken down a deck lower, she became one of the best men-of-war in the world, and so formidable to her enemies, that none of the most daring among them would willingly lie by her side. She had been in almost all the great engagements that had been fought between England and Holland, and in the last fight between the English and French, when she compelled the Soleil Royal to fly for shelter among the rocks. At length, leaky and defective with age, she was laid up at Chatham, in order, as has been said, to be rebuilt.

In the year 1691 the first mention is made of a regular regiment of marines being raised to serve on board ship. In this year one dry and two wet docks were ordered to be constructed at Portsmouth, and orders were given to survey the harbour of Falmouth, and report whether it was capable of being made a proper port for the refitting and docking ships of the Royal Navy.

It was not till the year 1693 that men-of-war on the home service were allowed to carry to sea spare topmasts and sails.

In 1694 the king, by the advice of the excellent Queen Mary, granted the royal palace of Greenwich to be converted into a hospital for decayed seamen in the Royal Navy. Sir Christopher Wren was appointed as architect, and an annual sum of money was granted to complete and extend the buildings. The foundation of the first new building was laid on the 3rd of June, 1696.

In the same year the landmark on the beach at Stoke, near Gosport, called the Kicker, was erected, and the buoy of the horse placed at Spithead, for the better security of ships going into Portsmouth Harbour. Some docks were made at Plymouth, and storehouses, as also residences for the accommodation of the officers of the dockyard, were built.

In 1695 brass box-compasses were invented and allowed to the ships in the Royal Navy. Many ships having been wrecked upon the Eddystone Rock off Plymouth, an application was made to the Trinity House to erect a lighthouse on it, which was begun to be built in 1696, and was finished in three years. Many masters and owners of ships agreed to pay one penny per ton outwards and inwards, to assist in defraying the expense.

In 1696 an Act of Parliament was passed to establish a register for 30,000 seamen, to be in readiness at all times for supplying the Royal Navy. They were to have a bounty of forty shillings yearly. None but such registered seamen were to be preferred to the rank of commissioned or warrant officers in the Royal Navy. They were likewise entitled to a double share in all prizes, and when maimed or superannuated, were admitted into Greenwich Hospital. The widows and children of such registered seamen who might be killed in the service were admissible into that hospital. It was also enacted that sixpence per month should be deducted from the wages of all seamen both in the merchant-service as well as in the Royal Navy, for the support of Greenwich Hospital.

A composition was invented to be laid on the bottoms of ships to preserve them against worms. The experiment was ordered to be tried on his majesty’s ship the Sheerness.

In 1696 the Parliament voted 2,372,197 pounds for the maintenance of 40,000 seamen and two regiments of marines, the ordinary of the navy, and the charge of the registry of seamen. This was the largest sum by far hitherto voted for the maintenance of the navy.

In 1697 Commissioner Greenhill proposed a plan for rowing of ships in a calm, which was tried on board His Majesty’s ship the Experiment.

In 1700 the rate of pay of sea-officers was again reduced. It was far less than that of the French; the French admiral having 1500 pounds per annum for his table-money, whereas the English admiral had only 365 pounds, no allowance whatever being made to other admirals, unless commanders-in-chief.

For several years the West Indies and Spanish Main had been infested by the buccaneers, who plundered without distinction the ships of all nations, but particularly those of the Spaniards. Several were taken, among the most notorious of whom was Captain Kidd, who, being brought to England and tried at the Old Bailey, was fully convicted, and executed with several of his companions. The immense property which Kidd had amassed was given for the support of Greenwich Hospital. The Earl of Bellamont, Governor of New England, and others, were accused in Parliament of favouring Kidd, and giving him a commission, but the charges were refuted.

On the 25th of July, 1701, a new Royal Sovereign, of 110 guns, was launched at Woolwich. She was the largest ship in the navy, the length of her keel was 146 feet 6 inches, and from the top of the taffrail to the fore-part of the figure-head, 210 feet 7 inches; her extreme breadth being 54 feet 3 and a half inches.

Several actions exhibiting extraordinary courage, performed during the war with France, are worthy of notice. On the 30th of May, 1695, William Thompson, master of a fishing-boat belonging to Poole, in Dorsetshire, with a crew of one man and a boy, observed a French sloop privateer standing towards him. He had but two swivel guns and a few muskets; the privateer had two guns, several small-arms, and sixteen men. Thompson, finding that his small crew were ready to support him, made up his mind to do battle with the Frenchman. As she approached, he began blazing away, and in a short time wounded the captain, and mate, and six men of the privateer, upon which she sheered off. Thompson on this made chase, and so skilfully did he manage his little craft, and with so much determination keep up his fire, that after engaging the privateer for two hours, she struck. On his arrival at Poole with his prize, he was warmly received, and the Lords of the Admiralty, hearing of his gallantry, presented him with a gold chain and a medal of the value of 50 pounds.

Another fishing-vessel, belonging to Whitesand, commanded by a Mr Williams, falling in with some merchant-vessels which had been captured by French privateers, attacked them with so much courage and skill, that he retook the whole. He received the same reward as had Mr Thompson.

Not long afterwards a coasting sloop, the Sea Adventure, commanded by Peter Jolliffe, fell in, off Portland, with a French privateer, which was in the act of taking possession of a small fishing-vessel belonging to Weymouth. The privateer endeavoured to escape, when Jolliffe made sail in chase, and coming up, briskly opened his fire, when he compelled her to release her prize. Not content with this success, he continued the fight, and at length drove her on shore in Lulworth Bay. The seafaring population of the village hurrying out, captured the privateer, and made prisoners of her crew.

Just before the close of the war, Captain William Jumper, commanding the Weymouth, engaged and sank the Fougueux, a French 48-gun ship, and shortly afterwards he fell in with another French 50-gun ship, but in the heat of the engagement, some powder on board the Weymouth blew up the poop, and disabled her for further immediate action. Having repaired damages, Captain Jumper again closed with the enemy, but unhappily his bowsprit and three lower-masts fell overboard, when the French ship made sail and escaped. On the 19th of the following August he fell in with a sail to leeward, between the island of Cloune and Saint Martins. He immediately ran down, hoisting the French ensign, and yawing a little to show it. Another French frigate at anchor under the castle, weighed and stood off. The first man-of-war, suspecting the character of the stranger, made sail, but the Weymouth, outsailing her, got close under her lee, keeping his French ensign flying to prevent the enemy from firing at his masts till he was near enough. He then hoisted the English ensign and poured in a broadside, and commenced bracing his main-topsail back; when, before he had fired off a second round, the enemy, which proved to be L’Amore, of Rochefort, a king’s ship, struck her colours. The other ship, seeing the fate of her consort, escaped. The prize was a vessel similar to an English galley. She carried 20 guns on the upper-deck, and 9 on the lower-deck, but 4 on the quarter-deck, and between decks she had small ports for oars.

Chapter Twelve.

Queen Anne—from A.D. 1702 to A.D. 1714.

Anne, daughter of James the Second, married the Prince George of Denmark, and ascended the throne March the 8th, 1702. Although the army was held in more consideration during her reign than the navy, the British seamen managed by their gallant deeds to make the service respected at home and abroad. It was not much to his advantage that the queen appointed her consort, Prince George, to be Lord High Admiral. The acts done in his name were not so narrowly scrutinised as they would otherwise have been, and the commissioners of the Admiralty took good care to shelter themselves under his wing.

Three of the most celebrated admirals in this reign were Sir George Rooke, Sir Cloudesly Shovel, and Admiral Benbow. Sir George, upon the breaking out of war with France, was appointed to the chief command of the fleet. An expedition, which he at once sent against Cadiz, was unsuccessful. Not long afterwards, intelligence was carried to Sir George that a French squadron and a fleet of Spanish galleons was at Vigo. Sir George immediately sailed with the English and Dutch fleets, and appeared before that port. The weather being hazy, the people in the town did not discover them. The passage into the harbour is not more than three-quarters of a mile across. Batteries had been thrown up on either side, and garrisoned with a large body of troops, while a strong boom, composed of ships-yards and topmasts fastened together with three-inch rope, had been carried across it. The top chain at each end was moored to a 70-gun ship, while within the boom were moored five ships, of between 60 and 70 guns each, with their broadsides fronting the entrance to the passage, so that they could fire at any ship which came near the boom, forts, or platform. As it was impossible for the whole fleet to enter, a detachment of fifteen English and ten Dutch men-of-war, with all the fire-ships, followed by the frigates and bomb-vessels, were ordered to enter and attempt the destruction of the enemy’s fleet, while the troops were to land and attack the forts in the rear. Vice-Admiral Hopson in the Torbay led the van; but when he got within shot of the batteries it fell calm, so that the ships were compelled to come to an anchor. A strong wind, however, soon afterwards springing up, Admiral Hopson cutting his cables clapped on all sail, and, amidst a hot fire from the enemy, bore up directly for the boom, which he at once broke through, receiving broadsides from the two ships at either end. The rest of the squadron and the Dutch following, sailed abreast towards the boom, but being becalmed they all stuck, and were compelled to hack and cut their way through. Again a breeze sprang up, of which the Dutchman made such good use that, having hit the passage, he went in and captured the Bourbon. Meantime Admiral Hopson was in extreme danger, for the French fire-ship having fallen on board him, whereby his rigging was set on fire, he expected every moment to be burnt; but it happened that the fire-ship was a merchantman, and laden with snuff, and being fitted up in haste, the snuff in some measure extinguished the fire. The gallant Hopson, however, received considerable damage, for, besides having his fore-topmast shot away, he had 115 men killed and drowned, and 9 wounded, while his sails and his rigging were burnt and scorched. He was, therefore, compelled to leave his ship, and hoist his flag on board the Monmouth.

At the same time, Captain Bokenham, in the Association, laid his broadside against the town, while Captain Wyvill, in the Barfleur, a ship of the like force, was sent to batter the fort on the other side. The firing of the great and small shot of both sides was continued for some time, till the French admiral, seeing the platform and fort in the hands of the English and his fire-ship useless, while the confederate fleet were entering, set fire to his own ship, ordering the rest of the captains under his command to follow his example, which was done in so much confusion, that several men-of-war and galleons were taken by the English and Dutch. The allies and French lost about an equal number of men, but by this victory a vast amount of booty, both of plate and other things, was captured. The Spanish fleet was the richest that ever came from the West Indies to Europe. The silver and gold was computed at 20,000,000 of pieces of eight, of which 14,000,000 only had been taken out of the galleons and secured by the enemy at Lagos, about twenty-five leagues from Vigo, and the rest was either taken or sunk in the galleons. Besides this, there were goods to the value of 20,000 pieces of eight, and a large quantity of plate and goods belonging to private persons. A few years ago only, a company was formed in England for the purpose of dredging for the treasure sunk in the galleons, but the scheme was abandoned on the discovery that much less amount of treasure than here described was really lost, the confederates having captured nearly all of that which had not been landed at Lagos.

By this blow the naval power of France was so deeply wounded, that she never recovered it during the war.

Admiral Benbow had in the meantime been despatched to the West Indies, in command of a small squadron, to prevent the Spanish islands from falling into the power of France. Hearing that Monsieur de Casse, the French admiral, had sailed for Carthagena, he pursued him. On the 19th of August, in the afternoon, he discovered ten sail steering westward along the shore under their topsails. Upon this, he threw out a signal for a line of battle. The frigates being a long time coming up, and the night advancing, Benbow steered alongside the French, having disposed his line of battle in the following manner:—The Defiance, Pendennis, Windsor, Breda, Greenwich, Ruby, and Falmouth. Though he endeavoured to near them, he intended not to make any attack until the Defiance had got abreast of the headmost. He, however, was compelled before long to open his fire; but after two or three broadsides had been exchanged, the Defiance and Windsor luffed up out of gunshot, leaving the two sternmost ships of the enemy engaged with the admiral, while his own ships in the rear did not come up as he had expected. He afterwards altered his line of battle. The next morning at daybreak, he was near the French ships, but none of his squadron, excepting the Ruby, were with him, the rest lying some miles astern. There was but little wind, and though the admiral was within gunshot of the enemy, they did not fire. In the afternoon, a sea-breeze springing up, the enemy got into line and made what sail they could, while the rest of the English ships not coming up, the admiral and Ruby plied them with chase-guns, and kept them company all the next night. On the 21st the admiral again exchanged fire with the enemy’s fleet, as did the Ruby, and he would have followed had not the Ruby been in such a condition that he could not leave her. The Ruby was so disabled during this and the following day, that the admiral ordered her to return to Port Royal.

The rest of the squadron now came up, and the enemy being but two miles off, the gallant Benbow was at last in hopes of doing something, and continued, therefore, to steer after them, but again, all his ships, with the exception of the Falmouth, were astern, and at twelve the enemy began to separate. Early on the morning of the 24th he again came within hail of the sternmost of the French ships. At three, while hotly engaged with them, the admiral’s right leg was shattered to pieces by a chain-shot, and he was carried below, but soon after, he ordered his cradle on the quarter-deck, and the fight was continued till daylight, when one of the enemy’s ships, of 20 guns, was discovered to be very much disabled. A strong breeze now brought the enemy down upon him, when three of his own ships getting to leeward of the disabled ship, fired their broadsides and stood to the southward. Then came the Defiance, which, after exchanging fire with the disabled ship, put her helm a-weather and ran away before the wind, without any regard to the signal of battle. The French seeing the two ships stand to the southward, and finding that they did not attack, immediately bore down upon the admiral, and running between their disabled ship and him, poured in all their shot, by which they brought down his main-topsail yard, and shattered his rigging very much.

Some time after this, his line of battle signal flying all the while, Captain Kirby came on board and told him that he had better desist, that the French were very strong, and that from what was past, he would guess he would make nothing of it. On this he sent for the rest of the captains. They obeyed him, but were most of them of Captain Kirby’s opinion. This satisfied the admiral that they were not inclined to fight; when, had they supported him, the whole French fleet might have been captured. On this he returned with his squadron to Jamaica. As soon as he arrived he ordered a court-martial on the captains who had deserted him. One, Captain Hudson, died a few days before his trial came on. Captains Kirby and Wade were condemned to death, and being sent home, were shot immediately on their arrival at Plymouth, in 1703.

The gallant Benbow, in spite of the fearful wound he had received, lingered till the 4th of November, when he yielded up his brave spirit, feeling more the disgrace which his captains had brought upon the English flag than his own sufferings. All the time of his illness he continued to issue his orders, and showed more anxiety for the interests of the nation than for his private affairs. He received a proof of what would have been the result of the action had he been properly supported, in a letter from the brave French Admiral Du Casse. “Sir,—I had little hopes on Monday last but to have supped in your cabin, but it pleased God to order it otherwise. I am thankful for it. As for those cowardly captains who deserted you, hang them up, for by God they deserve it.—Yours, Du Casse.”

The opinion of the nautical poets of the time is well shown in one of those sea-songs which have done so much to keep up the spirits of British tars.

“The Death of Benbow.”

Come all ye sailors bold,

Lend an ear, lend an ear,

Come all ye sailors bold, lend an ear;

’Tis of our Admiral’s fame,

Brave Benbow called by name,

How he fought on the main,

You shall hear, you shall hear.

Brave Benbow he set sail,

For to fight, for to fight;

Brave Benbow he set sail

With a free and pleasant gale,

But his captains they turned tail.

In a fright, in a fright.

Says Kirby unto Wade,

I will run, I will run;

Says Kirby unto Wade, I will run;

I value not disgrace,

Nor the losing of my place,

My en’mies I’ll not face

With a gun, with a gun.

’Twas the Ruby and Noah’s Ark

Fought the French, fought the French;

’Twas the Ruby and Noah’s Ark fought the French;

And there was ten in all;

Poor souls they fought them all,

They valued them not at all,

Nor their noise, nor their noise.

It was our Admiral’s lot,

With a chain-shot, with a chain-shot;

It was our Admiral’s lot, with a chain-shot

Our Admiral lost his legs;

Fight on, my boys, he begs,

’Tis my lot, ’tis my lot.

While the surgeon dressed his wounds,

Thus he said, thus he said;

While the surgeon dressed his wounds, thus he said,

Let my cradle now, in haste,

On the quarter-deck be placed,

That my enemies I may face,

Till I’m dead, till I’m dead.

And there bold Benbow lay,

Crying out, crying out;

And there bold Benbow lay, crying out,

Let us tack about once more,

We’ll drive them to their own shore;

I don’t value half-a-score,

Nor their noise, nor their noise.

In 1703 Rear-Admiral Dilkes did good service by pursuing a fleet of forty-three French merchantmen, convoyed by three men-of-war, into a bay between Avranches and Mount Saint Michael. He first sent in his boats, under cover of the ships, when fifteen sail were taken, six burnt, and three sunk; and, on the following morning, the enemy having got into too shoal water for the large ships to approach, he in person led the boats, when two men-of-war were burnt, a third was taken, and seventeen more of the merchant-vessels were burnt, so that only four escaped. For this signal service the queen ordered gold medals to be struck, and presented to the admiral and all his officers.

Parliament this year voted 40,000 men, including 5000 marines, for the sea-service.

On the night between the 26th and 27th of November, one of the most fearful storms ever known in England began to blow. It commenced between eleven and twelve o’clock, from the west-south-west, with a noise which resembled thunder, accompanied by bright flashes of lightning, and continued with almost unrelenting fury till seven the next morning. During these few hours thirteen men-of-war were cast away, and 1509 seamen were drowned. Among the officers who lost their lives were Rear-Admiral Beaumont, when his ship, the Mary, was driven on the Goodwin Sands. Of the whole ship’s company, Captain Hobson, the purser, and one man, Thomas Atkins, alone were saved. The escape of Atkins was remarkable. When the ship went to pieces, he was tossed by a wave into the Stirling Castle, which sank soon after, and he was then thrown by another wave, which washed him from the wreck into one of her boats. Sir Cloudsley Shovel, who was lying in the Downs, saved his ship by cutting away her main-mast, though she narrowly escaped running on the Galloper. The wives and families of the seamen who perished on this occasion received the same bounty as would have been granted had they been actually killed in fight in her majesty’s service. The House of Commons also resolved to present an address to her majesty, stating, that as they could not see any diminution of her majesty’s navy without making provision to repair the same, they besought her immediately to give directions for repairing this loss, and for building such capital ships as her majesty should think fit.

In 1704 Sir George Rooke, who commanded a large squadron in the Mediterranean, on board of which was a body of troops under the Prince of Hesse, resolved to attempt the capture of Gibraltar. On the 17th of July, while the fleet lay in Tetuan Roads, he called a council of war, when, finding that his officers were ready to support him, he gave orders that the fleet should at once proceed to the attack. Entering the Bay of Gibraltar, the ships took up a position to prevent all communication between the rock and the continent, and the Prince of Hesse landed on the isthmus with 1800 marines. His highness having taken post there, summoned the governor, who answered that he would defend the place to the last. At daybreak on the following morning, the 22nd, Sir George ordered the ships under the command of Rear-Admiral Byng and Rear-Admiral Vanderduesen to commence the cannonade, but owing to want of wind they were unable to reach their stations till nearly nightfall. In the meantime, to amuse the enemy, Captain Whitaker was sent in with some boats, who burnt a French privateer of 12 guns at the old mole. On the 23rd, soon after daybreak, the ships having taken up their stations, the admiral gave the signal for commencing the cannonade, when, in five or six hours, 15,000 shot were thrown into the fortress, compelling the enemy to retreat from their guns. Sir George now considering that could the fortifications be captured, the town would yield, sent in Captain Whitaker with all the boats, to endeavour to possess himself of it. Captain Hicks and Captain Jumper, who lay next the mole, were the first to reach the shore with their pinnaces, and before the other boats could come up, the enemy sprang a mine, which blew up the fortifications on the mole, killed 2 lieutenants and about 40 men, and wounded about 60 others. The gallant captains, then advancing, gained possession of the great platform, Captain Whitaker capturing a redoubt half-way between the mole and the town, many of the enemy’s guns being also taken. The next day the governor offered to capitulate; when, hostages being exchanged, the Prince of Hesse marched into the town, of which he took possession, the Spaniards composing the garrison being allowed to march out with all the honours of war—though the French were excluded from this part of the capitulation, and were detained as prisoners of war.

The town was found to be extremely strong, with 100 guns mounted, all facing the sea, and with two narrow passes to the land. It was also well supplied with ammunition, but the garrison consisted of less than 150 men. However, it was the opinion that fifty men might have defended the fortifications against thousands, and the attack made by the seamen was brave almost beyond example. Sixty only were killed, including those blown up, and 216 wounded. As this design was contrived by the admiral, so it was executed entirely by the seamen, and to them was the honour due.

Leaving a garrison under the Prince of Hesse, the fleet sailed to Tetuan, in order to take in wood and water. At the end of the year the Spaniards attempted its recapture, but Sir John Leake arriving to its relief, surprised and took three French frigates, a fire-ship, corvette, and storeship laden with warlike stores, the very night before the Spaniards had intended to storm it. The following month 2000 troops arrived to garrison the place, making it no longer necessary for the ships to remain in the bay.

Notwithstanding the many important services rendered by Sir George Rooke, his political opponents gaining the ascendant, so annoyed him that he resolved to retire, to prevent public business from receiving any disturbance on his account. He passed the remainder of his days as a private gentleman, for the most part at his seat in Kent. He left but a small fortune, so moderate that when he came to make his will, it surprised those who were present. The reason he assigned reflected more honour on him than had he possessed unbounded wealth. His words were: “I do not leave much, but what I leave was honestly gotten—it never cost a sailor a tear, or the nation a farthing.” He died on the 24th of January, 1708-9, in the fifty-eighth year of his age, leaving one son, George Rooke, by the daughter of Colonel Luttrell, of Dunster Castle, Somersetshire.

On the resignation of Sir George Rooke, Sir Cloudsley Shovel was appointed Vice-Admiral of England.

In 1704 a sum of 10,000 pounds was voted by Parliament for building a wharf and storehouses in the dockyard at Portsmouth, and 40,000 men for the sea-service, including 8000 marines, proving the value which was attached to this arm. Probably they were trained even then to assist in working the ship, while to them was committed those duties exclusively which have since been so ably performed by our gallant blue-jackets on shore.

On the 1st of December, 1704, Greenwich Hospital was opened for the reception of seamen, and a lieutenant-governor, captain, and two lieutenants, a physician, and surgeon, were appointed by warrant. Numerous other officers were afterwards appointed, as well as two chaplains.

In 1705, the Eddystone Lighthouse, which had been blown down during the great storm, was rebuilt by Act of Parliament, and the contribution from the English shipping, which had before been voluntary, was fixed by its authority. The contest with France, Queen Anne’s war, as it was called, resulted in the general destruction of the French power at sea; and after the battle of Malaga, we hear no more of their great fleets. The number of their privateers, however, was very much increased, in consequence of which Parliament was urged on by the mercantile interest to put them down. The loss also by the great storm, and the misfortunes met with in the West Indies, indeed, every untoward accident, induced the nation more eagerly to demand an augmentation of the navy. Thus, at the close of 1706, not only were the number but the quality of the men-of-war greatly superior to what they had been in Charles’s reign. The economy and discipline of the navy was also much improved. Great encouragement was also given to seamen, by the utmost care being taken in the treatment of the wounded, and exact and speedy payment of prize-money.

A bounty was now given for hemp imported from the plantations, and every encouragement was afforded to British merchants to enable them to carry on their schemes with vigour.

The gallantry of Captain Mordaunt, son of the Earl of Peterborough, in command of the Resolution, of 70 guns, in the Mediterranean, deserves to be remembered. He had sailed with his father from Barcelona on the 13th of March, 1706, with an envoy of the King of Spain to the Duke of Savoy on board, and had in company the Enterprise and Milford frigates. When within about fifteen leagues of Genoa, six French line of battle ships were seen, who immediately gave chase to the English squadron. Lord Peterborough and the Spanish envoy on this went on board the Enterprise, and, with the Milford, made their escape to Leghorn. The enemy continued the chase of the Resolution, when one of their ships came about ten o’clock at night within shot of her, but did not begin to fire till the other ships had come up. The Resolution had been much shattered a few days before in a heavy gale of wind, and was at no time a fast sailer. Notwithstanding the great disparity in force, Captain Mordaunt made a brave resistance; but by the advice of his officers he ran the ship ashore under the guns of a Genoese fort, from which, however, he received no manner of protection; and shortly afterwards he was wounded in the thigh, when he was carried on shore. At five the French commodore sent in all the boats of his squadron, but the enemy were repulsed and obliged to retire to their ships. The next morning a French 80-gun ship, brought up under the Resolution’s stern, with a spring in her cable, and opened a heavy fire upon her. Her officers finding that there was no prospect of saving the ship, with the consent of Captain Mordaunt, set her on fire, and in a short time she was consumed, while they and the crew got safely on shore.

The last act of the gallant Sir Cloudsley Shovel was an attempt to assist the Duke of Savoy and Prince Eugene, who were closely investing Toulon. A large number, however, of the French ships were destroyed before the siege was raised. On his return to England, on the 23rd of October, 1707, a strong gale blowing from the south-south-west, his ship, the Association, ran upon the rocks called the Bishop and his Clerks off Scilly, and immediately going to pieces, every soul perished. The Eagle and Romney shared the same fate; other ships struck, but happily got off. The body of the brave Sir Cloudsley was the next day cast on shore, and was known by a valuable ring which he wore on his finger. Being brought to Plymouth, it was thence conveyed to London and interred in Westminster Abbey, where a magnificent monument was erected by Queen Anne to his memory.

We may judge of the progress of the navy by the sums voted by Parliament for its support, which in this year amounted to 2,300,000 pounds.

In 1708, Commodore Wager, with a small squadron, attacked a fleet of galleons on their way from Porto Bello to Carthagena. The Spanish admiral’s ship, the San Josef, of 64 guns and 600 men, blew up with a cargo on board of 7,000,000 pounds in gold and silver, only seventeen men being saved. The vice-admiral escaped, but the rear-admiral, of 44 guns, was captured. She had, however, only thirteen chests of eight and fourteen sows of silver. The rest of the galleons were for the most part loaded with cocoa. Two of Commodore Wager’s captains, who had disobeyed his orders, were tried by a court-martial, and dismissed from the command of their ships.

About the same time Captain Purvis, while chasing a French ship, got his vessel on a ledge of rocks, where she was bilged. He, and some of his men, however, reached a small Key within shot of the French ship, which mounted 14 guns and had on board 60 men. She kept up a brisk fire upon the Key until Captain Purvis with his own boats and a canoe had boarded her, when her commander called for quarter and surrendered on condition that he and his crew should be set on shore. Captain Purvis got the French ship off and returned in her to Jamaica.

Another gallant exploit was performed by Captain Colby, commanding a privateer. Being on a cruise on the Spanish main, he fell in with fourteen sail of brigantines and sloops, laden with valuable goods taken out of the galleons at Porto Bello. They were bound to Panama, under convoy of a guard sloop, which he bravely fought and took, with six of her convoy.

An Act of Parliament was passed this year, by which the forfeited and unclaimed shares of prize-money were to be paid into Greenwich Hospital.

The Prince George of Denmark dying, the Earl of Pembroke was appointed Lord High Admiral of Great Britain in his stead.

England was, as before, determined to assert her supposed sovereignty of the narrow seas, and to compel other nations to acknowledge her claims. While cruising in the chops of the channel the Winchester, Captain Hughes, chased a strange sail, on coming up with which he discovered her to be a large Dutch privateer. The commander, on being required to pay the usual compliment to the British flag, not only refused, but discharged a broadside into the Winchester. An obstinate fight ensued, in which the Dutch commander and forty of his men were killed. The Dutch and English were at this time, it will be remembered, at peace; but we hear of no complaint being made of the proceeding.

On the retirement of the Earl of Pembroke, the queen, in November, 1709, issued a warrant for the executing of the office of Lord High Admiral by commission. The next year an Act was passed for the purchase of lands in order to fortify and better secure the royal docks at Portsmouth, Chatham, Harwich, Plymouth, and Milford Haven.

By another Act, any seaman in the merchant-service, who had been disabled in defending or taking enemy’s ships was deemed qualified to be admitted into Greenwich Hospital.

A fleet, under Sir Hovenden Walker, whose flag-ship was the Edgar, was sent out to attack Quebec, and to recover from the French Placentia, in the island of Newfoundland. Having arrived too late in the season he was compelled to return. While he and most of the officers were on shore, on the 15th of October, the Edgar blew up at Spithead, when every soul perished.

There lay at that time in the Downs two privateers, the Duke, of 30 guns and 170 men, commanded by Captain Wood Rogers, and the Duchess, of 26 guns and 150 men, commanded by Captain Stephen Courtnay, having been fitted out by some Bristol merchants to cruise against the Spaniards in the South Seas. They had just returned from thence, having captured a Spanish ship with two millions of pieces of eight on board. On their voyage they had touched at the island of Juan Fernandez, which they reached on the 31st of January, 1708-9. Two of the officers with six armed men had gone on shore, but not quickly returning, the pinnace was sent well manned to bring them off. Towards evening they both came back bringing with them a man clothed in goat-skins, who appeared wilder than the goats themselves. He seemed very much rejoiced at getting on board, but at first could not speak plainly, only dropping a few words of English by times, and without much connection. However, in two or three days he began to talk, when he stated that, having been four years and as many months upon the island without any human creature with whom to converse, he had forgotten the use of his tongue. He had been so long inured to water and such insipid food as he could pick up, that it was some time before he could reconcile himself to the ship’s victuals, or to the taking of a dram. He stated that he was a native of Largo, in Fifeshire, that his name was Alexander Selkirk, and that he had belonged to a ship called the Cinque Ports, commanded by one Stradling, who, upon some difference, set him on shore here, leaving him a firelock with some powder and ball, a knife, a hatchet, a kettle, some mathematical instruments, a Bible, and two or three other useful books, with a small quantity of tobacco, a bed, bedding, etcetera. At first his loneliness weighed heavily on his spirits, but in time he became inured to it, and got the better of his melancholy. He had erected two huts, one of which served him for a kitchen, the other for a dining-room and bed-chamber. They were made of pimento wood, which supplied him also with fire and candle, burning very clear, and yielding a most refreshing fragrant smell. The roof of his hut was of long grass, and it was lined with the skins of goats, nearly five hundred of which he had killed during his residence on the island, besides having caught above five hundred more, which he marked on the ears, and then set at liberty. When his ammunition was exhausted he caught them by running, and so active was he, that the swiftest goat upon the island was scarcely a match for him. While the ships remained, Mr Selkirk often accompanied the men to hunt the goats with the dogs, whom he always distanced, and frequently tired out. At first, for want of salt, he was unable to relish his food, which consisted of goats’ flesh and crawfish, but in time he took to seasoning it with pimento fruit, which is not unlike the black pepper of Jamaica. At first the rats plagued him very much, growing so bold as to gnaw his feet and clothes while he slept. However, he managed to tame some cats which had been left on shore, and these soon kept the rats at a distance. He also made pets of a few kids, and used to divert himself by dancing among them, and teaching them a thousand tricks. When his clothes were worn out, he made a fresh suit of goat-skins joined together with thongs which he had cut with his knife, and which he ran through holes made with a nail instead of a needle. He had a piece of linen remaining, of which he made a shirt to wear next his skin. In a month’s time he had no shoes left, and his feet having been so long bare were now become quite callous, and it was some time after he had been on board that he could wear a shoe.

Alexander Selkirk subsequently entered the Royal Navy and became a lieutenant. A monument to his memory was erected on the island of Juan Fernandez by the captain and officers of a British ship of war which touched there a few years ago. On Selkirk’s adventures Daniel Defoe founded his immortal story of “Robinson Crusoe.”

For some time before the end of Queen Anne’s reign no general action worthy of particular mention was fought, although in several engagements between single ships or small squadrons the seamen of England maintained the honour of the British flag. At length, in 1713, the peace of Utrecht put an end to the war. During it the French had been deprived of all pretensions to the dominion of the sea. England had gained and retained possession of Gibraltar, Minorca, Hudson’s Bay, the whole of Nova Scotia, the island of Saint Christopher, and also the chief part of Newfoundland; her fleets had literally swept the Mediterranean of all foes, scarcely a French ship daring to navigate its waters, and even the Algerines and other piratical states of Barbary, instead of paying court to the French, now yielded to us, and acknowledged the superiority of the British flag.

Chapter Thirteen.

George the First and Second—from A.D. 1714 to A.D. 1760.

Happily, England being at peace with France when George the First came to the throne, and the Dutch being our firm allies, the history of that period is barren of naval engagements. We possessed, however, numerous skilful commanders, and the navy was in as efficient a state as at any previous period. Sir George Byng, afterwards Viscount Torrington, commanded the fleets of England during the greater part of this reign. The principal officers who served under him were Sir John Leake, Sir John Jennings, Sir James Wishart, Admiral Baker, the Marquis of Carmarthen, Sir William Jumper, and Admiral Aylmer.

On the meeting of Parliament in 1715, 10,000 seamen, at 4 pounds a man per month, were voted for the navy. It also granted 35,574 pounds for the half-pay of sea-officers; and the piratical States of Barbary again becoming troublesome, Admiral Baker cruised against them, and destroyed most of their vessels.

In 1716 Captain Delgarno, an active officer in command of the Hind, 20 guns, came up with one of their best men-of-war, mounting 24 guns; when, after a most obstinate and bloody battle, he compelled her to strike, and soon after she sank, all her crew, with the exception of thirty-eight, perishing.

The West Indies being at this time overrun with a desperate set of pirates, a proclamation was issued offering a pardon to all who would surrender themselves within a twelvemonth. After the expiration of that time a reward was offered to any of his majesty’s officers, by sea or land, who should take a pirate, after he had been legally convicted: for a captain, 100 pounds; for any other officer down to a gunner, 40 pounds; an inferior officer, 30 pounds. Any private man delivering up a captain or commodore was entitled to 200 pounds.

In 1718 the Spaniards sent a fleet and army to attack the possessions of the King of Naples, on the island of Sicily. This giving offence to the English, Sir George Byng was appointed to the command in the Mediterranean, with directions to protect the Neapolitans. Soon after Sir George arrived off Messina he discovered a Spanish fleet amounting to twenty-seven sail, besides fire-ships, bomb-vessels, and galleys. On seeing the English, the Spaniards stood away, and the admiral chased them, and finally, after a running fight, captured the Spanish admiral, Chacon, with five ships of the line, one frigate of 44 guns, and one of 36. Captain Walton in the Canterbury, with five more ships, had been sent in pursuit of another part of the Spanish fleet. On the 22nd August Sir George received the following pithy despatch from him:—

“We have taken and destroyed all the Spanish ships and vessels which were upon the coast, the number as per margin.—I am, yours, etcetera, G. Walton.”

In 1722, the navy being on a peace establishment, 7000 seamen alone were voted at the usual rate of 4 pounds a man per month.

Notwithstanding the proclamation which had been issued for the apprehension of pirates, those daring sea-robbers continued their depredations, and became especially formidable on the coast of Africa, as well as in the West Indies. The most notorious of them was one Roberts, an able seaman, of undaunted courage, and capable of command. His force consisted of three stout ships; his own carried 40 guns and 152 men; another 32 guns and 132 men, and a third 24 guns and 90 men. In April, 1722, Captain Ogle, commanding the Swallow, being on a cruise off Cape Lopez, received intelligence that Roberts was lying with his three ships in an adjoining bay. Upon this, he disguised his ship to look like a merchant-vessel, and stood in, when one of the pirates slipped her cable and gave chase. Captain Ogle decoyed him off the land till he had reached such a distance as to prevent his associates hearing the report of the guns. He then shortened sailed, tacked, and brought the pirate to action, which continued an hour and a-half, when, her commander being killed, she struck. Captain Ogle then steered in for the bay, with the pirate’s colours hoisted over the king’s. This stratagem succeeded, for the pirates, seeing the black flag uppermost, concluded that the king’s ship had been taken, and stood out to sea to meet and congratulate their consort on his victory. Their joy was of short duration, for no sooner did they come alongside the Swallow than Captain Ogle, throwing off the deception, opened his broadsides upon them. The action lasted two hours, when, Captain Roberts being killed, with a large number of his men, both ships struck. Captain Ogle carried his prizes into Cape Coast Castle, where the prisoners, to the amount of 160, were brought to trial; 74 of them were capitally convicted, 52 of whom were executed and hung in chains along the coast.

In 1725 the South Sea Company commenced a whale-fishery, in which they employed twelve ships, and were sometimes very successful.

In 1726 an expedition was sent to the Spanish West Indies, under Rear-Admiral Hosier, for the purpose of blocking up the galleons or seizing them should they venture out. On the first arrival of the squadron its appearance struck terror along the whole coast, and several Spanish ships were captured. Conceiving that it was his duty to blockade Porto Bello, the brave Hosier remained before it, suffering no ships to go in or come out without strict examination; but, after remaining for six months, fever made such havoc among his seamen, while the ships were so eaten with worms, that he was compelled to return to Jamaica. In two months, however, he was again at sea, and standing over to Carthagena, continued to cruise in those seas. It is said that he lost his crews twice over. Thus the gallant Hosier, mourning for his men, and suffering himself from the deadly effects of the climate, still kept at his post in performance of his duty till, on the 23rd of August, 1727, he breathed his last.

In 1727 a fleet was despatched, under Sir John Norris, into the Baltic, where he was joined by a Danish squadron, to keep a watch on the proceedings of the Empress Catherine, but her death put a stop to the war.

The last naval expedition in this year was one for the purpose of relieving Gibraltar. Sir Charles Wager and Rear-Admiral Hopson on arriving there soon compelled the Spaniards to raise the siege.

George the First ended his reign on the 11th of June, 1727.

George the Second.

Soon after the accession of George the Second in 1727, a peace was concluded with Spain, which lasted twelve years.

Parliament voted a sum of 780,000 pounds to pay the wages of 15,000 seamen.

On the 16th of April, by an order in council, twenty of the oldest surgeons in the Royal Navy were to be allowed two shillings and sixpence per day, half-pay, and the twenty next in seniority two shillings per day.

Notwithstanding the treaty with Spain, the Spaniards continued to annoy the British trade, and to treat British subjects with the greatest insolence and inhumanity. As an instance, Robert Jenkins, master of the Rebecca brig, of Glasgow, was boarded by a Guarda Costa. The Spaniards treated the crew with the greatest barbarity, and cut off one of the master’s ears, which the captain of the Guarda Costa, giving to Jenkins, insolently told him to carry that present home to the king his master, whom, if he were present, he would serve in the same manner. Some years afterwards, when Jenkins was examined at the bar of the House of Commons, being asked what he thought when he found himself in the hands of such barbarians, he replied with great coolness, “I recommended my soul to God, and my cause to my country.”

Four 20-gun ships and two sloops of war were sent out, therefore, to the West Indies to cruise for the protection of British trade.

In 1731 an account of the reflecting or Hadley’s quadrant appeared in a paper given by a member of the Royal Society. After Dr Hadley’s death, however, among his papers a description was found of an instrument not much dissimilar to Hadley’s, written by Sir Isaac Newton, who may, therefore, be considered the first inventor of the reflecting quadrant.

In 1732 the king granted a commission to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to erect a corporation to relieve the poor widows of sea-officers. The terms of admission to the institution were that each member, who must be an officer in the navy, was to allow threepence in the pound per annum out of his pay. Soon after the establishment of this fund, Lieutenant George Crow generously resigned his half-pay for the use of this charity, stating that he had a competency to live on. The king gave 10,000 pounds for the support of the charity.

The Sallee rovers still continued very daring and troublesome to our trade, and in 1734 a small squadron was sent out, under Captain James Cornwall in the Greyhound, to block up the ports of Morocco, and capture the vessels of the barbarians. Two large corsairs were taken and destroyed, and 140 British subjects released by the Emperor of Morocco, who concluded a treaty with Great Britain.

That year his majesty issued his royal proclamation recalling all British seamen from the service of foreign powers, and offering a bounty of twenty shillings to every able-bodied seaman, and fifteen shillings to every able-bodied landsman who should enter the navy.

In the following year 30,000 men were voted for the sea-service.

An Act of Parliament was passed this year appropriating the rents of the estates of the Earl of Derwentwater and Charles Ratcliff to the completion of the royal hospital at Greenwich. By this Act all seamen in the merchant-service who may happen to be maimed, not only in fighting against pirates, but also in fighting against any enemy whatever, should be admitted into, and provided for, in that hospital.

In 1739, Spain still obstinately refusing to make any compensation for the injuries inflicted on English merchant-vessels by guarda costas, Great Britain prepared for war. Numerous ships were put in commission, and letters of marque and reprisal were issued by the Admiralty against Spain. For some time previously the opponents of the English ministry were continually taunting them with their want of courage. Among others, Admiral Vernon, who was then in Parliament, boasted that with six ships he would undertake to capture the Spanish settlement of Porto Bello. The whole nation fully believing him, a squadron was at once placed under his command, when, after remaining for a few days at Port Royal, Jamaica, he sailed on the 5th of November, with six ships of war. Light winds prevented him reaching Porto Bello till the 20th, when, on the following day, Commodore Brown, who led in the Hampton Court, got close to the Iron Castle, where, being becalmed by the high land to windward, she was exposed for some time to a smart fire from the enemy, without being able to return it. As soon, however, as she could do so, she began firing her broadside with such rapidity that she is said, in twenty-five minutes, to have expended four hundred shot. She was soon supported by the Burford, Norwich, and Warwick; these ships opened a tremendous fire, and did great execution, the small-arms from their tops compelling the Spaniards to desert their guns. As the boats with seamen and marines passed the admiral, he ordered them to land immediately under the walls, though there was no breach made, nor had the scaling-ladders arrived. As a substitute for them, however, one man placed himself close to the wall under an embrasure, while another climbed upon his shoulders. Thus the sailors became masters of the fort, and drew up the soldiers. The Spaniards, panic-stricken, tied, and the seamen, no longer obedient to the commands of their officers, plundered the town, and committed great outrages on the inhabitants. The governor soon after this hoisted the white flag and surrendered at discretion. Two ships of 20 guns each and other vessels were taken in the harbour, as also ten thousand dollars intended for the payment of the garrison, which the admiral ordered to be distributed among the British forces for their encouragement.

The squadron’s loss amounted to scarcely twenty men, while a large number of great guns, powder, and shot were captured. To prevent the place from being longer an asylum for the enemy’s guarda costas, Admiral Vernon directed the whole of the fortifications to be dismantled and blown up. The news of this success caused unbounded satisfaction at home.

In 1740 two Acts were passed, one for the better supply of seamen to serve in the Royal Navy, one allowing English merchant-vessels to be navigated by foreign sailors, not exceeding three-fourths of the crew, such foreign seamen serving for two years to be considered natural-born subjects. Another was to prevent impressment of seamen of the age of fifty or upwards, and all such as have not attained the full age of eighteen; also all foreigners serving in merchant-vessels, sea-apprentices for the first three years, and persons of any age for the first two years of their being at sea. A new board was also appointed to superintend the business of the Sick and Hurt Office. The charge of the prisoners of war was also intrusted to this board.

Anson, one of the most celebrated of British admirals, entered the navy in 1712, as a volunteer on board the Ruby, Captain Chamberlain, with whom he continued for several years, till, in 1718, he was appointed second lieutenant of the Montague. After commanding the Weasel sloop, he was promoted to the rank of post-captain in 1724. After commanding numerous ships, and conducting himself with much ability and discretion, he was selected to command that expedition to the South Seas which made his name famous. In 1740 he sailed from Spithead on the 18th of September, with a squadron of five ships, the Centurion, of 60 guns; the Gloucester, of 50, Captain Norris; the Sovereign, of 50, Captain Legge; the Pearl, of 40 guns, Captain Mitchell; the Wager, 28, Captain Kidd; the Tryal, 8 guns, Captain Murray; and two victuallers, the Anna and Industry pinks. On board the Wager sailed the Honourable John Byron, then a midshipman. The Wager must serve as an example for the rest of the ships. She was an old Indiaman, bought into the service, and now fitted out as a man-of-war, but also deeply laden with stores and merchandise of all sorts. Her crew consisted of men pressed from long voyages, while her land forces were a wretched detachment of infirm and decrepit invalids from Chelsea Hospital, desponding under the prospect of a long voyage. Her commander, Captain Kidd, before his death, predicted that misfortunes would overtake her. The Centurion, however, under the judicious management of Commodore Anson, performed a successful voyage, and had the good fortune to capture a rich Spanish galleon.

In consequence of the way ships had suffered from the attacks of worms on former occasions, those now destined for the West Indies were sheathed by a new process.

On the 25th of February Admiral Vernon again sailed on an expedition against Carthagena, but finding his force inadequate to reduce it, after refitting at Porto Bello, he proceeded to the river Chagres, an accurate chart of which he had obtained from the pirate Lowther, who, by doing this piece of service, had his majesty’s pardon granted him. The castle of San Lorenzo was quickly captured, and a large amount of merchandise and plate found in the place. After blowing up the fortifications, and destroying two guarda costas, he returned to Jamaica. He next, being joined by Sir Challoner Ogle with a large body of troops, attacked Carthagena; forcing a beam which had been laid across the harbour, the fleet entered and blew up a considerable number of forts, great gallantry being shown by the commanders of the ships of war and their crews. The British troops, however, were repulsed with great slaughter in their attempts to storm Fort Saint Lazare. In consequence of sickness, it became at length necessary to raise the siege, and the admiral returned to Jamaica. The establishment of a settlement on the island of Rattan and an attack on Cuba were designed by Admiral Vernon, but this and other plans were thwarted by the commander of the land forces, General Wentworth—showing the inconvenience which, in nearly all instances, arises from a division of command. Probably, had the whole power been vested with Admiral Vernon, his plans would have succeeded. Soon after his arrival in England, in consequence of a disagreement with the Admiralty, he was deprived of his command in 1746, after which he did not again go to sea. Probably in consequence of observing the ill effects of undiluted spirits among his crews in the West Indies, he was the first to order a sailor’s allowance of rum to be mixed with water, to which the name of grog has since been given.

During this war the English merchants lost a number of their vessels in the British Channel and the German Ocean, the prizes being carried into Vigo, Bilboa, and San Sebastian, where the poor sailors suffered inexpressible hardships, being driven barefooted a hundred or two hundred miles up the country, lodged in damp dungeons, and fed only on bread and water. On hearing of this treatment, the British Government allowed to every prisoner sixpence a-day, which was regularly paid to them. On the other hand, the English ships of war and privateers took several valuable prizes from the Spaniards, and destroyed many of their privateers; while the masters of the merchant-ships bravely defended themselves, and were never taken but by a superior force. One of these actions is worthy of being recorded. On the 27th of December, the Pulteney privateer, a large brigantine, mounting 16 carriage-guns and 26 swivels, with 42 men, commanded by Captain James Purcell, was standing into the Bay of Gibraltar after a cruise, when she was seen from Old Gibraltar, from whence 2 large Spanish xebeques, each carrying 120 men, 12 carriage-guns, and a great number of patereroes and musquetoons, were sent out to take her. They soon came up with her, a little to the eastward of Europa Point, and almost within reach of the guns of Gibraltar. In the bay lay an 80-gun ship, but without her topmasts, so that the only way of assisting the privateer was to send a reinforcement of men, which might easily have reached her before the xebeques, but the commander of the ship of war, alleging that so small a vessel could not escape, declined to do so. The gallant Captain Purcell, however, was of a different opinion, and resolved to defend his vessel to the last, being supported by his officers and men. After the Spaniards had fired a few single guns, they came near and hailed the vessel by her name, the captain entreating the English to strike and preserve their lives. These threats were returned by the Pulteney’s guns. The Spaniards then attempted to board, but were resolutely beaten off. They twice more renewed the attempt; Captain Purcell having prudently reserved half his broadside, they had not the courage to board him. For an hour and three-quarters the engagement continued, till the Spaniards, unable to stand the pounding they were receiving, made off with their oars towards Malaga, having lost above a hundred of their men—the Pulteney having had but one man killed and five more badly wounded, though it is remarkable that every man on board was shot through the clothes, the sails and rigging were cut to pieces, and some 9-pounders went through the hull and masts of the privateer. The governor, officers, and principal inhabitants of Gibraltar, who were witnesses of the action, to show Captain Purcell the high estimation in which they held his character, presented him with a piece of plate with a suitable inscription, and gave a handsome reward to the sailors for their bravery.

In 1742 the Tiger, of 50 guns, Captain Herbert, was lost on a cayo near the island of Tortuga, when the crew got on shore and saved most of their stores. They then mounted twenty of the ship’s guns for their protection, thus saving themselves from being made prisoners by the Spaniards, who had sent a ship, El Fuerte, of 60 guns, for that purpose. In the attempt, however, she also got on shore and was lost. On this cayo Captain Herbert remained nearly two months. At length, a sloop and schooner appeared off the spot; Captain Herbert, pulling off in his boats, boarded and took them, and returned in them with his ship’s company safe to Jamaica.

In 1744, the French fleet having united with that of Spain, war was declared against France. Admiral Matthews was at this time commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean. In an action which ensued soon afterwards, Admiral Matthews accused his second in command, Admiral Lestock, of not doing his duty, and sent him to England, but was himself recalled to undergo a court-martial, the issue of which was that he was dismissed and rendered for ever incapable of serving his majesty. Several other officers were also tried on various charges, some of whom were cashiered. The sentence of several of them was considered extremely hard, and many circumstances appearing in their favour, his majesty was pleased to restore them to their former rank. Courts-martial, indeed, appear to have taken place very frequently. Discipline was often lax, and that high tone which afterwards prevailed in the navy was apparently greatly wanting.

An action, which, had the English been successful, would have saved the lives and fortunes of many of the leading Jacobites, took place in 1745. On the 9th July of that year the Lion, a 60-gun ship of 400 men, commanded by Captain Piercy Brett, being on a cruise, fell in with the Elizabeth, a French ship of war, of 64 guns and 600 men, and a small frigate, the latter having on board Prince Charles, son of the old Pretender, and several officers of distinction who were accompanying him in order to support his cause in Scotland. At five o’clock in the evening the Lion got within pistol-shot of the Elizabeth, when a most obstinate battle began, and continued with great fury till ten, at which time the Lion had lost her mizen-mast, all her other masts and yards being so much wounded, and rigging and sails cut to pieces, that she became unmanageable. The Elizabeth not being so much crippled in her rigging, her commander availed himself of the opportunity, to set what sail he could, and got off. The Lion had 45 men killed and 107 wounded. Among the latter were Captain Brett, with all his lieutenants and the master. The Elizabeth had her captain and 64 men killed, and 144 wounded. She was so much damaged that it was with difficulty she reached Brest. The frigate pursuing her course landed Prince Charles at Lochaber on the 27th day of July.

In order to prevent succours being sent to the rebels from France, Admiral Vernon proceeded with a strong squadron to the Downs, and Rear-Admiral Byng was sent with some ships to the coast of Scotland.

English ship-owners and merchants had sent many large privateers of considerable force to sea, and they were especially fortunate this year. The Prince Frederick, of 28 guns and 250 men, commanded by Captain James Talbot, fell in off the western islands with two large French ships with valuable cargoes, which had just returned from the South Seas. After an obstinate engagement they captured the Marquis D’Autin, of 400 tons, 24 guns, and 68 men; and the Lewis Erasmus, of 500 tons, 28 guns, and 66 men. The privateers and their prizes having been convoyed to Bristol by three men-of-war, the treasure and plate taken out of them were put into forty-five waggons and carried to London, when, upon a division of the prize-money, each sailor’s share amounted to 850 pounds. The captains and crews of the privateers behaved with great generosity to their prisoners, allowing them to keep their valuable effects, and when the common men were landed, they distributed to each twenty guineas. The proprietors, whose share amounted to 700,000 pounds, made a voluntary tender of it to the Government to assist in putting down the Jacobite rebellion.

Another privateer took a Spanish ship worth 400,000 pounds; and another, one of 50,000 pounds; but a fourth, the Surprise, commanded by Captain Redmond, was less fortunate, for having taken a French East India ship, after an action of six hours, with a cargo valued at 150,000 pounds, the prize, from the number of shot in her hull, sank the next day with all her wealth on board.

There are many instances of captains of privateers being at once given commands in the Royal Navy. Captain Rous in the Shirley galley, and ten more stout privateers, having escorted a body of troops from Boston to assist in the reduction of Louisbourg, as a reward, his majesty directed that the privateer, which carried 24 guns, should be purchased into the navy as a post-ship, and Captain Rous appointed to command her.

Fortunes were very frequently rapidly made, not only by commanders of privateers, but by captains of men-of-war. Among these fortunate men was Captain Frankland, afterwards Admiral Thomas Frankland. When in command of the Rose, of 20 guns and 125 men, being on a cruise off the coast of South Carolina, he fell in with La Concepcion, of 20 guns and 326 men, from Carthagena bound to Havannah; and after a severe and obstinate battle captured her, she having 116 killed and 40 wounded, while he had only 5 men killed and 13 wounded. Her cargo consisted of 800 serons of cocoa, 68 chests of silver, gold and silver coin to a large amount, plate, a curious two-wheeled chase, the wheels, axles, etcetera, all of silver, diamonds, pearls, precious stones, and gold. So great was the quantity of money that the shares were delivered by weight, to save the trouble of counting it; and when the cargo was taken out of the ship, and she was put up for sale, the French captain, upon the promise of reward from Captain Frankland, discovered to him 30,000 pistoles which were concealed in a place that no one would ever have thought of looking for them. Captain Frankland presented the French captain with a thousand pistoles, with which he was far from contented.

The captain also made another fortunate discovery by means of a young French boy whom he had taken into his service. The boy complained to him that one of the sailors had taken from him a stick which was in appearance of no value. Captain Frankland recovered it for the boy, and on returning it gave him a tap on the shoulder, when, hearing something rattle, he took off the head, and found jewels (according to the Frenchman’s account) worth 20,000 pistoles. When the captain surrendered, he had given this stick to the boy in the hopes of saving it, not imagining such a trifle would be ever noticed.

That year 531 prizes were taken from the Spaniards and French, but the English lost very nearly as many, though their vessels were smaller and of much less value.

Mr William Brown, master of the Shoreham, having been placed by Captain Osborne in command of a small privateer of 2 guns and 12 swivels, captured a Spanish privateer of 10 guns and 18 swivels; and shortly afterwards another of 5 guns and 32 men; and was for his gallantry promoted by the Lords of the Admiralty to the command of a sloop of war.

Among the gallant deeds performed at this time, an action fought by the Fame, a privateer belonging to Liverpool, and commanded by Captain Fortunatus Wright, deserves to be recorded. While on a cruise in the Levant, she encountered sixteen French ships, one of them mounting 20 guns, with 150 men, fitted out expressly for the purpose of taking her. They engaged her furiously for three hours off the island of Cyprus, when the large ship was run ashore and her crew fled up the country. The Fame’s crew then boarded and brought her off.

By an Act of Parliament passed this year, every ship in Great Britain or his majesty’s plantations in North America was compelled on first going to sea to be furnished with a complete suit of sails, made of sail-cloth manufactured in Great Britain, under a penalty of fifty pounds. It was also enacted that every sail-maker in Britain or the plantations shall on every new sail affix in letters and words at length his name and place of abode, under a penalty of ten pounds.

By an order in council dated the 10th of February, 1747, established rank was first given to the officers in the Royal Navy, and a uniform clothing appointed to be worn by admirals, captains, lieutenants, and midshipmen. Hitherto they had dressed much as suited their fancy. The crew of a man-of-war must have looked more like a band of pirates than a well-ordered ship’s company of the present day. Even in later days midshipmen sometimes appeared on the deck of a man-of-war in rather extraordinary costume, as the following account, taken from the journal of an old admiral, will show.

“As we midshipmen met on board the cutter which was to carry us to Plymouth, we were not, I will allow, altogether satisfied with our personal appearance, and still less so when we stepped on the quarter-deck of the seventy-four, commanded by one of the proudest and most punctilious men in the service, surrounded by a body of well-dressed, dashing-looking officers. Tom Peard first advanced as chief and oldest of our gang, with a bob-wig on his head, surmounted by a high hat bound by narrow gold lace, white lapels to his coat, a white waistcoat, and light blue inexpressibles with midshipman’s buttons. By his side hung a large brass-mounted hanger, while his legs were encased in a huge pair of waterproof boots. I followed next, habited in a coat ‘all sides radius,’ as old Allen, my schoolmaster, would have said, the skirt actually sweeping the deck, and so wide that it would button down to the very bottom—my white cuffs reaching half-way up the arm to the elbow. My waistcoat, which was of the same snowy hue, reached to my knees, but was fortunately concealed from sight by the ample folds of my coat, as were also my small clothes. I had on white-thread stockings, high shoes and buckles, and a plain cocked hat, a prodigiously long silver-handled sword completing my costume. Dick Martingall’s and Tom Painter’s dresses were not much less out of order, giving them more the appearance of gentlemen of the highway than of naval officers of respectability. One had a large brass sword, once belonging to his great-grandfather, a trooper in the army of the Prince of Orange, the other a green-handled hanger, which had done service with Sir Cloudsley Shovel.” The writer and his friends had to beat a precipitate retreat from the Torbay, as, with a stamp of his foot, their future captain ordered them to begone, and instantly get cut-down and reduced into ordinary proportions by the Plymouth tailors. This description refers to some thirty years later than the time we are speaking of. The tailor had taken his models, the writer observes, from the days of Benbow; or rather, perhaps, from the costumes of those groups who go about at Christmas time enacting plays in the halls of the gentry and nobility, and are called by the west-country folks “geese-dancers.”

Vice-Admiral Anson, who had returned from his voyage to the Pacific, was now placed in command of a powerful fleet, and sent to cruise on the coast of France. He and Rear-Admiral Warren sailed from Plymouth on the 9th of April to intercept the French fleet, with which it fell in on the 3rd of May off Cape Finisterre, convoying a large number of merchantmen. Admiral Anson had made the signal to form line of battle, when Rear-Admiral Warren, suspecting the enemy to be merely manoeuvring to favour the escape of the convoy, bore down and communicated his opinion to the admiral, who thereon threw out a signal for a general chase. The Centurion, under a press of sail, was the first to come up with the rearmost French ship, which she attacked in so gallant a manner that two others dropped astern to her support. Three more English ships coming up, the action became general. The French, though much inferior in numbers, fought with great spirit till seven in the evening, when all their ships were taken, as well as nine sail of East India ships. The enemy lost 700 men, killed and wounded, and the British 250. Among the latter was Captain Grenville of the Defiance, to whom a monument was erected by his uncle, Lord Cobham, in his gardens at Stowe. Upwards of 300,000 pounds were found on board the ships of war, which were conveyed in twenty waggons by a military escort to London.

So pleased was the king with this action that, after complimenting Admiral Anson, he was created a peer of Great Britain, and Rear-Admiral Warren was honoured with the order of the Bath.

A sad accident occurred shortly afterwards in an action off the Azores, when the Dartmouth, Captain Hamilton, of 50 guns, while engaging for some hours the Glorioso, a Spanish ship of 74 guns and 750 men, caught fire and blew up, every soul with her brave commander perishing, except Lieutenant O’Bryan and eleven seamen, who were saved by the boats of a privateer in company. The Dartmouth’s consort, the Russell, pursuing the Spaniard, captured her after a warm engagement.

As an encouragement and relief to disabled and wounded seamen in the merchant-service, an Act of Parliament was passed in this year authorising the masters of merchant-vessels to detain sixpence per month from the wages of seamen. It was extended also to the widows and children of such seamen as should be killed or drowned. A corporation was established for the management of this fund.

Admiral Hawke in command of another squadron, was equally successful, having captured in one action no less than six large French ships.

The war terminated at the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748. The total number of ships taken from the French and Spaniards amounted in all to 3434, while the entire loss of English merchant-vessels amounted to 3238.

In 1744 Admiral Sir John Balchen, whose flag was flying on board the Victory, was returning from Gibraltar, when, having reached the channel on the 3rd of October, the fleet was overtaken by a violent storm. The Exeter, one of the squadron, lost her main and mizen-mast, and it became necessary to throw twelve of her guns overboard to prevent her from sinking, while other ships suffered much. On the 4th the Victory separated from the fleet, and was never more heard of. She had on board nearly a thousand men, besides fifty volunteers, sons of the first nobility and gentry in the kingdom. It is supposed that she struck upon a ridge of rocks off the Caskets, as from the testimony of the men who attended the light, and the inhabitants of the island of Alderney, minute-guns were heard on the nights of the 4th and 5th, but the weather was too tempestuous to allow boats to go out to her assistance. The king settled a pension of 500 pounds per annum on Sir John Balchen’s widow.

As an example of the danger those on board fire-ships ran, a fearful accident which happened to one of them must be mentioned. While the fleet of Admiral Matthews was engaged with the Spaniards in the Mediterranean, he ordered the Anne galley fire-ship, commanded by Captain Mackay, to go down and burn the Real. In obedience to his orders, that brave officer approached the Spanish admiral. Notwithstanding the heavy fire opened on his vessel, he ordered all his people off the deck, and boldly steered the fire-ship, with a match in his hand. As he approached, he found that the enemy’s shot had such an effect that his ship was fast sinking; at the same time, observing a large Spanish launch rowing towards him, he opened fire on her with his guns, when, on a sudden, the fire-ship appeared in a blaze, and almost immediately blew up, but at a distance too great either to grapple or damage the Real. The gallant commander, with his lieutenant, gunner, mate, and two quartermasters, perished.

The Admiralty at this time appear to have considered that the best way of inducing naval officers to perform their duty was to shoot or otherwise severely punish them if they did not. On the 22nd of April, 1745, the Anglesea, of 40 guns and 250 men, commanded by Captain Jacob Elton, fell in with a French privateer of 50 guns and 500 men. After a severe action, in which the commander and his first lieutenant were killed, the ship being much disabled, and above sixty of her crew killed or wounded, Mr Barker Phillips, her second lieutenant, who succeeded to the command, surrendered her to the enemy. On his return to England, he was tried by a court-martial, and sentenced to be shot, which sentence was carried into execution on board the Princess Royal at Spithead.

The war again broke out in 1755, when information being received that the French were preparing a fleet of men-of-war to sail from different ports, the ministry immediately equipped a squadron, the command of which was given to Admiral Boscawen, who was ordered to proceed to North America. The first ships taken during the war were by the Dunkirk, Captain Howe, who after an engagement of five hours captured the Alcide and Lys, part of the squadron of M. de la Motte.

A fleet of ten ships, under the command of Admiral Byng, was sent out to the Mediterranean. With his squadron but imperfectly manned, he sailed from Spithead on the 7th of April. When off Minorca, then held by the English, and besieged by the Spaniards, a French fleet appeared in sight. The next day, the weather being hazy, the French fleet was not seen till noon, when Admiral Byng threw out an order to Rear-Admiral West to engage them, but he being at a distance did not understand these orders. He, however, with his whole division bearing away seven points, came up with the enemy, and attacked them with such impetuosity that several of their ships were soon obliged to quit the line. Byng’s division not advancing, Admiral West was prevented from pursuing his advantage for fear of being separated from the rest of the fleet, which, from unskilful manoeuvring, gave the enemy time to escape. On his arrival at Gibraltar the unfortunate Admiral Byng found that commissioners had arrived to arrest him and Admiral West, who were accordingly sent prisoners to England. Sir Edward Hawke, who had brought out reinforcements, immediately sailed up the Mediterranean, but on arriving off Minorca, to his mortification, saw the French flag flying from the Castle of San Felipe. The French fleet took shelter in Toulon, while Sir Edward Hawke had the command of the Mediterranean. The fall of Minorca caused the greatest dissatisfaction in England, and though undoubtedly the ministry were to blame for not having sent more troops to Minorca, and given Byng a larger fleet, he committed an error in not taking greater pains to engage the French fleet. A court-martial pronounced him guilty of a breach of the twelfth article of war, and condemned him to death. He was accordingly, on the 14th of March, shot on board the Monarch, in Portsmouth harbour—a sacrifice to popular clamour. The court which condemned him, however, declared that his misconduct did not proceed from want of courage or disaffection, and added to their report of their proceedings a petition to the Lords of the Admiralty requesting their lordships most earnestly to recommend him to his majesty’s clemency. The Government, however, having resolved on his death, allowed the law to take its course. The president of the court-martial was Vice-Admiral Thomas Smith, generally known in the service by the name of Tom of Ten Thousand. When he was lieutenant on board the Gosport in Plymouth Sound, and her captain on shore, Mr Smith directed a shot to be fired at a French frigate which, on passing, had neglected to pay the usual compliment to the flag. The Frenchman considering this as an insult offered to his flag, lodged a complaint against Mr Smith, who was tried by a court-martial and dismissed the service. His spirited conduct was, however, so much approved of by the nation, that he was promoted at once to the rank of post-captain.

In 1749 an Act of Parliament was passed authorising the Admiralty to grant commissions to flag-officers or any other officer commanding his majesty’s fleet or squadron of ships of war, to call and assemble courts-martial in foreign parts.

The sudden possession of wealth by the capture of prizes had undoubtedly a deteriorating effect on the minds of many officers of the navy. We may understand the disappointment which was felt by those serving under Admiral Knowles, who was cruising off the Havannah to intercept the expected Plate fleet, when a Spanish advice-boat brought into the squadron informed the admiral that the preliminary articles for a general peace were signed. The unpleasant news caused a general dejection throughout the whole squadron. Dissensions among the officers had for some time before prevailed, and these at length terminated in various courts-martial. It was probably this lust of wealth which induced the officers of the Chesterfield, of 40 guns, commanded by Captain O’Brien Dudley, when off Cape Coast Castle, to mutiny. Samuel Couchman, the first lieutenant, John Morgan, the lieutenant of marines, Thomas Knight, the carpenter, were the ringleaders. They managed to seize the ship and carry her to sea while the captain and some others were on shore. By the spirited conduct of Mr Gastrien, the boatswain, and Messrs Gillan and Fraser, she was retaken from the mutineers thirty hours afterwards, and ultimately brought safe to Portsmouth, where the mutineers being tried, two of the principal officers were shot on board their ship. The four others and one seaman were hanged.

The animosity which had existed among the captains of the West India squadron was carried to serious lengths, and resulted in several duels, one of which was fought between Captains Clarke and Innes, in Hyde Park, when the latter was killed. Captain Clarke was tried, and received sentence of death, but his majesty granted him a free pardon. Another duel was fought between Admiral Knowles and Captain Holmes. After they had discharged two or three shots at each other, the seconds interfered, and they were reconciled. The king being informed that four more challenges had been sent to the admiral, ordered three of the officers to be taken into custody, which put an end to all further dissensions.

In 1753 an Act was passed to render more effectual the Act of the 12th of Queen Anne, for providing a public reward for such person or persons as should discover the longitude at sea.

In 1756 the Marine Society was instituted, owing to the patriotic zeal of the merchants of London, who entered into a liberal subscription to clothe and educate orphans or deserted and friendless boys to serve in the Royal Navy. It has proved of great advantage to the navy. In June, 1772, it was incorporated, and is governed by a president and six vice-presidents.

Among the most desperate engagements fought at this period the exploit of the Terrible privateer, commanded by Captain Death, deserves to be recorded. She carried 26 guns and 200 men. When on a cruise, she fell in with the Grand Alexander, from Saint Domingo, of 22 guns and 100 men, when, after an action of two hours, she captured her. Both vessels were considerably damaged; the Terrible had a lieutenant and sixteen men killed. While conducting her prize to England, and ill-prepared for a second engagement, she fell in with the Vengeance privateer, belonging to Saint Malo, of 36 guns and 360 men. The enemy having retaken the prize, manned her, and together bore down on the Terrible. Captain Death defended his ship with the greatest bravery against so unequal a force, but at length, he and half his crew being killed and most of the survivors badly wounded, the masts being shot away, she was compelled to strike. The enemy’s ship was also a complete wreck; her first and second captains were killed, with two-thirds of her crew. The merchants of London, as a testimony of their high sense of the gallant behaviour of Captain Death and his brave crew, opened a subscription at Lloyd’s coffee-house for the benefit of his widow; for the widows of the brave fellows who lost their lives with him, and for that part of the crew who survived the engagement.

Captain Fortunatus Wright, who had before been so successful in the Mediterranean, was now in command of the Saint George privateer cruising in the same sea. He had first a desperate battle with a French privateer twice his size, which he beat off, and then proceeded to Leghorn, where he was thrown into prison by the Austrian government. Admiral Hawke, on hearing of it, sent two ships to demand his immediate release. This request was complied with. Shortly afterwards the Saint George was overtaken by a furious storm, in which she foundered, her brave commander and crew perishing.

At this time, while Lord Clive was, by a series of victories, laying the foundation of the British Empire in the east, Admiral Watson commanded in the Indian seas. To assist the army the squadron entered the Hooghly, when a body of seamen was landed to attack the fort of Boujee. By a singular event it was carried without bloodshed. A seaman by the name of Strachan, belonging to the Kent, having drunk too much grog, strayed under the walls of the fort in the dead of night, and observing a breach, entered at it, giving loud huzzas. This alarmed some more of his comrades, who had also strayed the same way. They instantly mounted the breach, and drove the Indian garrison from the works. By this time the whole camp and squadron were alarmed, and the troops, flying to the fort, entered and gained possession of it without the loss of a man. After everything was quiet, Admiral Watson sent for Strachan to admonish him for his temerity, and addressing him, observed, “Strachan, what is this you have been doing?” The untutored hero, after having made his bow, scratching his head with one hand and twirling his hat with the other, replied, “Why, to be sure, sir, it was I who took the fort, but I hope there was no harm in it.” The admiral then pointed out to him the dreadful consequences that might have resulted from so rash an act, and insinuated as he left the cabin that he should be punished. Strachan, highly disappointed at this rebuke from the admiral when he thought himself entitled to applause, muttered as he was leaving the cabin, “If I’m flogged for this here action, I’ll never take another fort as long as I live.”

A gallant action fought in the West Indies, in the year 1757, is worthy of note. Admiral Cotes, commander-in-chief on the station, despatched Captain Arthur Forrest, of the 60-gun ship Augusta, with the Edinburgh, Captain Langdon, of 60 guns, and the Dreadnought, Captain Maurice Suckling, of 60 guns, to cruise off Cape François, where the French were assembling a fleet of merchant-vessels for Europe. The French squadron consisted of two seventy-fours, one sixty-four, one fifty, one forty-four, and two of thirty-two guns. On the 21st of October, early in the morning, the Dreadnought made the signal for the enemy. On this, Captain Forrest summoned his captains, and on their arrival on the Augusta’s quarter-deck, he observed, “Well, gentlemen, you see they are come out to engage us.” On this, Captain Suckling replied, “I think it would be a pity to disappoint them.” Captain Langdon being of the same opinion, the signal was thrown out to make all sail to close the enemy. So admirably were the three ships manoeuvred, and so well were their guns fought, that one of the enemy’s ships was dismasted and the whole fleet much disabled, with the loss of nearly 600 men killed and wounded, when they made sail to leeward. The British ships were so much cut up in their sails and rigging that it was impossible to follow. The Dreadnought had lost 9 killed, 20 dangerously and 10 slightly wounded, while every yard and mast was greatly injured. Shortly afterwards, Captain Forrest captured a French convoy consisting of 9 ships, carrying 112 guns and 415 men.

Among the many dashing officers of those days was Captain Gilchrist. When in command of the Southampton, of 32 guns and 220 men, he was on his way from Portsmouth to Plymouth, with money to pay the dockyard artificers. Being attacked at eleven at night, off Saint Alban’s Head, by five French privateers, two of them of equal force, he compelled them, after an action of two hours, to sheer off; his vessel being a perfect wreck, with several shot between wind and water, and ten men killed, and fourteen mortally wounded. The following September, when looking into Brest, a French ship came out, for which he waited. He reserved his fire till he got within twenty yards of her, when a most furious engagement began; the ships falling on board of each other. The enemy made an attempt to board the Southampton, but being vigorously repulsed, in a quarter of an hour after struck, and proved to be the Emeraude, a French frigate of 28 guns and 245 men, 60 of whom were either killed or wounded. The action was fought at such close quarters that the men used their handspikes, and two of the officers were killed by a discharge from Captain Gilchrist’s own blunderbuss. The Southampton had her second lieutenant and 19 men killed, and every officer except the captain, and 28 wounded. While conducting her prize into port, the Southampton captured an 18-gun privateer belonging to Dunkirk.

Among the worst ships in the service at that time were the two-deck 40 and 50 gun ships, for when any heavy sea was running, they were unable to open their lower-deck ports, and were thus of even less force than vessels carrying only 20 guns. Numerous instances of this occurred, and among others the Antelope, of 50 guns, Captain Thomas Saumarez, fell in with a French privateer of 22 guns. The Antelope being unable at the time to open her lower-deck ports in consequence of the heavy sea, it took her two hours to capture the privateer, which even then would probably have got off, had not her mizen-mast been shot away.

An action, celebrated in naval song, was that between the Monmouth, of 64 guns, commanded by Captain Gardiner, and the Foudroyant, of 84 guns. Captain Gardiner had been flag-captain to Admiral Byng in the action off Minorca, in which the Foudroyant bore the French admiral’s flag, and he had declared that if he should ever fall in with the Foudroyant he would attack her at all hazards, though he should perish in the encounter. In company with the Monmouth were the Swiftsure, 74, and the Hampton Court, 64; but the Monmouth soon ran her consorts out of sight, and at 8 p.m., getting up with the chase, commenced the action. Among the first wounded was the captain, but it being in the arm, he refused to go below. He soon knocked away some of the Foudroyant’s spars, and then carried his ship close under her starboard-quarter, where for four hours the Monmouth maintained the unequal contest. At 9 p.m. the gallant Gardiner was mortally wounded in the forehead by a musket-ball, when Lieutenant Robert Carket took command. Shortly afterwards the Monmouth’s mizen-mast was shot away, on which the French crew cheered; but the Foudroyant’s mizen-mast sharing the same fate, the British seamen returned the compliment, and in a little time down came the French ship’s main-mast. Still, she continued working her guns till some time after the arrival of the Swiftsure, when she surrendered. Her captain presented his sword to Lieutenant Carket, thus acknowledging that he was captured by the Monmouth. To understand the disparity between the two ships, their comparative broadside weight of metal should be known. That of the Monmouth was 540 pounds, that of the Foudroyant was 1136 pounds. The Foudroyant, which was taken into the service, was looked upon for many years as the finest ship in the British Navy. She exceeded by twelve feet in length the Chester British first-rate, and measured 1977 tons. All her guns abaft the main-mast were of brass. Lieutenant Carket was deservedly promoted to command her.

We must pass over one of the most memorable events of this reign, the capture of Quebec by General Wolfe, in which Captain Cook, then a master in the navy, first exhibited his talents and courage, and briefly describe an important naval action, that of Sir Edward Hawke in Quiberon Bay. The admiral sailed from Spithead early in June, 1759, with a powerful fleet to cruise off Brest and in soundings. Hence he despatched three small squadrons to scour the enemy’s coast. In November a heavy gale compelled Sir Edward Hawke to take shelter in Torbay. During his absence M. de Conflans got safe into Brest with his squadron from the West Indies. Believing that the coast was clear, he again put to sea on the 14th of November, and on the same day the British fleet sailed from Torbay. The next day Captain McCleverty, in the Gibraltar, joined Sir Edward, with the information that he had seen the French fleet about twenty-four leagues to the north-west of Belleisle, steering to the south-east. Sir Edward immediately shaped a course for Quiberon Bay. A strong wind forced the fleet to leeward; it shifted, however, on the 19th to the westward. The Maidstone and Coventry frigates were ordered to look out ahead. The French admiral seeing them, sent some of his ships in chase, but soon after perceiving the British fleet, he recalled them, and formed in order of battle. On the approach of the British ships he crowded sail and pushed in for the land, not more than four or five leagues distant, in the hopes of entangling them among the rocks and shoals. In this he was disappointed, as the van ships of the English fleet were close up to his rear at half-past two o’clock, and in a few minutes the engagement became general. The Formidable, carrying the flag of the French rear-admiral, was closely engaged by the Resolution, and having to sustain the fire of every ship that passed, was obliged to strike, he and 200 of his men being killed. Lord Howe, in the Magnanime attacked the Thésée, but the Montague running foul of the former so much disabled her, that she fell astern. Captain Keppel, in the Torbay, then attacked the Thésée, when a sudden squall coming on, the lower-deck ports of the latter ship not being closed, she filled and instantly sank. The Superbe shared a similar fate alongside of the Royal George. Lord Howe having got clear, bore down and attacked the Hero so furiously that he soon compelled her to strike. During the night, which proved very boisterous, she drove on shore and was lost. The enemy then endeavoured to make their escape; some succeeded, but several got ashore, as did the Essex and Resolution, but their crews were saved. The French admiral’s ship, the Soleil Royal, had in the dark anchored in the midst of the British fleet, on discovering which he cut his cable, when he drove ashore. On the weather moderating the boats of the squadron were sent in to destroy the French ships. The Soleil Royal was set on fire by her own crew, and the Hero by the British boats. La Juste, of 70 guns, was also wrecked, but seven of the French ships, by throwing overboard their guns and stores, escaped into the river Yillaine.

The remnant of this fleet, under M. de Thurot, a celebrated privateer commander, escaped out of Dunkirk for the purpose of making a descent on the northern coast of England or Ireland. After taking shelter during the winter on the coast of Norway, he appeared with three frigates before the town of Carrickfergus, which he attacked and laid under contribution. Having supplied his ships with such necessaries as they were in need of, he re-embarked his men and took his departure. At that time Captain John Elliot, who was lying at Kinsale in the Aeolus, with the Pallas and Brilliant under his command, on hearing that M. de Thurot was on the coast, put to sea, and fortunately came up with him off the Isle of Man. A close action was maintained for an hour and a-half, when the gallant Thurot and a large number of his men being killed, the three frigates struck their colours. His own ship, the Maréchal Belleisle, was so shattered that it was with difficulty she could be kept afloat. La Blonde and Terpsichore were added to the British Navy.

The French at this time built a number of vessels on a new construction, to which they gave the name of prames. They were about a hundred feet long, quite flat-bottomed, and capable of carrying four or five hundred men. They were to be employed in transporting troops over for the invasion of England. Admiral Rodney fell in with and destroyed a number of them off Havre-de-Grâce.

During this year the French took 330 ships from the English, whereas the English took only 110 from the French. In reality, however, the gain was on the side of Great Britain, the French ships captured being chiefly large privateers and rich armed merchantmen, while those England lost were mostly coasters and colliers. The trade of France, also, was almost annihilated, and she in consequence employed the greater part of her seamen in small privateers, which swarmed in the channel, the vessels they captured being of like value.

George the Second had the satisfaction of seeing the arms of England everywhere prospering, when on the 27th of October, 1760, he breathed his last, in the thirty-third year of his reign and the seventy-seventh of his age.

Gallant as were the officers and brave as were the men of the navy, they were generally rough in their manners, and ignorant of all matters not connected with their profession. So they continued for many years, till the naval college was established, and schoolmasters were placed on board ships to afford the midshipmen instruction. It could scarcely have been otherwise, considering the early age at which young gentlemen were sent to sea, when they had had barely time to learn more than reading, writing, and arithmetic, while comparatively few had afterwards time or opportunity to improve themselves. Practices were allowed on board ship which would not have been tolerated in Elizabeth’s days.

Chapter Fourteen.

George the Third—from A.D. 1760 to A.D. 1782.

On George the Third coming to the throne in 1760 he found the nation still at war with France.

Among the gallant men actively employed at this time, whose names were long as household words both in the navy and on shore, were Lord Anson, Sir Edward Hawke, Admiral Rodney, Captain Alexander Hood, Commodore Keppell, Captain Faulkner, Captain the Honourable Keith Stuart, Captain Richard Howe, afterwards Earl Howe, Captains Shuldham, Sir Hugh Palliser, the Honourable John Byron, Peter Parker, and Samuel Barrington.

The fleets of England were at this time distributed much, as at the present time, under flag-officers. The Nore, the Channel Fleet, the Mediterranean, Lisbon, North America, Newfoundland, the West Indies, the Leeward Islands, Jamaica, the East Indies, and occasionally on the coast of Africa.

We have numerous proofs that British seamen gained their victories as much by their proficiency in gunnery and their activity as by their strength and courage. Of this there are numberless instances, among others the following. In 1761, on the evening of the 13th of August, the Bellona, of 74 guns, and a crew of 550 men, Captain Robert Faulkner, and the Brilliant, a 36-gun frigate, Captain James Logie, on their passage from Lisbon to England, being off Vigo, came in sight of three large ships. The strangers were the French 74-gun ship Courageux, of 700 men, and the 36-gun frigates Hermione and Malicieuse. In consequence of seeing the British ships through the magnifying medium of a hazy atmosphere, they concluded that they were both line of battle ships, and dreading the issue of an engagement, took to flight. Captain Faulkner on this, suspecting them to be enemies, immediately made sail in chase, and kept them in sight all night. At daylight the next morning he and his consort were about five miles from the two ships, when the largest, throwing out a signal, took in her studding-sail, wore round, and stood for the Bellona. The two frigates at the same time closed, and at six brought the Brilliant to action. Captain Logie determined to find so much for them to do that the Bellona should have the Courageux to herself. So vigorously did he work his guns that the frigates received such injury in their sails and rigging as to be compelled to sheer off to repair damages. As the water was smooth and a light wind only blowing, the contest become one of simple gunnery. At half-past six the Bellona was closely engaged with the French 74. In nine minutes both their mizen-masts fell overboard, while the Bellona’s braces, shrouds, and rigging were much cut up. Captain Faulkner, fearing that the enemy would seize the opportunity to sheer off, gave orders for immediately boarding, but the Courageux, falling athwart the bow of his ship, rendered this impracticable. The Bellona might now have been seriously raked fore and aft, but Captain Faulkner immediately set all his studding-sails to wear the ship round, when the crew flew to their guns on the side now opposed to the enemy, from which they fired away with so much rapidity for twenty minutes as almost to knock the Courageux to pieces, while the two frigates were unable, in consequence of the gallant way in which they were kept at bay by Captain Logie, to render her any assistance. Unable to withstand this unremitting fire, the Courageux hauled down her colours, her crew crying for quarter. The two frigates on this bore away and got off. Considerable as was the damage done to the Bellona in her rigging, she had suffered very little in the hull, and had lost only 6 killed and 25 wounded; while the Courageux had her foremast and bowsprit alone standing, her decks torn up in several places, and large breaches made in her sides; 220 of her men being killed, and half that number wounded, among whom was her captain, Dugué L’Ambert. The Brilliant lost her master and 5 men killed and 16 wounded. The Courageux had on board 8500 pounds in specie. She was carried by her captor into Lisbon to be refitted, and was added to the British Navy under the same name. Proverbially thoughtless as are British seamen, they have ever shown themselves equally kind and generous to those in distress. On this occasion the French crew being found destitute of means for their support when at Lisbon, a subscription was raised on board the Bellona and Brilliant, as well as among the merchants on shore, to enable them to return to France.

Still further improvements being made in Mr Harrison’s timekeeper for finding the longitude at sea, the Deptford, of 50 guns, was sent out with the inventor on board. She made the island of Maderia at the exact time which he pointed out, and from thence proceeded to Jamaica, making that island with equal accuracy. On his return he found that the instrument had lost only 1 minute, 54 and a half seconds.

This year also the experiment for coppering ships’ bottoms as a preservation against worms was introduced into the Royal Navy, and tried on the Alarm frigate, of 32 guns.

Another act of humanity deserves to be recorded. In November, 1762, Captain Clarke, commanding the Sheerness, of 24 guns, being closely pursued by five French ships of war, took refuge in the neutral bay of Villa Franca. One of the enemy’s ships, La Minerva, continued the pursuit, and by way of bravado running in between the Sheerness and the land, attempted to anchor. In doing this she was driven on the rocks, and the sea running high was soon dashed to pieces. On this, although the other four ships were approaching, Captain Clarke, with much humanity, sent in his boats, and saved the greater part of her crew, twenty-five only perishing, although the whole would otherwise have been lost. Struck by this generous act, the French commodore went on board the Sheerness to thank Captain Clarke for the relief he had offered his distressed countrymen.

To the credit of the Spaniards, it must be told how they on another occasion exhibited much good-feeling. Two ships, the Lord Clive and Ambuscade, had been sent out to attack the Spanish settlements on the River Plate in South America. During the action the first blew up; her commander, and the whole crew, excepting seventy-eight, perishing. They, escaping the flames, swam to the shore, when instead of being looked upon as enemies who came to plunder the settlement, the Spaniards treated them with the greatest tenderness, and furnished them with clothes and every necessary refreshment.

On the 6th of June, 1762, Lord Anson died, and was succeeded as First Lord of the Admiralty by the Earl of Halifax.

The king’s ships were especially fortunate in their captures this year. In the Mediterranean a rich Spanish ship from Barcelona, with 100,000 dollars on board, was taken; and the Active frigate, Captain Sawyer, and the Favourite sloop of war, Captain Pownall, while on a cruise off Cadiz, captured the Hermione, a large Spanish register ship from Lima. She was the richest prize made during the war, the net proceeds of her cargo amounting to 519,705 pounds, 10 shillings. The admiral received 64,000 pounds; the captain of the Active, 65,000 pounds; three commissioned officers of that ship, 13,800 pounds each; eight warrant officers, 4000 pounds each; twenty petty officers, 1800 pounds each; and each seaman and marine, 485 pounds. The officers and crew of the Favourite received in the same proportion. On arriving at Portsmouth the treasure was sent up to London in twenty waggons, decorated with the British colours flying over those of Spain, and escorted by a party of seamen. At Hyde Park corner they were joined by a troop of light horse, and proceeded through the city, amidst the acclamations of the people, to the Tower.

The Seven Years’ War with France and Spain was now brought to a conclusion, and peace was signed at Fontainebleau on the 3rd of November. England was now possessed of the most powerful fleet in the world, while her resources were comparatively undiminished. By means chiefly of her navy, she had gained the whole of the provinces of Canada, the islands of Saint John and Cape Breton, the navigation of the river Mississippi, and that part of Louisiana which lies on the east of that river, the town of New Orleans excepted, permission to cut logwood and to build houses in the Bay of Honduras, and the province of Florida—though she had to restore the Havannah and its dependencies to Spain, as well as Martinico, Guadaloupe, Marie Galante, and Saint Lucia to France—while she was to retain the Grenadas and Grenadines, with the neutral islands of Dominica, Saint Vincent, and Tobago. In Europe she regained the island of Minorca and gave up that of Belleisle. In Africa she retained Senegal and restored Gorée. In Asia all her conquests made from France were restored, with the restriction that France was not to erect fortifications in the province of Bengal, and the fortifications of Dunkirk were to be demolished.

Popular as had been the war, Parliament had only voted 70,000 men for the navy, though in order that each ship should have had her full complement, fully 85,000 men would have been required. Many ships, indeed, went to sea imperfectly manned; the proper number of the crews being often made up of men sent from the jails, and landsmen carried off by the press-gangs. The ships themselves were also of a very inferior character.

Up to this time all 80-gun ships were three-deckers, but after 1759 no more were built. The building also of 70 and 60 gun ships was discontinued about the same period. The finest ships were those taken from the French and added to the Royal Navy. The first English 80-gun ship on two decks was the Caesar, launched in 1793.

The Marine Society at the peace came to the resolution of receiving and making provision for all boys under sixteen years of age who had been, or might be, discharged from his majesty’s service, by putting them out apprentices in the merchant-service. 295 boys made application for employment, and were provided for.

A body of sailors presented a petition to the king requesting to have the D’s, placed against their names for deserter, taken off. His majesty granted the request to all who had again entered on board a king’s ship.

It appears that the whole number of seamen and marines employed during the war amounted to 184,893. Of these, only 1512 had been killed in action or by accident, while 133,700 had either died by sickness or were missing—probably, had deserted. Thus, on the books of the Navy Office but 49,673 remained. Of these, all except 16,000 were paid off at the peace. To pay them, Parliament granted 832,000 pounds; to pay the officers, including those on half-pay, 398,000 pounds.

In 1764 Mr Harrison’s chronometer was again tried on board the Tartar frigate, commanded by Captain John Lindsay, who reported most favourably on it.

This year the officers of his majesty’s navy were directed to act as custom-house officers on the coast of America, as well as in the British Channel, but, from the complaints made, the Admiralty released them from a service which they considered as degrading to their situation.

On the 3rd of July his majesty’s ship Dolphin, of 20 guns, commanded by the Honourable John Byron, and the Tamer sloop of war, 14 guns, Captain Mouat, sailed from Plymouth on a voyage of discovery. On her return in 1766 the Dolphin was again despatched, under the command of Captain Samuel Wallis, and the Swallow sloop of war, Captain Carteret, was ordered to accompany her till she should have got through the Straits of Magellan.

In 1768 a pump, invented by Mr Coles in 1764, was tried on board the Seaford frigate in Portsmouth harbour, and it was found that with four men it pumped out a ton of water in 43 and a half seconds; with two men, in 55 seconds; and when choked with shingle ballast, it was cleared in 4 minutes: while the old pump, with seven men, pumped out one ton of water in 76 seconds.

Early this year the Royal Society presented a memorial to his majesty, expressing a wish that proper vessels might be appointed to sail to the southward to observe the transit of Venus over the disc of the sun. The Admiralty accordingly, for this service, purchased the Endeavour barque, and placed her under the command of Lieutenant James Cook. Mr Charles Green was appointed astronomer, and Mr Banks and Dr Solander embarked on board her.

In the month of June, 1769, a French frigate having anchored in the Downs without paying the usual compliment to the British flag, Captain John Hollwell, the senior officer there, in the Apollo frigate, sent on board to demand the customary salute. The French captain refused to comply, upon which Captain Hollwell ordered the Hawke sloop of war to fire two shots over her, when the Frenchman thought proper to salute.

In 1771 Admiral Sir Charles Knowles obtained his majesty’s permission to enter into the service of the Empress of Russia as admiral of her fleet. Though high payments were promised him, it appears that he was very inadequately rewarded. On his return in 1774, he found some difficulty in being reinstated to his rank as admiral.

A machine, invented by Dr Lynn, for making salt water fresh, was tried on board the Resolution at Deptford with great success, in consequence of which the Admiralty directed all ships of war to be fitted with a still and the necessary apparatus.

In 1772 Captain James Cook, who had lately returned, undertook a second voyage of discovery in the Pacific, on board the Resolution, accompanied by Captain Furneaux in the Adventure.

We now come to the first outbreak of hostilities with the revolted provinces of North America. At Rhode Island, his majesty’s schooner Gaspee, commanded by Lieutenant Duddingstone, was attacked in the night by 200 armed men in eight boats, who, notwithstanding the defence made by her commander, seized the vessel, when he and several of his people were wounded, and the rebels taking out the crew, set her on fire.

In 1773 Lord Howe presented a petition to the House of Commons in behalf of the captains in the navy, soliciting an increase of half-pay. It was carried by a great majority, and two shillings a-day were added to the half-pay. The pay of surgeons was also increased, as was that of masters.

It was now evident that the ministry expected to be plunged into war. On the 26th of April the guard-ships were ordered to take on board six months’ provisions, to complete their complement of men, and to prepare for sea. All the ships of war reported fit for service were got ready to be commissioned, rendezvous were opened for the raising of seamen, and a proclamation issued by his majesty offering bounties of 3 pounds to every able seaman who should enter the navy, 2 pounds to an ordinary seaman, and 1 pound to a landsman. On the 22nd of June his majesty reviewed the fleet at Spithead, consisting of 20 sail of the line, 2 frigates, and a few sloops, when he was saluted by 232 guns. It was the first of many visits. He knighted several officers, others received promotion, and sums were distributed among the dockyard artisans, the crews of his yacht, the poor of Portsea and Gosport, and the prisoners confined for debt in Portsmouth jail.

Another voyage was undertaken to the North Pole in the hopes of discovering a passage to the East Indies. The Racehorse and Carcass bombs, commanded by the Honourable Captain Phipps—afterwards Lord Mulgrave—and Captain Lutwidge, were equipped for the enterprise, but, unable to penetrate the ice, returned in the same autumn. On board the Racehorse sailed, in the capacity of captain’s coxswain, one who was ere long to make his name known to fame—Horatio Nelson.

His majesty’s ship Kent, commanded by Captain Fielding, was nearly destroyed while saluting the admiral as she was sailing out of Plymouth Sound, the wadding from the guns having communicated with some powder in the ammunition-chest on the poop. It blew up all the after-part of the ship, when most of the men on the poop were blown overboard, 50 of whom being killed or dreadfully wounded.

On the 29th of June, 1775, the Hibernian Marine Society in Dublin was instituted for maintaining and educating the children of decayed, reduced, or deceased seamen, and apprenticing them to the sea-service.

The news arrived of a conflict between the revolted provinces and a detachment of the king’s troops at Lexington, when the latter were compelled to retire with considerable loss into the town of Boston. This was followed by the attack on Bunker’s Hill on the 17th of June, when the British also lost a number of officers and men, and the flame of war now began to blaze over the whole of the continent. The incidents, however, of the American war of independence cannot but be briefly touched on. A fleet under Lord Shuldham and Commodore Sir Peter Parker was sent to blockade the principal naval ports, and both parties fitted out small vessels on Lake Champlain to carry on the contest. The English squadron was under the command of Captain Pringle, who found the Americans drawn up in an advantageous position to defend the passage between the island of Valicour and the main. As the enemy was to windward, he was unable to work up his large vessels, so that his gunboats and a schooner were alone engaged. He, however, succeeded in sinking the largest American schooner and a smaller vessel. At night, he called off the vessels engaged, and anchored his fleet in line, to be ready for an attack the next morning. General Arnold, who commanded the American squadron, finding it inferior, availed himself of the darkness of the night, and withdrew towards Crown Point. Captain Pringle followed him on the 13th, when another action ensued, and continued for two hours, the Americans being dispersed, leaving the Washington galley, with General Waterburn on board, in the hands of the British; others were run on shore and burnt by their own crews, the remainder effecting their escape to Ticonderoga.

Letters of marque and reprisal were now granted by the Admiralty against the thirteen revolted provinces. On the 18th of March the French king issued an edict to seize all British ships in the ports of France, and on the 13th of April a squadron of French ships of war under the command of the Comte D’Estaing sailed for North America. It was not, however, till the 5th of June that an English fleet under Admiral Byron was sent out in quest of it. The English fleet was dispersed by a heavy gale, when Admiral Byron alone succeeded in reaching the American coast. He found the French squadron already at anchor in the neighbourhood of New York.

Admiral Keppel was now appointed to the command of the Channel Fleet, and soon afterwards the Milford captured the Licorne, a French frigate of 32 guns, which, with three others, had been found reconnoitring the fleet. The Arethusa and Alert cutters pursued the other French vessels, and at night came up with the Belle Poule, when the first action of this war ensued, celebrated in song. Captain Marshall informed her commander that his orders were to conduct him to the British admiral, with which the French captain peremptorily refused to comply. Captain Marshall then fired a shot over her, which was instantly returned by a broadside from the Belle Poule. A desperate engagement took place, and continued with great obstinacy for two hours, by which time they were close in with the French coast. The Belle Poule then stood in to a small bay, from whence a number of boats came out and towed her into a place of safety. The Arethusa’s main-mast fell over the side, and she was otherwise so disabled that it was with the utmost difficulty she could clear the land. The next morning she was towed back to the fleet by the Valiant and Monarch.

“The Arethusa.”

Come, all you jolly sailors bold,

Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould,

While English glory I unfold,

Huzza to the Arethusa!

She is a frigate, tight and brave,

As ever stemm’d the dashing wave;

Her men are staunch

To their favourite launch;

And when the foe shall meet our fire,

Sooner than strike we’ll all expire

On board of the Arethusa.

’Twas with the spring fleet she went out

The English Channel to cruise about,

When four French sail in show so stout

Bore down on the Arethusa.

The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie;

The Arethusa seemed to fly—

Not a sheet, or a tack,

Or a brace, did she slack,

Tho’ the Frenchmen laugh’d and thought it stuff;

But they knew not the handful of men, how tough

On board of the Arethusa.

On deck five hundred men did dance,

The stoutest they could find in France;

We with two hundred did advance

On board of the Arethusa.

Our captain hailed the Frenchmen, Ho!

The Frenchmen they cried out, Hallo!

“Bear down, d’ye see, To our admiral’s lee.”

“No, no,” says the Frenchman, “that can’t be;”

“Then I must lug you along with me,”

Says the saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchmen’s land,

We forced them back upon their strand,

For we fought till not a stick would stand

Of the gallant Arethusa.

And now we’ve driven the foe ashore,

Never to fight with Britons more.

Let each fill a glass

To his favourite lass;

A health to our captain and officers true,

And all that belong to the jovial crew

Of the gallant Arethusa.

On the 23rd of June Admiral Keppel’s fleet came in sight of that of the French under the command of the Comte D’Orvilliers. After an engagement of some hours, the French fleet took to flight during the night, and escaped into Brest.

It is impossible to relate the numberless gallant actions which from this period took place for many years between the ships of Great Britain and her enemies.

In consequence of charges exhibited by Sir Hugh Palliser against Admiral Keppel for his conduct in the engagement just mentioned, a court-martial was held at the governor’s house at Portsmouth to try him, when the following sentence was pronounced:—“That in their opinion the charge against Admiral Keppel is malicious and ill-founded, it having appeared that the said admiral, so far from having, by misconduct or neglect of duty on the days therein alluded to, lost an opportunity of rendering essential service to the State, and thereby tarnished the honour of the British Navy, behaved as became a judicious, brave, and experienced officer.”

On the following day Admiral Keppel received the thanks of both Houses of Parliament.

Not long after this the “gallant Arethusa” was wrecked upon the rocks near Ushant, in pursuit of an enemy. The crew were saved, and treated by the French with great humanity.

On the 15th of June, 1779, his Royal Highness Prince William Henry embarked on board his majesty’s ship Prince George, 90 guns, to serve as a midshipman in the navy. The next day a proclamation was issued to commence hostilities against Spain, in consequence of the hostile attitude that country had assumed. The first Spanish ship captured during the war was taken by the Pearl, of 32 guns, commanded by Captain George Montague, during a cruise off the Western Islands. After an action which lasted from half-past nine till half-past eleven, she struck, and proved to be the Santa Armonica, a Spanish frigate of 32 guns and 271 men, 38 of whom were killed and 45 wounded. The Pearl had 12 killed and 10 wounded.

Admiral Byron, though a gallant officer, appears always to have been unfortunate. In the last engagement which took place while he commanded the British fleet on the American station, Comte D’Estaing managed to pass him and escape after severely mauling his ships, when 103 men were killed and 346 wounded, though the French loss amounted to 1200 men killed and 1500 wounded.

At this time the want of active flag-officers was severely felt. Promotions were exceedingly slow, so that it was not until officers were nearly superannuated that they attained to that rank. The junior captain promoted in 1779 to the rank of rear-admiral was Sir John Lockhart Rose, who had been twenty-three years on the list of post-captains. Others had been a still longer time.

The French ships also had a great advantage in being coppered, besides which, though respectively carrying the same number of guns as the British, they were much larger vessels.

Among the actions fought at this time, one deserves especially to be noticed. It ended disastrously to the English flag; although nothing could exceed the gallantry displayed by British officers and seamen on the occasion. Captain Richard Pearson, commanding the 44-gun ship Serapis, in company of the armed 22-gun ship Countess of Scarborough, Captain Thomas Piercy, was escorting the Baltic Fleet, loaded with naval stores, which were at that time of especial consequence to supply the dockyards, left almost destitute of them. The Serapis was one of a remarkably bad class of ships, worse even than the two-decked 50-gun ships. She measured 886 tons, and her armament consisted of 20 long 18-pounders on the lower-deck, 22 long 12-pounders on the main-deck, and 2 long 6-pounders on the forecastle, making in all 44 guns. These guns she carried on two decks, but the lower-deck ports were so close to the water’s edge that it was dangerous to open them in a seaway, besides which the space between decks was so low that it was with difficulty they could be worked, while the upper-deck had only a light breast-high bulwark. From the length of the lower-deck guns they could not be easily run in, while the 12-pounders on the main-deck were so old and their vents so large that much powder exploded through them.

The convoy had already made the coast of England, and was close in with Scarborough, when information was received from the shore that a flying squadron of the enemy’s ships had been seen the day before standing to the southward. Upon receiving this intelligence, Captain Pearson made the signal for the convoy to bear down under his lee, but they still kept stretching out from the land, till the headmost vessel caught sight of the enemy, when they tacked and stood inshore, letting fly their topgallant sheets and firing guns. Captain Pearson on this made sail to windward to get between the enemy’s ships and the convoy. At one o’clock the strangers were seen from the mast-head of the Serapis, and at four were discovered from the deck to be three large ships and a brig. His consort, Countess of Scarborough, being at this time close inshore, Captain Pearson ordered her by signal to join him. The approaching ships were three fitted out in France, but carrying the American flag, and commanded by Captain Paul Jones. The largest had formerly been an Indiaman, and her name had been changed to that of the Bon Homme Richard. She is supposed to have measured about 946 tons, and to have carried on her main-deck about 28 long 12-pounders, on the lower-deck, 6 or 8 18-pounders, and 2 long 6-pounders on the forecastle. The other ships were the American 36-gun frigate Alliance, the French 32-gun frigate Pallas, the Vengeance, a French 14-gun brig, and the French Cerf cutter. As yet, however, the strangers’ colours were not visible.

At about 7:20 the two-decked ship, soon known to be the Bon Homme Richard, brought to on the larboard bow of the Serapis, within musket-shot, when Captain Pearson hailed her, and asked, “What ship’s that?”

“The Princess Royal,” was the answer. Captain Pearson then asked from whence they came, and on an evasive answer being returned, declared that he would fire if his question was not directly answered. The stranger then fired a gun, on which the Serapis gave her her broadsides. Several broadsides were now exchanged, when the American ship hove all aback, and dropped on the quarter of the Serapis, evidently with the intention of raking her. Filling again, she ran the Serapis aboard on the weather or larboard quarter, and an attempt was now made to board her, but was at once repulsed. Captain Pearson now backed his yards to enable him to get square with his antagonist, but gathering too much stern-way, the Richard was able to fill and stand across his bows. Her mizen-shrouds, however, catching the jib-boom of the Serapis, and the spar giving way, the ships dropped alongside each other head and stern. Both ships were kept in this position in consequence of the spare anchor of the Serapis having entered the gallery of the Richard, when a furious cannonade was carried on, the muzzles of the guns touching each other. While in this position, the Alliance frigate coming up, sailed round the combatants, pouring in a galling fire on the Serapis, to which no return could be made. There could have been little doubt that even thus Captain Pearson would have gained the victory, had not some hand grenades been thrown on his deck, which set the ship on fire several times, one of them igniting a cartridge of powder, the flames of which communicated from cartridge to cartridge all the way off, and blew up the whole of the people and several officers who were quartered abaft the main-mast. By this time all the men on the quarter and main-decks were killed or wounded. Notwithstanding this, so furious had been the fire of the Serapis, that at ten the enemy called for quarter; but on Captain Pearson hailing to inquire if they had struck, and no answer being given, he ordered the boarders away. As, however, they reached the deck of the enemy, they found a superior number of men concealed with pikes in their hands ready to receive them. On this the crew of the Serapis retreated to their own ship, and instantly returned to their guns; but at the same moment the frigate again poured another broadside into her with such effect that the main-mast fell, and Captain Pearson being unable to get a single gun to bear on his antagonist, was compelled to strike his colours. He and his first lieutenant were immediately escorted on board the Bon Homme Richard. He found her condition to be even worse than his own; her quarters and counter were entirely driven in; the whole of her lower-deck guns dismounted, and she was also on fire in two places, with six or seven feet of water in the hold.

In the meantime Captain Piercy had been closely engaged with the Pallas and Vengeance, but perceiving another frigate bearing down on him, he also was compelled to surrender. The next day the Bon Homme Richard sank, and Paul Jones and the French frigate carried their prizes into the Texel. The two English captains had done their duty, and saved their convoy, which all escaped. Of the numerous crew on board the Richard no less a number than 317 were killed or wounded, while the Serapis lost 49 killed and 68 wounded, many others suffering from burns—while, from the ill-treatment the prisoners received, many of the wounded died.

On the return of Captains Pearson and Piercy, the former was knighted and the latter promoted, and both received testimonials from the London Assurance Company, as an acknowledgment of their skill and bravery, which had preserved the valuable fleet from capture. Had ships of sufficient force been sent out to convoy the fleet, the enemy would, in all probability, have been captured.

A considerable change was now about to be introduced in the character of the guns used on board ships of war. On the banks of the River Carron in Scotland, the ironworks of the Carron Company for some time existed. In these works, in the year 1779, a piece of ordnance had been cast, the invention of John Robert Melville, shorter than a 4-pounder, and lighter than a 12-pounder. It carried a shot of 68 pounds, and from its destructive effects, when fired against a mass of timber, its inventor called it the “Smasher.” From the works in which it was cast, it soon obtained the name of “carronade.” Several smaller pieces were shortly afterwards cast, to carry shot of 24, 18, and 12 pounds. These guns were eagerly purchased by the owners of privateers fitted out to cruise against the Americans, and the Lords of the Admiralty approving of them, directed some 18 and 12-pounder carronades to be placed on board a few frigates and smaller vessels of the Royal Navy. It was some time, however, before naval officers approved of them; some complained that the carronade was too short to allow its fire to pass clear of the ship’s side, and that its range was not of sufficient extent to be of use; that one pair of their quarter-deck carronades being in the way of the rigging, endangered the lanyards and shrouds. The Board of Ordnance also asserted that the old gun, from the comparative length of its range, was superior to the carronade, notwithstanding the greater weight of the shot it carried. Thus, curiously enough, although a considerable number of carronades were placed on board ships of war, they were not reckoned for some time as belonging to the armament of the ship, and officers persisted in speaking only of the long guns they carried, and ignoring the carronades, although, in reality, far more destructive in their effects. Especially did they object to exchange any of their long guns for carronades. On board the larger ships, as the quarter-decks carried already as many guns as there was room for ports on each side, no additional pieces could be admitted; but the forecastle in most ships allowed of the opening of a pair of extra ports, and by strengthening the poop, it was found that three pairs of ports could be placed there. A 50-gun ship had room for three pairs of ports on her poop, one pair on her quarter-deck, and a pair on her forecastle. By similar alterations, a 44-gun ship was made to carry ten carronades, while on board the sixth-rates and the quarter-deck ship-sloop class, by building up bulwarks or barricades, they could be made to carry eight carronades.

Notwithstanding the fewer number of men with which carronades were worked, and the powerful effect of their shot at close quarters, it was some time before all British men-of-war were entirely furnished with them. At length it was determined to arm with them the 44-gun ship Rainbow, commanded by Captain Henry Trollope, who, with Lord Keith, then Captain Keith Elphinstone, and Admiral Macbride, were among the first patrons of the new style of gun. About March, 1782, she was equipped with 48 carronades—namely, 20 68-pounders on her main-deck, 22 42-pounders on her upper deck, 4 32-pounders on her quarter-deck, and 2 32-pounders on her forecastle, her broadside weight of metal being thus 1238 pounds, whereas in her former armament of long guns, the broadside weight of metal was only 318 pounds. Thus armed, with the above-mentioned officers and crew, she sailed on a cruise in search of an enemy; for some months, however, she was unable to come within gunshot of a foe, and it was not till the 4th of September of that year, when, being off the Isle du Bas, she came in sight of a large French frigate, to which she at once gave chase. The enemy proved to be the Hébé, mounting 28 18-pounders, and 12 8-pounders, 40 guns in all, and measuring 1063 tons, with 363 men on board, commanded by the Chevalier de Vigney. At 7 a.m. the Rainbow commenced firing her bow-chasers, which were returned by the frigate, and, as it proved, several shot falling on board, the enemy discovered their size. The French captain concluding that if such large shot came from the forecastle of the enemy’s ship, larger ones would follow from her lower batteries, after exchanging a single broadside with the Rainbow, for the honour of his flag, wisely surrendered. During this short action the Hébé’s foremast had been disabled by one of the 68-pound shot, her wheel had been knocked away, and her second captain and four men killed. No one was hurt on board the Rainbow. The Hébé, a beautiful ship, was purchased into the British Navy, and long served as a model to English shipwrights. No reflection could be cast upon the courage of the French captain, for had he continued the action, his ship would in a few minutes probably have been sunk, the Rainbow’s broadside weight of metal being nearly four times that of the Hébé, though the number of guns she carried was only four less than that of his antagonist. This action went far to establish the reputation of the carronades.

Towards the end of 1779 information was received that the French had agreed to assist Spain in an attempt to retake Gibraltar, in consequence of which Sir George Rodney, who was about to sail to the West Indies with 20 sail of the line convoying a large fleet of merchantmen, was directed to relieve Gibraltar before he proceeded westward. Another squadron under Rear-Admiral Digby was also sent out, which was to return to England. For several years since 1773 a Spanish army had been kept before Gibraltar, but General Elliot, who commanded the fortress, had completely baffled all its attempts. Rodney on his way out, when off Cape Saint Vincent, caught sight of a Spanish squadron convoying a fleet of merchant-vessels. The enemy on discovering him crowded all sail to escape, on which he made a signal for a general chase. The English ships gained rapidly on the enemy. At about five in the evening the Bienfaisant, Captain John Macbride, got up with the Spanish 70-gun ship the San Domingo, but scarcely had she opened her fire when the latter blew up, and every soul on board, with the exception of one man, perished. The poor fellow was picked up by the Pegasus, but was so much injured that he expired shortly afterwards. The action was continued during the whole night, and at 2 a.m. the following morning Admiral Rodney finding that the enemy’s ships were too much disabled to enable them to escape, hove to. Besides the one which blew up, the Phoenix 80-gun ship and five 70-gun ships were taken. The weather being bad, it was not without great difficulty that the fleet, which had got into shoal water, could work off again. Two of the prizes, on board of which prize-crews had been put, but from which on account of the bad weather it had been impossible to remove the officers and men, were recaptured by the Spaniards and carried into Cadiz. The small-pox raging on board the Bienfaisant, Captain Macbride, who had taken possession of the Phoenix, actuated by principles of humanity worthy of being recorded, to avoid the risk of infection spreading among the prisoners, sent the following proposals to Don Juan de Langara, who accepted them with thanks:—

“Captain Macbride consents that neither officers nor men shall be removed from the Phoenix, Admiral Langara being responsible for their conduct; and in case we shall fall in with any Spanish or French ships of war, he will not suffer Lieutenant Thomas Lewis, the officer now in command of the Phoenix, to be interrupted in conducting and defending the ship to the last extremity. And if, meeting with superior force, the Phoenix should be retaken and the Bienfaisant fight her way clear, the admiral and his officers and men are to hold themselves prisoners of war to Captain Macbride, upon their parole of honour, (which he is confident with Spanish officers is ever sacred). Likewise, if the Bienfaisant should be taken and the Phoenix escape, the admiral and his officers will no longer be prisoners, but freed immediately. In short, they are to follow the fate of the Bienfaisant.”

This remarkable agreement was executed with the strictest honour.

Soon afterwards Captain Macbride, after a smart action, captured the Comte d’Arotis, private ship of war, mounting 64 guns, and 644 men, commanded by the Chevalier de Clonard.

Admiral Rodney, who had been joined by Rear-Admiral Sir Hyde Parker at Saint Lucia, gaining intelligence of the French fleet, which consisted of 25 sail of the line and 8 frigates, sailed in search of them. On the 19th of April, having come in sight of the enemy on the previous evening, about noon he threw out a signal for every ship to bear down, steer for them, and engage at close quarters her opposite in the enemy’s line. At 1 the action became general, and continued until 4:15 p.m., when the French took to flight, the crippled state of the British ships rendering pursuit impracticable. Every exertion having now been made to repair damages, on the 20th the George again caught sight of the French, and pursued them without effect for three successive days. The French ran under Guadaloupe, where they had taken shelter. On the 6th, hearing that they had left their anchorage and were approaching to windward of Martinique, Rodney put to sea, and continued turning to windward between it and Saint Lucia until the 10th, when the enemy’s fleet was discovered about three leagues to windward. Still the French studiously avoided coming to a general action. Sir George on this, to deceive them, directed his fleet to make all possible sail on a wind. This manoeuvre led the enemy to think he was retiring, and emboldened him to approach much nearer than usual. Rodney allowed them to indulge in their mistake, until their own ship had approached abreast of his centre, when, by a fortunate shift of wind, being able to weather the enemy, he made the signal to Rear-Admiral Parker, who led the van, to tack and gain the wind of the enemy. The French fleet instantly wore and fled under a crowd of sail, but would have been compelled to fight, had not the wind on a sudden changed. The Albion, Captain Bowyer, late in the evening, reached the centre of the enemy’s line, and commenced a heavy cannonade, supported by the Conqueror and the rest of the van; but as the enemy continued under a press of sail, the remainder of the fleet could not partake in the action. Still, Rodney perseveringly followed up the enemy, and on the 19th the wind again changing gave him hopes of being able to bring on a general action. Before, however, he could close it again shifted; but the French admiral finding that his rear could not escape, suddenly took the resolution of risking a general action. As soon is his van had weathered the British, he bore away along the line to windward, discharging his broadsides, but at such a distance as to do little execution. The Frenchmen, however, could not avoid being closely attacked by the ships of the van, led by Commodore Hotham. After this the enemy continued under a press of sail to the northward, and on the 21st were out of sight.

In these several actions the British loss amounted to 186 killed and 464 wounded, including 7 officers in the former and 14 in the latter list.

On the 10th and 11th of October a dreadful hurricane blew over the West Indian Islands, during which eight ships were lost, with the greater portion of their crews, and six were severely damaged. The French were also great sufferers.

A squadron, under Rear-Admiral Rowley, on the passage to England with a convoy, also suffered dreadfully. The admiral, with five of his ships, returned to Jamaica dismasted. The Berwick, also dismasted, with difficulty arrived in England. The Stirling Castle was totally lost on the Silver Keys, near Hispaniola, and only fifty of her crew saved; while the Thunderer, which had separated from the fleet, foundered, and every soul perished. Several other ships were driven on shore, and eight lost their masts.

Towards the end of 1780 war was declared against the Dutch, who, it was found, were making preparations to attack England. On the 5th of August, 1781, Rear-Admiral Sir Hyde Parker fell in with the Dutch fleet off the Dogger Bank, when an action ensued in which both fleets were dreadfully cut to pieces, the Dutch escaping into the Texel. One of their ships, of 68 guns, the Hollandia, went down in twenty-two fathom water. Her pendant the next morning was seen above the surface, when Captain Patten, of the Belle Poule, struck it, and brought it to Sir Hyde Parker. The English lost 104 men killed and 339 wounded, among whom were 30 officers.

Sir George Rodney at the same time attacked the Dutch island of Saint Eustatia, which, with those of Saint Martin and Saba, at once capitulated, a richly-laden fleet falling into the hands of the English, as well as a vast quantity of merchandise stored up.

One of the most important events of this period must now be described. The hopes of the Spaniards had been raised in consequence of their recapture of the island of Minorca; General Murray, in command of Fort Saint Philip—the greater portion of his troops having died or been struck down with scurvy—after a heroic defence, having been compelled to yield. The Spanish army, which had so long been besieging Gibraltar, was now increased to 40,000 men, including 12,000 French, and, in addition, there were 47 sail of the line, 40 gunboats with heavy cannon, 40 bomb-vessels, each armed with 12-inch mortars, 5 large bomb-ketches, and 300 large boats to be employed in landing the troops as soon as a breach should be made—besides which, there were 10 large floating batteries, the invention of the Chevalier D’Arzon, a French engineer of great repute, on such a principle that they would not, he believed, be sunk or set on fire by shot. It was said that no less than 1200 pieces of heavy ordnance had been accumulated before the place, with 83,000 barrels of gunpowder, and shot, shells, military stores, and provisions in the same proportion. The chief reliance of the besiegers was, however, placed on the floating batteries. They were built of extraordinary thickness, and so fortified that they were proof from all external, as well as internal, violence. To prevent their being set on fire, a strong case was formed of timber and cork, a long time soaked in water, and enclosing a large body of wet sand; the whole being of such thickness and density that no cannon-ball could penetrate within two feet of the inner partition.

For this purpose, ten large ships, from 600 to 1400 tons burden, had been cut-down, and 200,000 cubic feet of timber worked in their construction. To protect them from bombs, and the men at the batteries from grape, or descending shot, a hanging roof was contrived; which was worked up and down by springs. The roof was composed of a strong rope-work netting, laid over with a thick covering of wet hides, while its sloping position was calculated to prevent shells from lodging, and to throw them off into the sea before they could burst. To render the fire of these batteries the more rapid, a kind of match had been contrived, so to be placed that all the guns in the battery could go off at the same instant. To defend them from red-hot shot, with which the fortress was supplied, the newest part of the plan was that by which water could be carried in every direction to neutralise its effect. In imitation of the circulation of the blood, a variety of pipes and canals perforated all the solid workmanship in such a manner that a continued succession of water could be conveyed to every part of the structure, a number of pumps being adapted to afford an unlimited supply. It was thus believed that these terrible machines, capable of inflicting destruction, would themselves be invulnerable. The largest carried 21 guns, and their complement of men was 36 for each gun in use, exclusive of officers and mariners for working the ships.

General Elliot, undaunted by the preparations made by the enemy, determined to try what he and his brave garrison could do to counteract them. Accordingly, at seven o’clock in the morning of the 8th of September, he opened a tremendous fire on their works with red-hot shot, carcasses, and shells. At ten o’clock the Mahon battery, with the one adjoining it, were in flames. By five in the evening both were entirely consumed; a great part of the eastern parallel, and of the trenches and parapet for musketry, were likewise destroyed. A large battery near the bay was so much damaged by having repeatedly been set on fire, that the enemy were compelled to abandon it, while they lost an immense number of men in their endeavour to extinguish the flames. The next day the French and Spaniards opened a new battery of 64 heavy cannon, which, with the artillery from the lines and mortars, continued to play upon the garrison without intermission the whole day. At the same time, seven Spanish ships of the line and two French, with some frigates and small vessels, passing along the works discharged their broadsides, until they had passed Europa Point, and got into the Mediterranean.

In the meantime, the English squadron being too small to compete with them, the seamen had been landed, under the command of Captain Roger Curtis, and had been placed in the batteries at Europa Point. Hence they had attacked the Spanish line-of-battle ships, and compelled them to haul off.

About eight o’clock in the morning of the 13th of September, the battering ships lying at the head of the bay, under the command of Rear-Admiral Don Moreno, got under sail to attack the fort. At ten o’clock the admiral having taken up his station off the king’s bastion, the other ships extended themselves at moderate distances from the old to the new mole, in a line parallel with the rock, at a distance of about one thousand yards, and immediately commenced a heavy cannonade, supported by the cannon and mortars on the enemy’s lines. On seeing this the garrison opened a tremendous fire; the red-hot shot were thrown with such precision that about two o’clock in the afternoon, the smoke was seen to issue from the admiral and another ship, the men in vain endeavouring to extinguish the fire by pouring water into the holes. By one o’clock the two ships were in flames, and seven more took fire in succession. Signals of distress were now seen flying on board the Spanish ships, while the launches came up for the purpose of taking the men out of the burning ships, it being impossible to remove them. When he saw this, Captain Curtis advanced with his gunboats and drew them up so as to flank the enemy’s battering ships, which were annoyed by an incessant, heavy, and well-directed fire from the garrison. The Spanish boats were so assailed by showers of shot and shell that they would not venture on a nearer approach, and were compelled to abandon their ships and friends to the flames. Several of the enemy’s boats were sunk; the crew of one of these were all drowned, with the exception of an officer and twelve men, who floated on the wreck under the walls, and were rescued by the English.

The scene was full of horrors. Numbers of men were observed in the midst of the flames, imploring relief; others were seen floating on pieces of timber; while even those on board the ships not on fire expressed the deepest distress, and were equally urgent in asking for assistance. Captain Curtis and his gallant sailors, though exposed to the greatest possible danger, eagerly boarded the burning ships to rescue the now conquered enemy from destruction. While they were thus engaged, one of the largest of the Spanish ships blew up, spreading its wreck far around. By this accident, one English gunboat was sunk, and another much damaged. A piece of falling timber struck a hole through the bottom of Captain Curtis’ barge, by which his coxswain was killed and two of his crew wounded; the rest were saved from perishing by the seamen stuffing their jackets into the hole, which kept the boat afloat until others came to their assistance. While the ships were burning, numbers of Spaniards were seen floating on pieces of timber, liable every moment to be washed off, or destroyed by the shot from the garrison. As soon, however, as it was discovered that the enemy were defeated, the firing from Gibraltar entirely ceased, and every possible effort was made to save the Spaniards from death. Nine of these formidable batteries were burnt by the red-hot shot, and the tenth was set on fire by her crew, as it was found impracticable to carry her off. Even had the battering ships not taken fire, the Spaniards would have had no chance of success, as the works of the fortress, notwithstanding the tremendous fire directed against them, were scarcely damaged. During the nine weeks the siege had been going on, only 65 of the garrison had been killed, and less than 400 wounded, while the seamen had only lost two or three men.

A heavy gale coming on, several of the French and Spanish ships suffered material damage, and the Saint Michael, a 72-gun ship, carrying 650 men, was driven close under the works, and struck after a few shot had been fired into her. She was got off by Captain Curtis a few days afterwards, with the loss only of her mizen-mast.

On the 11th of October Lord Howe appeared with a large fleet, which the enemy endeavoured to avoid. After seeing the troop-ships which he had convoyed into the harbour, he went in search of the enemy’s fleet, which, after a short engagement, hauled their wind and stood off to the north-west.

In the bomb-proof vessels above described we recognise the idea of our present floating batteries; while the result of their attack on Gibraltar might have shown our naval commanders in the Crimean war the slight hope there was of any advantage being gained by their attack on the batteries of Sebastopol.

The great object of the French was to capture the island of Jamaica. For this purpose, the Comte de Grasse, who commanded their fleet in the West Indies, was using every exertion to equip his fleet and to form a junction with the Spaniards. Sir George Rodney, with Sir Samuel Hood and Admiral Drake and Commodore Affleck under him, were on the look-out to prevent them. At length, on the 8th of April, while the English fleet was at anchor at Saint Lucia, Captain Byron, in the Andromache frigate, communicated to the admiral by signal that the enemy’s fleet, with a large convoy, were seen coming out of Fort Royal Bay, and standing to the north-west. Sir George instantly made the signal to weigh, and on the morning of the 9th the enemy were seen forming a line of battle to windward, and standing over towards Guadaloupe. For some time the British fleet was becalmed, but as the breeze reached the van division, commanded by Sir Samuel Hood, he stood on and closed with the enemy’s centre. At nine o’clock the action commenced, and was maintained with determined bravery for upwards of an hour by this division, the Barfleur having generally three ships firing upon her at once. At length the leading ships of the centre got the breeze, and were enabled to come up to the assistance of the van. These were soon after followed by the Formidable, Bake, and Namur. The action raged it for some time, much gallantry being displayed by the captain of a French 74-gun ship, who, backing his main-topsail, steadily received and returned the fire of these three ships in succession. The Comte de Grasse, seeing the remainder of the British fleet coming up, withdrew out of fire, and by the 11th his fleet was nearly hull down. All hopes of being able to keep up with them appeared to be at an end, when two French ships, which had been much damaged, were perceived about noon to leeward of their fleet. Chase was instantly made by the English, when the Comte de Grasse bore down to their relief. Sir George Rodney on this recalled the ships in chase, and formed a close line of battle, carrying sail to windward all night. At dawn of the 12th, a French ship of the line, the Zélé, 74 guns, was seen much disabled, and towed by a frigate. The Comte de Grasse, on perceiving that she must be taken, bore up with his whole fleet for her protection. He could now no longer avoid an engagement. At half-past seven Rear-Admiral Drake’s division, which led, commenced the action, which soon became general from van to rear. Captain Gardner, in the Duke, having unsuccessfully attempted to force the enemy’s line, in consequence of the loss of his main-topmast, Sir George Rodney, in the Formidable, supported by the Namur and Canada, broke through their line, about three ships from the Ville de Paris, and was followed by the ships in his rear, when he wore and doubled upon the enemy. By this manoeuvre the French line was broken and thrown into the utmost confusion; their van bore away, and endeavoured to re-form to leeward, but this, hardly pressed as they were, they were unable to accomplish. Sir Samuel Hood’s division, which had been becalmed the greater part of the forenoon, now coming up, completed the victory. Several of the French ships struck. Captain Cornwallis, to whom the Hector had yielded, left his prize, and made sail after the French admiral in the Ville de Paris. The well-directed fire of the Canada so much annoyed her, and some other ships approaching, made it impossible for her to escape; but the Comte de Grasse seemed determined to sink rather than yield to anything under a flag. At length Sir Samuel Hood came up in the Barfleur, and poured in a tremendous and destructive fire. The brave Frenchman maintained the action for a quarter-of-an-hour longer, when finding further resistance vain, and that he was deserted by his second, hauled down his flag. The enemy’s fleet continued going off before the wind in small detached squadrons and single ships, pursued by the British. On this, Sir George made the signal to bring to, in order to collect his fleet and secure the prizes. Some of the ships, however, not observing the signal, did not return till the next day. Before the prisoners could be shifted from the Caesar, she caught fire and blew up, an English lieutenant and 50 men belonging to the Centaur, together with 400 Frenchmen, perishing.

The French are supposed to have lost 3000 men killed, and double that number wounded, for, besides the ships’ crews, the fleet had on board 5500 troops. It was said that at the time the Ville de Paris struck there were but three men left alive and unhurt on the upper deck, and that the Comte de Grasse was one of the three.

A story is told of a female sailor who fought in the action. While the battle was raging, one of the crew of a gun being wounded and sent below, a woman took his place. After the action she was brought before the admiral, when it was discovered that she was the sailor’s wife, and had been concealed on board. She declared that she thought it her duty to supply her husband’s place, and fight the French. Rodney threatened her for a breach of the rules, but privately sent her a purse of ten guineas.

A few days afterwards the admiral detached Sir Samuel Hood in chase of the crippled French ships, when two more were captured in the same gallant way by Captain Goodall of the Valiant. A frigate of 32 guns and a sloop of 16 were also taken.

For this action Sir George Rodney was created a peer of Great Britain; Sir Samuel Hood a peer of Ireland; and Admiral Drake and Commodore Affleck were made baronets.

These actions must be taken merely as examples of what the navy was about at that time.

Towards the end of 1782, negotiations for a general peace were set on foot, and it was finally concluded early in the following year.

Chapter Fifteen.

George the Third—from War with Republican France, A.D. 1792, to end of A.D. 1802.

We will briefly run over a few events which occurred previous to the breaking out of the first revolutionary war.

On May the 29th, 1782, the Royal George, of 100 guns, being heeled over at Spithead to repair a pipe which led under water, the lower-deck guns having been run out, the water rushed with such rapidity in at the port-holes that she filled and sank—Rear-Admiral Kempenfeldt, with more than half his officers, and four hundred persons, perishing, many of them the wives and children of the seamen and marines on board.

We are apt to consider that the uniform of the navy differed greatly from the army; but in an order dated the 11th of January, 1783, admirals, vice-admirals, and rear-admirals were directed to wear coats very similar to those worn by generals, lieutenant-generals, and major-generals respectively, in the army, with the exception of the crown and anchor buttons.

In the month of June, 1785, his Royal Highness Prince William Henry, who had now served his time as a midshipman, passed his examination, and was appointed third lieutenant of the Hébé frigate, of 40 guns.

In 1785 a debate arose in the House of Commons on the propriety of repairing the old 64-gun ships, and also suffering ships of war to remain in ordinary with the copper on their bottoms. Captain Macbride thought that the 64-gun ships should be either broken up or sold, and recommended in future none less than seventy-fours to be built for the line of battle. He also pointed out the mischievous effects that might ensue in suffering ships to be laid up with their copper on, alleging that the copper would in time corrode the bolts; in consequence of which the ships’ bottoms might drop out. He had examined a coppered ship under repair, and found the bolts corroded and eaten away. Ships had, however, before this time, been fastened with copper bolts, and probably those seen by Captain Macbride were either iron bolts cased only with copper or composition.

The supplies granted by Parliament for the sea-service for the year 1789 amounted to 2,328,570 pounds.

On the 24th of November, 1787, the Bounty, of 215 tons, commanded by Lieutenant William Bligh, sailed from Spithead, for the Pacific Ocean, to obtain a supply of the bread-fruit tree. On the 28th of April, 1789, some of his officers and crew mutinied, and took possession of the ship, casting the commander and those who remained firm to him adrift in an open boat. The hardihood and judgment he displayed in conducting his boat’s crew across the Pacific to Batavia are well known.

Many useful contrivances have been invented by inferior officers of the navy. Among others, Mr Hill, the carpenter of the Active, invented a machine for drawing bolts out of ships’ sides. He also invented a method for stopping shot-holes.

In 1791 some experiments were made on board a ship in Portsmouth Harbour, when he stopped a shot-hole on the outside of the ship, four feet under water, in the space of one minute, without the assistance of any person out of the vessel. He stopped in the same manner a space in the ship’s side, four feet under water, of four feet by four inches, in two minutes and a-half. During the time of effectually curing both leaks, the ship made only ten inches water in the well.

He also invented a wheel to work the chain-pump, which was much safer and less liable to get out of order than that before in use.

The French Revolution broke out in 1792. On the 21st of the following January, the French beheaded their king, Louis the Sixteenth; in consequence of which the French ambassador at the court of London was ordered to quit England. A short time before this the new Republic had exhibited its hostile spirit against England, and on the 2nd of January a shot had been fired from one of the batteries near Brest on the British 16-gun brig-sloop Childers. Though a 48-pounder shot struck her, no one was hurt.

On the 1st of February the National Convention declared war against Great Britain and the United Netherlands.

England at this time possessed nominally 135 ships of war in commission, and 169 in ordinary or under repair; 21 building or ordering to be built, and 86 harbour-ships; making in all 411 ships of 402,555 tons. Of these there was one of 100 guns, 12-pounders, of 2091 tons, in commission; two of 100 guns, 18-pounders, under repair; and two of 100 guns, 12-pounders, under repair. Of second-rates there were four 98-gun ships in commission, and eleven under repair; of 90-gun ships there was one under repair. Of two-deckers third-rate there was one 80-gun ship in commission and one under repair. Of seventy-fours there were 19 in commission and 61 under repair. Of sixty-fours there were only two in commission and 30 under repair, making a total of 113 line-of-battle ships. There were 75 frigates either in commission or under repair; but 23 of these carried 28 guns only. Of the most useless class of ships in the service, the 24 and 20 gun post-ships, there were 12 in commission or under repair. Of 18-gun ship-sloops and gun brigs there were altogether 40. Besides these there were 25 bomb fire-ships and cutters, either in commission or under repair, making a total of 304 vessels, exclusive of those building; but of these probably some were unseaworthy, and of those building or ordered to be built, many were not in a state to be launched for two or more years. However, in consequence of the expected rupture between Spain and Russia, in the previous two or three years upwards of 60 line-of-battle ships were in a condition speedily to go to sea, while the dockyards were well-stocked with imperishable stores. Thus, in a few weeks, 200 cruisers were commissioned and fit for use.

At that time we had admirals 17, vice-admirals 19, rear-admirals 19, post-captains 446, commanders 136, lieutenants 1417, and masters 197. The number of seamen and marines, including officers of all ranks, voted by Parliament for the service of the current year, was 45,000.

Portugal and Naples, who joined England, had the first six ships of the line and four frigates, and the latter four 74-gun ships.

The Spanish navy amounted to 204 vessels, 76 of which were of the line, carrying from 112 to 60 guns.

The Dutch navy at this time, though amounting nominally to 119 vessels, from a 74-gun ship to the smallest armed cutter, was of little use to England, a large number of the ships lying rotting in the different harbours, and those able to put to sea being of comparatively small size, and carrying but light guns.

The navy of France amounted to 250 vessels, of which 82 were of the line, nearly three-fourths in a serviceable state; and immediately on the outbreak of war, 71 new ships were laid down, including 25 of the line, and orders given to cast 400 brass 36-pounder carronades, the first guns of the kind employed by the French. One of the former was to mount 130 guns, and several old small-class seventy-fours were cut-down and converted into the most formidable frigates that had hitherto been seen.

Such was the French navy, with which the fleet of England was about to contend, not only for the dominion of the seas, but to protect the hearths and homes of the people from foreign invasion. Such, from the aggressive character of the French people, was the danger, it was soon seen, most to be apprehended. Never had the royal dockyards been so busy. Squadrons had to be sent off to reinforce stations at a distance from home, and to protect our colonies. Some months, therefore, elapsed before a fleet could be got ready to cope with the enemy. As soon as the ships could be fitted out, they were placed under the command of Admiral Lord Howe, who, on the 24th of July, set sail from Spithead with 15 ships of the line and a few frigates and sloops. For some weeks he cruised about in search of the French fleet, being joined in the meantime by more ships, till he had upwards of 30 under his command. He, however, was compelled to return to Spithead without meeting them.

In the meantime Lord Hood had proceeded to the Mediterranean and taken possession of Toulon. Before, however, we describe the events which took place there, we will follow Lord Howe, who, on the following May, received information that a valuable French convoy was expected from the West Indies, and guessing that the enemy’s fleet would sail out for their protection, put to sea in the hopes of intercepting them. His force now consisted of 26 sail of the line and 13 frigates and sloops. On the morning of the 28th, being about 140 leagues west of Ushant, the enemy were discovered at some distance to windward. On their perceiving the British fleet, they bore down in loose order, but soon after hauled again to the wind, and began to form in order of battle. Several of the British ships, at a considerable distance to windward of the fleet, approached the enemy’s rear. Lord Howe then made the signal for a general chase, and to engage the enemy. Rear-Admiral Pasley, of the Bellerophon, towards the close of the day, got up with the rear-ship of the enemy’s line, a three-decker, on which he commenced a firm and resolute attack, supported occasionally by the ships in his division. The Bellerophon, being soon disabled, fell to leeward. The Audacious came up just at that time, and continued to engage the same ship for two hours without intermission, when the enemy’s mizen-mast fell overboard, her lower yards and main-topsail yards shot away, and otherwise much shattered. The Audacious, however, having her rigging and sails cut to pieces, and the ship being for some time unmanageable, was unable to follow the Frenchman, who put before the wind and escaped. The night being dark, Captain Parker lost sight of the fleet, and being in too disabled a state to rejoin, was compelled to bear away for the channel. The next day a partial engagement took place between the two hostile fleets, which resulted in the British obtaining the weather-gage.

On the morning of the 1st of June, both fleets being drawn up in order of battle, at half-past seven Lord Howe made the signal for both fleets to bear up, and for each ship to engage her opponent in the enemy’s line. In a short time a tremendous cannonade commenced from van to rear, which raged with unceasing fury for about an hour. The enemy’s line having been forced through in many places, they began to give way, and their admiral, vigorously attacked by the Queen Charlotte, bore up, and was followed by all those of his ships that were able to carry sail, leaving the rest, which were dismasted and crippled, at the mercy of their enemies. Upon the clearing up of the smoke, eight or ten French ships were seen, some totally dismasted and others with only one mast standing, endeavouring to make off under their sprit-sails. Seven of these were taken possession of; one, Le Vengeur, sank before the whole of her crew could be taken out, not more than 280 being saved. A distant and irregular firing was continued at intervals between the fugitive and British ships till about four in the afternoon, when the French admiral, having collected most of his remaining ships, steered off to the eastward. The Queen Charlotte had lost both her topmasts, the Marlborough and Defence were wholly dismasted, and many of the other ships materially damaged. Earl Howe, therefore, brought to, in order to secure the prizes and collect his ships before dark. The loss sustained by the British in this action amounted to 281 killed and 788 wounded. Among the first was Captain James Montague of the Montague, while three admirals and four captains were severely wounded. The killed on board the enemy’s ships that were captured amounted to 690, and 580 wounded, exclusive of 320 lost in Le Vengeur when she sank, the greater number of whom were wounded.

So important was this action considered, that on the return of the fleet to Spithead, the king himself came down to Portsmouth and personally presented Lord Howe with a sword; while various honours were bestowed upon the principal officers engaged, gold medals being struck to commemorate the glorious victory of the 1st of June; a liberal subscription being opened likewise for the relief of the wounded officers, seamen, and marines, and also the widows and children of those who fell in the action.

This victory early in the war was of the greatest consequence, as it raised the spirits and confidence of the British, while it proportionably depressed the enemy, and proved the prelude of that succession of victories which at length crushed the power of France and secured the safety of England.

After the English had held Toulon for some time, in consequence of the large force of republicans collected round the city, it was found impossible to retain it. Several thousand French royalists having been embarked, it was resolved to destroy the arsenal and ships of war. This dangerous task was undertaken by Sir Sidney Smith, having under his command three English and three Spanish gunboats and a tender, with the Vulcan fire-ship. He proceeded into the harbour at dark; the fire-ship was first placed across the outer men-of-war in such a position that she was certain to do effectual execution. Scarcely had the signal been made for setting the trains on fire, than the flames rose in all directions; a magazine, filled with pitch, tar, tallow, oil, and hemp, was quickly in a blaze; while the guns of the fire-ship went off in the direction the enemy were approaching. The destruction would have been more complete had not the Spaniards set fire to two ships laden with powder, which they had been directed to sink; on board one of them, the Isis frigate, there were some thousand barrels. In a few moments the explosion took place; the air was filled with masses of burning timber, which fell in all directions, and two of the British boats were destroyed. The crew of one was taken up, but in the other, Lieutenant Young, with three men, perished, and many were badly wounded.

Notwithstanding this, Sir Sidney and his brave companions destroyed ten of the enemy’s ships of the line in the arsenal, with the mast-house, the great storehouse and other buildings.

After this, Lord Hood proceeded to Hieres Bay, leaving a small squadron to cruise before Toulon. Unfortunately, the Moselle, Captain Bennet, on her return from Gibraltar, passed through them, and not knowing that the place was evacuated, entered the harbour and was captured.

Some time after this, Captain Samuel Hood, in the Juno frigate of 32 guns, who had been sent to Malta for supernumeraries for the fleet—having been detained by a succession of foul winds—also ignorant of what had occurred, at ten in the evening stood into the outer road; not perceiving the fleet at anchor there, and concluding that they had taken shelter within the new harbour from a strong easterly gale which had lately been blowing, steered for it. Having no pilot on board, two midshipmen were stationed at each cathead to look out. Soon after, several lights were seen, which were supposed to be those of the fleet. The Juno accordingly stood on under her topsails till she made out a brig which lay off Point Grandtour, when the captain, finding that he could not weather her, set more sail. The brig, as he approached, hailed; but no one understood what was said. Captain Hood, in reply, gave the name and nation of his ship, upon which the people on board the brig shouted “Viva!” and soon after some one cried out “Luff.” The Juno’s helm on this was put a-lee, but before the ship came head to wind, she took the ground. Directly afterwards, a boat was observed to pull from the brig towards the town, but even then her object was not suspected. Happily, while the Juno’s people were still on the yards, a sudden flaw of wind taking the ship, drove her astern. To help her off, the driver and mizen-staysail were hoisted, and directly the ship lost her way, an anchor was let go, but she still touched the ground abaft. Accordingly, to get her off, the launch and cutter were ordered to carry out a kedge-anchor ahead. While the boats were still away, a boat from the shore came alongside, out of which several officers hurried on board. One of them informed Captain Hood that it was the commanding officer’s orders that the ship should go into another branch of the harbour to perform ten days’ quarantine. From some of the remarks now made, suspicions were aroused, and they were confirmed when, on a midshipman exclaiming, “Why, those are the national cockades,” the captain, looking at the Frenchmen’s hats, discovered by the light of the moon the tricolours of the republicans. The captain again asking where Lord Hood’s squadron lay, one of the French officers replied, “Soyez tranquilles. Les Anglais sont des braves gens; nous les traiterons bien. L’Amiral Anglais est sorti il y a quelque temps.”

“Be calm. The English are brave people; we will treat them well. The English admiral sailed some time ago.”

It may easily be conceived what were Captain Hood’s feelings on hearing this. The alarming intelligence ran through the ship; some of the officers hurried aft to inquire if it were true. Happily, at this moment a flaw of wind came down the harbour, when Mr Welby, the third lieutenant, said to Captain Hood, “I believe, sir, that we shall be able to fetch out if we can get under sail.” Captain Hood at once determined to try what could be done, and with great presence of mind immediately ordered the crew to their respective stations, and directed that the Frenchmen should be taken below. They at first began to bluster, but the marines appearing with their half-pikes, soon forced them down below. Such was the alacrity of the officers and crew, that in less than three minutes every sail in the ship was set, and the yards braced for casting. The cable, being hove short, was cut, the head sails filled, and the ship glided forward down the harbour. At the same time, her own boats and that of the Frenchmen were cut adrift, that they might not impede her progress. A favourable flaw of wind now coming, she got good way. The instant the brig saw the Juno under sail, she and one of the forts began to fire on her, and presently all the other forts, as their guns could be brought to bear, opened fire. Still the frigate stood undauntedly on; as she approached Cape Serpet, it was feared that she would not be able to weather it without making a tack, but the wind shifting so as to admit her lying up two points, she scraped clear of the cape, under a heavy fire from the batteries. As soon as Captain Hood was able to keep the ship away, he opened a brisk fire on the enemy, which he kept up till half-past twelve, when, being out of shot, he ceased firing.

Notwithstanding the heavy cannonade the Juno had passed through, not a man on board her was hurt; and though two 36-pound shot had struck her, no material damage had been inflicted, nor had her rigging and sails suffered much injury. Two days afterwards the Juno joined Lord Hood’s fleet in the Bay of Hieres. The coolness and presence of mind which have been so often exhibited by British naval officers was signally displayed on this occasion; and when we recollect that the Juno was actually within the enemy’s port, full of armed vessels, with formidable batteries on either side of her, we must acknowledge that the feat she accomplished is unsurpassed in naval annals.

We must pass over the numerous gallant actions between small squadrons and single ships. Great difficulties were experienced at this time in manning the navy; even the press-gangs failed to obtain a sufficient number of men. An Act was passed, therefore, on the 15th of March, 1795, for raising 10,000 men in the several counties of England, and on the 16th of April another was passed for procuring a supply from the several ports of Great Britain; and the more effectually to enforce the Act, an embargo was laid on all British shipping until the quota of men was raised. To encourage men to come forward, enormous bounties were offered by many of the counties and sea-ports, sometimes exceeding 30 pounds for each able seaman. An Act was also passed to enable those who came forward voluntarily to allot part of their pay to the maintenance of their wives and families. Seamen also were allowed to forward letters home on the payment only of a penny; half-pay officers and widows of officers were enabled to obtain their pay or pensions free of charge.

Early in January of the next year Sir Sidney Smith, while in command of the Diamond frigate, performed one of those exploits which made his name notorious. While attached to the squadron of Sir John Borlase Warren, he stood close into Brest, where he ascertained that the French fleet were at sea. As he was standing off, a corvette which was coming out of the harbour hove to and made a signal, which not being answered by the Diamond, she hauled her wind and worked in. Soon after this Sir Sidney passed within hail of a line-of-battle ship at anchor. She appeared to have no upper-deck guns mounted, and to be very leaky. He asked her commander in French if she wanted any assistance; to which he answered, “No, that he had been dismasted in a heavy gale, and had parted with the French fleet three days ago.” Some other conversation passed, after which, Sir Sidney crowded sail and stood out to sea. So completely had he disguised his ship, that the Frenchman had not the slightest suspicion of her being an English man-of-war.

The following year, however, being on a cruise off Havre-de-Grâce, he discovered a lugger in the outer road. Having taken her with the boats of his squadron, he attempted to tow her off, but the flood-tide setting strong in, he was compelled to anchor. In the night the cable either parted or was cut by one of the prisoners, when the lugger, driving a considerable way up the Seine, was attacked by several gunboats and other armed vessels; and Sir Sidney, after making a gallant resistance, was compelled to surrender. He was carried to Paris, and for long shut up in the Temple; but, with the aid of friends, he effected his escape from prison, and reaching Havre-de-Grâce, put off in an open boat, when he was picked up by the Argo frigate, and landed safe in Portsmouth on the 5th of March, 1798.

On the 1st of June, 1795, an alteration was made in the uniform of naval officers, which continued for many years afterwards. Those who can remember it can scarcely fail to consider it the most becoming worn at any time in the service. The rank of officers was now distinguished by epaulettes. An admiral wore two gold epaulettes, with three silver stars on each; a vice-admiral had two stars, and a rear-admiral one; a post-captain of above three years standing wore two gold epaulettes, under three years, one on the right shoulder, a master and commander, one on the left shoulder, captains wore blue lapels and cuffs, with lace as before, but on the undress coat neither lace nor embroidery.

On the 4th of June his majesty appointed seven superannuated or disabled lieutenants of the navy to be poor knights of Windsor. This institution was founded by Samuel Travers, who, in 1724, left a residuary estate in trust for building or buying a house for their reception near the castle of Windsor, bequeathing to each knight 60 pounds per annum, 26 pounds of which is to be applied only for keeping them a constant table. The first knight was William Hogarth, whose commission bore the date of 1757, so that he had been nearly forty years a lieutenant; while the next three had been thirty years lieutenants.

In the same year the masters in the navy received an increase of half-pay, and their position was otherwise improved.

Towards the end of the year an improved system of telegraph, the invention of Lord George Murray, was introduced on several heights leading from the coast to London.

Post-captains were appointed as governors to the royal hospitals of Haslar and Plymouth, and lieutenants to those of Deal and Great Yarmouth.

One of the most gallant actions of the war was fought at the commencement of this year in the West Indies. The Blanche, a 32-gun 12-pounder frigate, commanded by Captain Robert Faulkner, was cruising in the neighbourhood of Guadaloupe, when she chased a French armed schooner, under a fort within a bay in the island of Desiradé. The schooner brought up with springs to her cables; but, notwithstanding the fire of the fort and some troops on shore, Captain Faulkner cut the schooner out with his boats, and triumphantly carried her off. Manning his prize, he sent her away to an English port, and was next day joined by the Quebec frigate, which, however, parted company. On the 4th at daybreak Captain Faulkner discovered the French 32-gun frigate Pique, lying at anchor just outside the harbour of Pointe-a-Pètre in Guadaloupe. Finding the French frigate, however, did not appear inclined to come out from under the protection of the batteries, the Blanche made sail towards a schooner, which she captured and took in tow. She then stood over for Dominico with her prize. Late in the evening, however, the French frigate was seen about two leagues astern, upon which, Captain Faulkner, casting off the schooner, tacked and made sail to meet her. At a quarter-past twelve the Blanche tacked and came up with her. When within musket-shot the enemy wore; Captain Faulkner seeing his intention was to rake him, wore also, when the two frigates closely engaged broadside to broadside. A fierce action now ensued for an hour and a-half, when, as the Blanche, shooting ahead, was in the act of luffing up to rake the Pique, her main and mizen-masts fell over the side. Directly after this, the Pique running foul of the Blanche on her larboard quarter, the French made several attempts to board. They were, however, gallantly repulsed by the British crew, and the larboard quarter-deck guns and such of those on the main-deck as could be brought to bear, were fired into the Pique’s starboard bow, she answering in return with musketry from her tops, as also from some of her quarter-deck guns, which had been run in amidships fore and aft. The bowsprit of the Pique passing over the starboard-quarter of the Blanche, Captain Faulkner, aided by his second lieutenant and two others of his crew, was in the act of lashing the Pique’s bowsprit to her capstern, when he was shot by a musket-ball through the heart. Soon after this the lashings broke loose, when the Pique, as she was crossing the stern of the Blanche, which began to pay off for want of after-sail, again fell on board on the starboard-quarter, her hawser having just before been got on deck, the Pique’s bowsprit was lashed to the stump of the Blanche’s main-mast. The first lieutenant, Mr Frederick Watkins, now took command, and kept the Blanche before the wind, towing her opponent, while a hot fire was kept up by the British marines on the French seamen who attempted to cut away the second lashing. This was returned from the forecastle and tops of the Pique, as well as from the latter’s quarter-deck guns pointed forward. The Blanche having no stern-ports on the main-deck could only return the fire by two quarter-deck 6-pounders. Lieutenant Watkins accordingly resolved to venture on the somewhat hazardous experiment of blowing away part of the stern to allow a couple of guns to be run out. The firemen were called with their buckets ready to extinguish the flames should they burst out, and two 12-pounders being pointed astern in the cabin, soon made a clear breach, through which a tremendous fire was opened on the Pique’s decks. The French frigate had already lost her fore and mizen-mast, and about three hours and a quarter after midnight, her main-mast fell over the side. Thus the Blanche continued towing along her antagonist, which, notwithstanding the raking fire to which she was exposed, held out two hours longer; when at length some of the French seamen who had climbed on to the bowsprit cried out that they had struck. Neither of the frigates being able to put a boat in the water, Mr David Milne, the second lieutenant, and ten men, endeavoured to gain the prize by means of a hawser still attached to her. Their weight, however, bringing it down, they were compelled to swim on board. When the Blanche commenced the action, she had but 198 men and boys on board; of these, besides her gallant commander, she lost a midshipman, 5 seamen, and I marine killed, and I midshipman, 4 petty officers, and 12 seamen, and 4 marines wounded. The Pique had 279 men on board, of whom she lost 76 officers and men killed and 110 wounded, her brave captain, who soon afterwards died from his hurts, being among the number. The Blanche measured 710 tons and the Pique 906, while the weight of her guns was slightly in excess of that of the victor. The Pique was added to the British Navy, and Lieutenants Watkins and Milne were deservedly promoted. About a quarter-of-an-hour after the action had ceased, just after daylight, a 64-gun ship, the Veteran, was seen approaching, and the French officers afterwards refused to sign the usual head-money certificate unless the Veteran was named as one of their captors, though they afterwards withdrew their objections, which were absurd, considering that though she had seen the flashes of their guns, she had not caught sight of the combatants until the Pique was in possession of her captors.

The change which had some time before been proposed in the armament of British ships of war had now taken place, though at first, as has been the case with other improvements, carronades were objected to on various grounds, there were now few ships in the navy without them. A whole class of ships, carrying 44 guns, were armed on the main-deck with 32-pounder carronades, instead of the long 6-pounders which they would otherwise have carried. A considerable increase was also made in the size of ships. The largest launched at this date, the Ville de Paris, to carry 110 guns, was somewhat smaller, however, than the French 80-gun ships. Fourteen ships of the line had been commissioned, and ten had been purchased from the East India Company and armed with 54 guns, but, though well fitted for merchantmen, were unsuitable for men-of-war. With one of them, however, one of the most gallant actions on record was fought, about the middle of this year, 1796. The Glatton, one of the purchased Indiamen, of 1256 tons, commanded by Captain Henry Trollope, and fitted on the main-deck with 28 carronades, 68-pounders, the rest of her guns being 32-pounders, making altogether 54 guns; but, as the ports were too small to allow the larger guns to traverse properly, and she had no bow or stern chasers, they could only be pointed right abeam. Having been appointed to reinforce the North Sea Fleet, under Admiral Duncan, she proceeded from Sheerness to Yarmouth Roads, whence, on the 14th of July, she was directed to sail to join a squadron of two sail of the line and some frigates, under the command of Captain Savage, of the Albion 64, cruising off the Texel. At one in the afternoon of the 16th, being about four or five leagues from Helvaetsluis, Captain Trollope discovered a squadron of ships of war, consisting of six large frigates, a brig, and a cutter. One of these, as far as could be made out, mounted 50 guns, two 36, and the other three 28. He was soon convinced, from the way in which they manoeuvred, and from not answering the private signal, that they were enemies. Not intimidated, however, by their vast superiority, he at once cleared for action, and bore down resolutely to attack them. The strangers on this shortened sail, backing their mizen-topsails, in order to keep their stations. At 10 p.m. Captain Trollope having got alongside of the third ship in the enemy’s line, hailed her, and finding that she was French, ordered her commander to strike his colours. Instead of doing so, he immediately fired a broadside, on which the Glatton poured into her antagonist, at a distance of thirty yards, such a shower of shot as perhaps no ship had ever before received. Her crew being insufficient to man her guns on both sides, the allotment to each gun was divided into gangs. One of these having loaded and run out the gun, left the most experienced hands to point and fire it, while they ran across and loaded and ran out the gun on the opposite side. The two headmost French ships then tacked, one placing herself alongside to windward, and the other on the Glatton’s bow, while the other ships engaged her on her lee-quarter and stern. A fierce cannonade was kept up, the Glatton engaging on both sides so near, that her yard-arms were nearly touching those of the enemy; the shrieks and cries which arose from them showing the terrible effect of the Glatton’s shot—though the French commodore, at all events, exhibited no want of courage in the way he fought his ship. Close to leeward was the Brill shoal, on which the van-ship of the French, now tacking, endeavoured to drive the Glatton. The French commodore, with whom Captain Trollope had at first engaged, was still on his lee bow, when the pilot exclaimed, that unless the Glatton tacked she would be on the Brill. “When the Frenchman strikes the ground, do you put the helm a-lee,” was the answer. Directly afterwards the commodore tacked, when, while he was in stays, the Glatton poured in a heavy raking fire, and then endeavoured to come about, but so damaged was she in her sails and rigging, that it was not without difficulty she could do so. Notwithstanding that her topmasts and yards were wounded, her crew, when ordered to shorten sail, flew aloft with alacrity, executing their task, in spite of the shot flying round them from the nearest of the Frenchmen able to continue the action. During this interval the Glatton’s fire had ceased, and one of the French ships stood towards her, in the hopes, probably, of making her their prize, but the British crew hurrying to their guns, soon undeceived them, and compelled their still remaining antagonists to follow their consorts. In attempting to wear after them, Captain Trollope found his masts, rigging, and sails so much injured that all his efforts were ineffectual, or his gallantry would probably have been rewarded by a complete victory. The remainder of the night was spent in strengthening masts and yards, and in bending fresh sails, and by seven o’clock the next morning the ship was in a fit state to renew the action. The enemy were at this time seen steering for Flushing; Captain Trollope continued to follow them till nine o’clock, when, as he had no hopes of being joined by any other ships, and the wind was blowing fresh on shore, he was compelled to haul off and steer for Yarmouth Roads, where he arrived on the 21st. It was afterwards discovered that the French ships had all, more or less, suffered, some of those that had taken the chief part in the action being tremendously knocked about, their decks being ripped up by the Glatton’s shot; one of them, indeed, sank on reaching Flushing harbour. The largest, with which the Glutton was chiefly engaged, was supposed to be the Brutus, armed with 46 24-pounders on the main-deck, and several 36-pounders on the quarter-deck and forecastle, while she was fully 300 tons larger than the Glatton. Though Captain Trollope might have relied on the weight of metal his ship carried, yet his courage and decision in sailing into the midst of six powerfully-armed opponents is worthy of all admiration, and justly entitled him to the honour of knighthood, which was conferred on him soon afterwards by the king, while the merchants of London presented him with a handsome piece of plate, to show their appreciation of his courage.

In September of this year, the Amphion frigate, of 32 guns, commanded by Captain Pellew, lay refitting at Plymouth. Her captain and two other officers were in the cabin at dinner, when a rumbling noise was heard. The captain, followed by his lieutenant, rushed into the quarter-gallery—the instant afterwards the ship blew up; the greater number of persons on board, amounting to nearly 300, perished, they and forty others only escaping with their lives, many of them being severely injured. Great as was the explosion, it had but a trifling effect on the ships near her. Her masts (excepting the mizen-mast) were shivered to pieces and forced out of the ship; four of her main-deck guns were cast upon the deck of the hulk alongside which she lay; and several bodies, pieces of the wreck, etcetera, were thrown as high as her main-topgallant mast-head.

Another gallant action was fought on the 13th of October by the Terpsichore frigate, of 32 guns and 215 men, commanded by Captain Richard Bowen. The Terpsichore having left thirty men at the hospital, the greater number being still dangerously ill on board, was cruising off Carthagena, when at daylight Captain Bowen discovered a large frigate to windward, apparently in chase of him. Though so near an enemy’s port, that even in the event of a victory he could scarcely hope to carry off his prize, trusting to his well-tried crew, he determined to meet the foe. At half-past nine the stranger came within hail, and hauled up on the Terpsichore’s weather-beam. A fierce action now ensued, and continued on both sides for an hour and twenty minutes, when the enemy’s fire began to slacken, and she attempted to make off; but the superior skill of Captain Bowen frustrated the attempt, and in less than twenty minutes compelled her to surrender. When taken possession of she proved to be the Mahonesa, a Spanish frigate of 36 guns, besides cohorns and snivels, manned with a crew of 275 men. She was completely disabled, her main-deck guns were rendered entirely useless, the booms having fallen down upon them, while her standing and running rigging was cut to pieces, she having also lost thirty men killed and as many more wounded. The Terpsichore had only the boatswain and three seamen wounded. Captain Bowen spoke of the gallant way in which the Spanish captain, Don Thomas Ayaldi, had fought his ship, having held out as long as he had the slightest prospect of victory. Notwithstanding her crippled condition, Captain Bowen succeeded in carrying his prize to Lisbon, but she was considered too much battered to be worth the cost of a thorough repair.

Soon afterwards, Captain Bowen captured a French 36-gun frigate, La Vestale, all her masts and her bowsprit being knocked away, and a large proportion of her crew killed and wounded. Being close to the shoals that lie between Cape Trafalgar and Cadiz, the prize, with the Terpsichore’s master, one midshipman, and seven seamen, it having been impossible to remove the French crew, drifted towards the shore, where the master at length brought her up, and during the darkness the Terpsichore lost sight of her prize. While attempting to tow her off the next day, the towrope got foul of a rock and was cut. Soon after this the Frenchmen rose on the prize-crew and again anchored close inshore. The next morning, when Captain Bowen stood in to look for her, he had the mortification to see her standing in to Cadiz, some Spanish boats having come off and taken possession of her. La Vestale was, however, captured in the year 1799 by the gallant Captain Cunningham, of the Clyde.

Passing over many interesting events, we come to one which cannot be omitted in the history of the British Navy. English seamen had long undoubtedly been subjected to much ill-treatment. A large proportion of a ship’s company consisted of pressed men, compelled to serve against their will. They were often harshly treated by their officers; they were badly fed, and but poorly paid, and often punished; while their necessaries were embezzled, and they were cheated in a variety of ways. Towards the end of February, 1797, while Lord Howe was on shore, several petitions were sent up from the seamen at Portsmouth, asking for an advance of wages. They were forwarded to Earl Spencer, First Lord of the Admiralty, but as they were looked upon as forgeries, no notice was taken of them. Lord Howe being unable from sickness to go afloat, Lord Bridport took command of the fleet, when the seamen, supposing their complaints to be disregarded, refused to put to sea. On the 17th of March, every man in the fleet having sworn to support the cause, the mutiny broke out. Ropes were reeved at the foreyard-arms of the Queen Charlotte, and the mutineers were about to hang the first lieutenant of the ship, when Lord Bridport saved him. They, however, turned all the officers out of the fleet who had behaved in any way to offend them. Two delegates were appointed from each ship to represent the whole fleet, and the admiral’s cabin in the Queen Charlotte was fixed upon as the place for their deliberations. On the 21st Admirals Gardner, Colpoys, and Pole went on board the Queen Charlotte in order to confer with the delegates. These men assured the admirals that no arrangement would be considered as satisfactory till it should be sanctioned by the king and parliament, and guaranteed by a proclamation for a general pardon. So irritated did Admiral Gardner become on hearing this, that he seized one of the delegates and swore that he would have them all hanged with every fifth man throughout the fleet. This so exasperated the crew that it was with difficulty Admiral Gardner escaped with his life from the ship. The red or bloody flag was now seen flying from the Royal George, and that of Lord Bridport was struck. The mutineers also loaded all the guns, keeping a watch the same as at sea; every officer being detained on board his respective ship. In a few days, however, the seamen, hearing that their petitions were likely to be attended to, returned to their duty. Admiral Bridport rehoisted his flag on board the Royal George, and informed the seamen that he had brought with him the redress of their grievances and his majesty’s pardon for the offenders. It was now hoped that all matters in dispute were settled; but the seamen, fancying that notwithstanding the admiral’s assurances, they were to be neglected, again refused when ordered to weigh anchor. Admiral Golpoys, on this, ordered the marines to prevent the delegates from coming on board. The latter attempted to force their way, when the marines fired, and five seamen were killed and one of their officers wounded. On this the crew of the London turned the guns in the fore-part of the ship aft, and threatened to blow the officers, and all who stood by them, into the water. Seeing that resistance was hopeless, the officers surrendered, and the admiral and captain were confined in their cabins. Happily, on the 8th of May, a resolution of the House of Commons was passed, and the king’s free pardon being communicated to the seamen, they became satisfied, the red flag was struck, the officers were reinstated in their commands, and the whole fleet put to sea the next day to look out for the enemy. Lord Bridport had been ordered to keep at sea as much as possible, and only to return when necessary to refit or revictual. This plan succeeded, and the seamen generally obeyed their officers and conducted themselves properly.

At Plymouth the ships’ companies exhibited a mutinous disposition, but, after a time, they accepted the terms offered to the seamen at Portsmouth, and tranquillity was restored.

While these things were occurring at home, Sir John Jervis, with about 15 sail of the line, 4 frigates, 2 sloops of war, and a cutter, after putting into the Tagus, was cruising off Cape Saint Vincent. While there, a Spanish fleet of 25 sail of the line, 11 frigates, and a brig, came through the Straits of Gibraltar, bound for Cadiz. On the 14th of February, before dawn, a Portuguese frigate brought intelligence to the admiral that a Spanish fleet was about five leagues to windward. The English fleet was formed in two compact divisions; in one of them was the Captain, with the broad pendant of Horatio Nelson. It appeared that the Spaniards had at first supposed that the fleet in sight was part of a convoy. Some days before an American, which had passed through the British fleet before Admiral Sir Hyde Parker had joined with five ships of the line, while another, the Culloden, was absent in chase, had given the information that the English admiral had only nine sail of the line. The morning broke dark and hazy, and the Spaniards obtaining but a partial view of the British fleet, were fully confirmed in their mistake, and believed that they should surround the whole British squadron and carry them in triumph into Cadiz. Notwithstanding the more just estimate that Sir John Jervis had of his opponents, he lost no time in endeavouring to bring them to action. The main body of the Spanish fleet came down under all sail, with the wind on the starboard-quarter, while the ships to leeward, close-hauled on the same tack, were endeavouring to join them there. Admiral Jervis formed his line close-hauled on the starboard tack, steering straight for the opening between the two divisions of the Spanish fleet. The Culloden, the leading ship, commanded by Captain Troubridge, had the honour of commencing the battle about half-past eleven; the other British ships following, effectually cut off a part of the Spanish fleet from the main body, and compelled them to form on the larboard tack, with the intention of passing through or to leeward of the British line; but they were met with so warm a reception from the centre of the British that they were obliged to tack, and were unable again to get into action till towards the close of the day. Admiral Jervis now devoted all his attention to the main body of the enemy’s fleet to windward, which was reduced at this time, by the separation of the ships to leeward, to eighteen sail of the line. A little after twelve o’clock the signal was made for the British fleet to tack in succession, and soon after the signal for again passing the enemy’s line; while the Spanish admiral’s design appeared to be to join the ships to leeward by wearing round to the rear of the British line. The intention of the enemy was, however, soon perceived by Commodore Nelson, who, being in the rear, had an opportunity of observing this manoeuvre. In order to frustrate the design, he had no sooner passed the Spanish rear than he wore and stood on the other tack towards the enemy. In executing this bold and decisive manoeuvre, the commodore found himself alongside of the Spanish admiral in the Santissima Trinidad, of 136 guns. Notwithstanding this immense disparity, Nelson was not the man to shrink from the contest, though the Spaniard was ably supported by her two seconds ahead and astern, each of which was a three-decker. While Nelson sustained this unequal conflict, Troubridge in the Culloden, and Captain Frederick in the Blenheim, were coming to his assistance. Sir John Jervis had ordered Captain Collingwood in the Excellent to bear up, while he passed to leeward of the rearmost ships of the enemy. As he did so, he gave the San Ysidro so effectual a broadside that she was compelled to submit. Captain Collingwood then passed on to the relief of Nelson, but before he arrived, the Spaniard’s mizen-mast fell overboard and she got entangled with her second, the San Nicolas, a ship of guns. On this, Nelson determined to board the San Nicolas, and the Captain was so judiciously placed by Captain Miller, her commander, that he laid her aboard on the starboard-quarter of the Spanish 84, her spritsail-yard passing over the enemy’s poop, and hooking in her mizen-shrouds. Nothing can surpass Nelson’s own description of what now took place. Calling for the boarders, he ordered them on board:—“The soldiers of the 69th regiment, with an alacrity which will ever do them credit, and Lieutenant Pearson of the same regiment, were almost the foremost on this service. The first man who jumped into the enemy’s mizen-chains was Captain Berry, late my first lieutenant (Captain Miller was in the very act of going also, but I directed him to remain). A soldier of the 69th regiment having broken the upper-quarter-gallery window, jumped in, followed by myself and others as fast as possible. I found the cabin doors fastened, and some Spanish officers fired their pistols at us through the windows; but having burst open the doors, the soldiers fired, and the Spanish brigadier (or commodore) fell as he was retreating to the quarter-deck. I found Captain Berry in possession of the poop, and the Spanish ensign hauling down. I passed with my people and Lieutenant Pearson along the larboard gangway to the forecastle, where I met several Spanish officers prisoners to my seamen, and they delivered me their swords. At this moment, a fire of pistols or muskets opening from the admiral’s stern-gallery in the San Josef, I directed the soldiers to fire into her stern. Our seamen by this time were in full possession of every part of the ship. About seven of my men were killed, and some few wounded, and about twenty Spaniards. Having placed sentinels at the different ladders, and calling to Captain Miller, ordering him to send more men into the San Nicolas, I directed my brave fellows to board the first-rate, the San Josef, which was done in an instant, Captain Berry assisting me into the main-chains.

“At this moment a Spanish officer looked over the quarter-deck rail, and said they surrendered. From this most welcome intelligence, it was not long before I was on the quarter-deck, when the Spanish captain, with bended knee, presented me his sword, and told me the admiral was dying of his wounds below. I asked him on his honour if the ship had surrendered. He declared she had; on which I gave him my hand, and desired him to call his officers and ship’s company and tell them of it, which he did; and on the quarter-deck of a Spanish first-rate, extravagant as the story may seem, did I receive the swords of vanquished Spaniards, which, as I received, I gave to William Fearney, one of my barge-men, who tucked them, with the greatest sang-froid, under his arm.”

Immediately on Nelson’s return on board the Captain, he made the signal for boats to assist in disengaging her from the prizes, and as she was rendered incapable of further service until refitted, he hoisted his pennant for the moment on board the Minerve frigate. In the meantime Admiral Jervis ordered the Victory to be placed on the lee-quarter of the rearmost ship of the enemy, the Salvador del Mundo, and threw in so effectual a broadside that the Spanish commander, seeing the Barfleur bear down to second the Victory, struck his flag. He was very nearly capturing the Santissana Trinidad, but the rest of the Spanish fleet, hitherto uninjured, coming down, he found it necessary to secure his prizes and bring to. All these ships did was to open an ineffectual fire, and then to sail away, leaving the British to carry off their prizes in triumph. The English ships lost in killed and wounded only 300 men, while on board the ships captured the Spanish killed and wounded amounted to 697. Just honours were showered on the victorious admirals and captains; Sir John Jervis was created a peer of Great Britain, under the titles of Baron Jervis of Meaford and Earl Saint Vincent; and among others, Commodore Nelson, who had just before been made a vice-admiral, received the insignia of the Bath.

It had been believed that the mutinous spirit of the seamen had been quelled by the concessions made to them, but such, it was soon found, was not the case. On the 20th of May most of the ships lying at the Nore, and nearly all of those belonging to the North Sea Fleet, hoisted the red flag. The mutineers at Sheerness, like those at Spithead, had chosen two delegates from every ship, and had appointed as a president over them a man of the name of Richard Parker; while on board each ship was a committee of twelve men, who decided on all the affairs relative to its internal management. They declared themselves dissatisfied with the terms accepted by the seamen of Portsmouth, and demanded a more just division of prize-money, more regular and frequent payment of wages, and also permission to go on shore when in port, with several other conditions. This statement they required Vice-Admiral Buckner, whose flag was flying on board the Sandwich, of 90 guns, to transmit without delay to the Admiralty, and they declared that only when its conditions were complied with would they return to their duty. So bold did they become that they went on shore without interruption, parading Sheerness with music and flags, inviting the crews of other ships to join them; while they had their headquarters in a public-house, above which a red flag was hoisted. To put a stop to this, some regiments were sent for, when they thought it prudent to keep to their ships. All communication with the shore being stopped, the mutineers supplied themselves with water and provisions from the merchant-vessels which they brought to, while they allowed none to proceed up to London, completely blockading the port. Throughout the whole of the mutiny the seamen behaved respectfully to their superior officers, while the strictest discipline was kept up on board all the ships. On the king’s birthday the seamen even exhibited their loyalty by firing a grand salute from all the ships, which were decorated in the manner usual on festive occasions.

Conciliatory measures for inducing the seamen to return to their duty were tried in vain. The Government, however, would not yield to any of their demands, and the seamen on board most of the ships at length finding their cause hopeless, hauled down the red flag. Some had previously made their escape from their midst. Ultimately, the crew of the Sandwich carried their ship under the guns of Sheerness, when a guard of soldiers coming on board, Parker, their ringleader, was delivered up. He, with the chief culprits, was tried, convicted, and executed; others were flogged through the fleet, and many were imprisoned for certain periods, a general pardon being granted to the seamen who had been misled by them.

Wide as was the spread of the mutiny, whole ships’ companies remained true to their colours. Among these crews who remained loyal, that of the Saint Fiorenzo deserves especially to be mentioned, and an account written by the late Admiral Mitford, who was then a midshipman on board her, cannot fail to prove interesting. “She was,” says Admiral Mitford, “the favourite frigate of his majesty George the Third, who, from his courtesy and kind manner towards the ship’s company, had endeared himself to them. This may in some degree account for the loyalty of the men, strengthened by their unbounded attachment to one of the most humane, brave, and zealous commanders that ever walked a deck—one to whom every man looked up as a father, the late Admiral Sir Harry Burrard Neale. A better lesson cannot be given to a young officer to show that by kindness and firmness that desirable object may be attained which was so eminently proved during one of the most eventful periods of this country. The Saint Fiorenzo was at Spithead when the first mutiny broke out, and the red flag was hoisted on board the Queen Charlotte. The day before that event the men came and informed Sir Harry of what was to take place, but that he might rely on their loyalty, and as far as was consistent with prudence, that they would obey every order from the officers, to which resolution they most scrupulously adhered. While such was the state of affairs, the Saint Fiorenzo having received orders to proceed to Sheerness for the purpose of fitting out to carry over the Princess Royal, then Duchess of Hesse-Homburg, to Cuxhaven, after her marriage, the mutineers allowed her to sail without attempting to stop her. Their demands having been acceded to by the Government, the men, just as we were sailing, returned to their duty. Notwithstanding the loyalty of our crew, two of the delegates, thoroughly trustworthy men, had been chosen, with Sir Harry’s permission, who regularly brought him all the information they could obtain. On our arrival at Sheerness, we found the red flag still flying on board the Sandwich guard-ship, and supposing that her crew had not been informed of what had taken place at Spithead, our delegates went on board to explain, and were surprised and disgusted to find that fresh demands had been made by the North Sea Fleet, and of so frivolous a nature, that from some remarks made by our men, perhaps not very courteous, their zeal in the cause was suspected, and consequently the mutineers were very jealous of our crew. On returning on board, our delegates immediately communicated with the Clyde, an old fellow-cruiser, commanded by Captain Cunningham, who also enjoying the confidence of his ship’s company, an agreement took place between the respective captains and their crews, that should the disaffection of the mutineers continue, they would leave them and run under cover of the forts at Sheerness. I should say that I believe a very small proportion of the men were disaffected, and, as on most public outbreaks, the majority were dictated to by a few desperate and disappointed men. Parker had been shipmate with a considerable number of the Saint Fiorenzo’s crew, and they had a great contempt for him. He had been acting-lieutenant in some ship with them, and was dismissed for drunkenness. If a little energy had been used on some of the opportunities that offered, the whole affair might have been quashed.

“Having got leave to go on shore from the delegates of our ship, I landed and passed through the dockyard, followed by the whole of the delegates of the fleet, Parker and Davis walking together in procession. When outside the gates, they saw the Lancashire fencibles coming to strengthen the garrison, to whom they offered every insult they could devise. On this the officer in command halted his men, and coming up to the admiral and commissioner, who were standing opposite the gates, asked, so I understood him, whether he might be permitted to surround the delegates, complaining of the insults offered to himself and his men. On this I involuntarily exclaimed, ‘Now’s the time;’ when the admiral asked me what I meant, and how I dared to speak? I said, ‘These are all the delegates,’ pointing out to them Parker and Davis and others. The fellows overheard me, and I have no doubt I became a marked man. I may congratulate myself on the event which carried us away from the fleet, otherwise I might have suffered what others did, and been yard-armed, tarred, and feathered; but I feel justified in saying that, had my suggestion been acted upon, there would have been an end of the mutiny at the Nore. Returning on board I found that every arrangement had been made, and the Clyde being the inshore ship, was to move first, which she did, and ran under the batteries; when, either from incompetency or fear, our pilot refused to take charge of the ship, and the tide being on the turn to ebb, Sir Harry Neale thought it advisable to wait for a more favourable opportunity. In the meantime we were visited by the delegates of some of the leading ships, who abused our crew for permitting the Clyde to escape without our firing upon her. So incensed did the men become at this, that one of the quartermasters, John Ainslie, came aft, and asked the first lieutenant whether they might not throw the blackguards overboard, which, I doubt not, a nod of assent would have effected.

“The mutineers now gave orders to our crew to place the frigate between the Inflexible and Director, to send our gunpowder on board the Sandwich, Admiral Parker as he was called, and to unbend our sails, with which orders our people agreed to comply. Sir Harry was immediately acquainted with the circumstances, and he at once arranged that the ship, instead of doing so, should run into Sheerness. When all was prepared, with springs to our cables to cast inshore, and we were ready to cut, in heaving the spring broke, and we cast outward. Sir Harry, whose presence of mind never forsook him, on this directed the quartermaster to take the command and he would dictate to him. All was sheeted home in a moment, and we stood in between the two line-of-battle ships, which had their guns double-shotted, their crews being all ready with lanyards in hand to fire upon us. The ship by that time had got good way, when Sir Harry gave the order to let fly all the sheets, which took the mutineers by surprise, and supposing that the ship was coming to an anchor, they did not fire. Sir Harry then ordered the helm to be put hard a-port, which caused the ship to shoot ahead of the Inflexible. He now came on deck and took the command, crying out to the ship’s company, ‘Well done, my lads!’ when a loud murmur of applause was heard fore and aft; but we had no time to cheer. ‘Now, clear away the bulkheads, and mount the guns,’ he cried. By this time the whole fleet of 82 sail had opened their fire upon us. The shot fell like hail, but, whether intentionally or not, few struck our hull. It was reported that the Director fired blank cartridges or she might have done us more injury; but I believe that her crew, struck with awe at the idea of firing on their countrymen, and also with admiration of their bravery, fired wide. In little more than two hours the bulkheads were cleared away from the cabin door to the break of the quarter-deck, the whole space having been fitted up with cabins for the suite of her royal highness, the guns on both sides being also down in the hold. The guns were mounted and we were ready for action. The men now came aft and begged that, should the mutineers come after them, they might go down with the ship rather than return to the fleet at the Nore. Our master, although a good pilot, did not feel himself justified in taking charge of the ship within the boundaries of a branch pilot. We were therefore on the look-out for a pilot-vessel, when a lugger was discovered on the lee bow, and we were on the point of bearing down on her, when we saw the North Sea Fleet coming with the red flag flying, having left their station in a state of mutiny, the admiral and all the officers being under arrest. A frigate bore down to us, when Sir Harry gave the speaking-trumpet to the quartermaster Stanley, and when she hailed as to what we were doing there, he replied that we were looking out to stop the ships with provisions for the fleet. She then proceeded, and joined the fleet again, and we made sail after the lugger. The necessary signals were made, but not being answered, we gave chase, and, after a run of four hours, captured the Castor and Pollux, a French vessel of 16 guns. We were proceeding to Portsmouth with our prize, when she, being to windward, spoke a brig, who informed us that the mutiny had again broken out at Spithead. Sir Harry on this thought it prudent to anchor under Dungeness until he could communicate with the Admiralty. During the night, as we lay there, a ship was seen bearing down towards us, which, however, answered the private signals; but that could not be depended upon, as it was probable that the mutineers would have possessed themselves of them. We accordingly beat to quarters. The men again repeated their request to sink rather than surrender to the mutineers. The stranger appeared high out of the water, and we could not be certain whether she might not be a line-of-battle ship. The wind being very light, she closed slowly. The suspense was awful. The springs were hove on to keep our broadside to bear. Sir Harry hailed, and her answer was, ‘The Hussar frigate, Lord Garlies, from the West Indies.’ Having come from a long voyage, her appearance was accounted for. Seeing the lights at all our port-holes, those on board the frigate could not understand the necessity of such extreme precautions, being, of course, ignorant of the mutiny. When her men wore acquainted with our situation, they were so struck with the bravery and determination of the Saint Fiorenzo’s ship’s company that they immediately said, should any ship be sent to bring us back, they would share our fate. None, however, came, and in a few days we heard that the mutiny was at an end, and we sailed, I think, for Plymouth, and another ship was ordered to take over the Princess of Hesse-Homburg.”

By the daring and determination of another captain, Sir Henry Trollope, he prevented his ship’s company from joining the mutineers. He had been removed from the Glutton to the Russell, 74, one of the North Sea Fleet, which lay in Yarmouth Roads. On hearing that his crew were about to join the mutineers, he came to the resolution of compelling them, by a proceeding of the most desperate character, to obey his orders. Providing himself with provisions and water, a compass and a chart, and a brace of pistols, he secretly entered the powder-magazine. Besides the door at the entrance, there was a grate, through which he could look into the outer apartment. Seating himself with his pistols in his hand, he sent for the delegates, and ordered them at once to get the ship under way, to carry her out to sea. “You know me, my lads,” he said, calmly; “we have been ordered to proceed to the Texel, and these orders must be obeyed. Sooner than have her name disgraced, I will blow her and all on board up into the air. Return on deck and attend to your duty.”

The mutineers looked aghast, but they knew their captain, and of what he was capable, too well to disobey him. They could not have molested him, even had they dared. The crew, obeying their officers, while the captain sat far below in the magazine, their guiding spirit, got the ship under way, and stood out to sea—the rest of the ships, either not aware of what she was about, or not venturing to interfere with her. In a short time she joined Admiral Duncan, who, with his flag flying on board the Venerable, was blockading the Texel. He had been left with only his own ship and the Adamant, keeping in check a Dutch fleet of 15 sail of the line, under Admiral de Winter. In order to prevent the Dutch from coming out, Admiral Duncan made use of a ruse, frequently repeating signals, as if communicating with the main body of his fleet in the offing. At length he was joined by other line-of-battle ships, but his fleet, severely battered by bad weather, and being short of provisions, had to put back into Yarmouth Roads, while Captain Trollope remained with a small squadron to watch the enemy. He continued there till the 9th of October, when information was brought that the Dutch fleet was at sea. He immediately sailed, and having looked into the Texel, on the 11th the Russell and other ships were seen with the signal flying at their mast-heads that the enemy was in sight to leeward. The Dutch fleet stood away, however, towards the coast of Suffolk, when, finding that the English admiral was within seven leagues of him, he sailed back towards Camperdown, followed by the English look-out frigates. De Winter now formed a close line of battle, and resolutely awaited Admiral Duncan. The British fleet on this bore down on the enemy, with the signal flying for close action. The Monarch, leading the larboard division of the British fleet, first cut the Dutch line, pouring in well-directed broadsides on the ships on either side of her. The action soon became general; one after the other the Dutch ships were compelled to strike. One of them, the Hercules, catching fire, the crew threw overboard their powder, and were therefore obliged to surrender their ship. The Dutch admiral’s ship, the Vryheid, held out gallantly to the last, but was at length compelled to yield, when the rest of the ships which had not yet struck their colours, did their best to make off. By this time the English were in possession of two seventy-fours, five sixty-fours, two fifties, and two frigates. The escaping enemy could not be pursued, for the land was close aboard, and the fleet in nine fathoms water. All the victors could do, therefore, was to secure their prizes, and to endeavour to get clear of the shore before nightfall. The Dutchmen had fought gallantly, aiming at the hulls of the British ships, which were fearfully shattered, and in all of them numerous shots were found sticking; though the masts and rigging were but comparatively little injured. The English lost 228 killed and 812 wounded, including many officers, and the Dutch 540 killed and 620 wounded. Of the whole Dutch fleet seven only escaped, and five of these were afterwards captured. With regard to the number of their guns, the two fleets were almost equal—the English ships carrying altogether 1150 guns, and the Dutch 1034; besides which, the latter had some corvettes and brigs which took part in the action, and greatly annoyed their opponents, though their guns were not counted. The victory of Camperdown was gained by the very men who had taken part in the mutiny. On the news reaching England, all those still under sentence were pardoned.

During this year occurred the unfortunate attack on Santa Cruz, in the island of Teneriffe, when, in attempting to land on the mole, Nelson lost an arm, and the gallant Captain Bowen, with several lieutenants, was killed, many of the boats being sunk and their crews perishing.

In the year 1798 the French made three attempts to land armies in Ireland, but on each occasion their fleets were driven back, and many of their ships were captured. A previous attempt had been made in 1796, when they were scattered and discomfited by the weather. The second succeeded in landing a body of troops; the greater number were killed, and the survivors were made prisoners. In the third, the Hoche, under the command of Commodore Bompart, was captured, as were several frigates of his squadron; while the fourth, finding the warm reception the troops would meet with should they attempt to land, put back into port.

At this time there were no less than 30,000 French prisoners in England, and by an agreement with their own government, which was to support them, it was arranged they should reside at Portsmouth, Plymouth, Norman Cross, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Chatham, and Stapleton. Arrangements were made towards the end of the war for the exchange of prisoners, but it was found that there were only 2800 English in France. The French Directory now issued a decree declaring that all persons natives of, or originally belonging to, neutral countries, or countries in alliance with France, serving on board any English ship, should be tried as pirates. The English Government, in retaliation, threatened to treat all subjects of the French Republic in the same manner, should the savage order be carried out. This threat had the desired effect.

Bonaparte had been for some time planning a campaign in Egypt. Sailing with a large fleet from Toulon, he first captured Malta, and then proceeded to Alexandria, wonderfully escaping Earl Saint Vincent and Vice-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson. Napoleon having landed, his fleet, under Admiral Brueys, brought up in Aboukir Bay. Here Nelson found the French on the 8th of August, drawn up at anchor in order of battle, and at 3 p.m. he threw out the signal to prepare for the fight, followed an hour afterwards with orders to anchor by the stern with springs to their cables. Another signal was shortly afterwards made to signify that the admiral meant to attack the enemy’s van and centre. At 6 p.m. Nelson signalised to the fleet to fill and stand on, which they did in admirable order, the Goliath leading; when, soon afterwards hoisting their colours, with the Union Jack in several parts of the rigging, the British ships took up the stations allotted to them. At 6:20 p.m. the Conquirant, followed by the Guerrier, opened her fire upon the Goliath and Zealous, which was quickly answered by those ships; but the sun had already sunk into the ocean before any other British ship had fired a shot. Loud cheers now burst from every ship of the English fleet, when the men, flying to their guns, opened their broadsides with a spirit which soon knocked away the masts and spars of their opponents, and spread death and destruction on board their ships. The action had continued for two hours, several French ships having struck, when a fire was perceived on board the Orient, which in an hour afterwards blew up with a tremendous explosion, the burning wreck falling far and wide around, and setting fire to several ships, friends and foes, in the neighbourhood. So awful was the effect, that for ten minutes not a gun was fired on either side. Thus the battle raged all night long, till soon after dawn the French frigate Artemise, after striking her colours, also caught fire, and with a terrific explosion blew up.

In the morning the enemy’s ships still in a condition to make sail got under way and endeavoured to escape. Of the thirteen French ships of the line, by this time, one had blown up, eight had surrendered, and two had escaped. Of the remaining two, one, the Timoléon, was on shore, with her colours flying; the other, the Tonnant, lay about two miles from her, a mere wreck, but also with her colours up. On the approach, however, of the Theseus and Leander, she hauled them down; while the crew of the Timoléon set her on fire, and she soon afterwards blew up. Thus, in the memorable “Battle of the Nile,” the French lost eleven line-of-battle ships, besides frigates. In this action the British lost 218 killed and 678 wounded. Among the latter was Horatio Nelson, who was struck above his already darkened eye by a splinter; while all the ships were considerably cut up. On board the Orient fell the Commodore Casa Bianca, as well as his gallant young son, who had refused to quit his post; and the French commander-in-chief, Brueys, who, after receiving two severe wounds, was nearly cut in two by a shot. While still breathing, he desired not to be carried below, but to be left to die upon deck, exclaiming in a firm voice, “Un amiral Français doit mourir sur son banc de quart.”

“A French admiral ought to die on his quarter-deck.”

While the ship was in flames, the boats of the British ships put off to save the hapless crew, seventy of whom were thus rescued. The heroic conduct of the captain of the Tonnant, Du Petit Thonars, deserves to be recorded. He first lost both his arms, and then one of his legs; even then, still able to speak, he gave his dying commands to his crew not to surrender the ship. Of the English fleet, the Culloden unhappily got on shore while going into action, and only by great exertions did she get off, after the battle was over. That the French fought with the utmost gallantry is acknowledged by all, while we must rank the victory of the Nile among the most brilliant achievements of the British Navy.

After the battle every effort was made to repair the damages the ships had received, and to fit the prizes for the voyage to England. Nelson sent the prisoners taken on board them on shore in a cartel, on their parole not to serve again during the war; but Napoleon, with his usual disregard for treaties, formed them into a battalion, which he called the “nautic.” Three of the prizes, being in too shattered a condition to be refitted, were burnt; another, the Peuple-Souverain, being considered unfit to proceed farther than Gibraltar, was there turned into a guard-ship. The five remaining vessels arrived safely at Plymouth; three of them being new and magnificent ships, the Tonnant, Franklin, and Spartiate, were added to the British Navy, the name of the former being changed to Canopus. Rewards were liberally bestowed upon the victors; Sir Horatio Nelson was created a peer of Great Britain by the title of Baron Nelson of the Nile and of Burnham Thorpe, while a pension was settled on him of 2000 pounds a-year by the English Parliament, and 1000 pounds a-year by the Irish; the East India Company presenting him with 10,000 pounds.

After the defeat of his fleet at Aboukir, Napoleon determined to invade Syria. His plans, however, were thwarted by Sir Sidney Smith, who having captured the fleet which was bringing the battering-cannon and ammunition from Damietta for the siege of Saint Jean d’Acre, made use of it to fortify that town, into which, with a small body of seamen and a few officers, he threw himself, and put it into a state of defence, while he organised the Turkish troops who formed its garrison. Napoleon, obtaining fresh guns, in a short time laid siege to Acre. Though he made several desperate attempts to storm it, they were on each occasion repulsed by the valour of the Turks, aided by the fire from the English and sultan’s ships. During one of the many engagements the Theseus frigate caught fire, and the poop and after-part of the ship was almost blown to pieces, several of her officers and men being killed. The fire was put out by the courage of the surviving officers and crew.

Napoleon, enraged at his defeat, made every effort to destroy Sir Sidney Smith. Two attempts to assassinate him, however, happily failed. At length an Arab dervish appeared with a letter to the pacha, proposing a cessation of arms for the purpose of burying the dead bodies, which in vast numbers were piled up under the ramparts. While this proposal was under consideration, with unexampled treachery, Napoleon attempted to storm the town; but the garrison were on the alert, and the assailants were driven back with great slaughter. The Arab tribes having been induced to cut off the supply of provisions for the French army, on the 20th of May Napoleon raised the siege, and leaving his guns behind him, precipitately retreated towards Egypt. Such is a brief outline of one of the most daring exploits ever performed by a naval man.

Of a very different character, though one in which consummate bravery was displayed, was the cutting-out of the Hermione frigate. She had been in the year 1799 under the command of Captain Hugh Pigot, one of those tyrant commanders who are truly said to make their ships “hells afloat.” While cruising off Porto Rico, as the crew were reefing top-sails, the captain shouted that he would flog the last man off the mizen-topsail yard. Two, in their attempt to spring over their comrades’ backs, missing their hold, fell on the quarter-deck and were killed. The captain, it is said, on seeing it, merely observed, “Throw the lubbers overboard.” The crew, who were probably a bad lot to begin with, for such a captain could not have obtained a good ship’s company, from a long succession of tyrannical acts, had become infinitely worse. The next day they rose on their officers, murdered the greater number, including the captain, and carried the ship into La Guayra, a port of the Spanish Main. Hearing that the Hermione, which had been fitted out by the Spaniards and strongly armed, was lying in the harbour of Puerto Cabello, Captain Hamilton, commanding the Surprise, a 28-gun frigate, determined to cut her out. Coming off the port on the 21st of October, he discovered her moored head and stern between two strong batteries on either side of the harbour, with her sails bent and ready for sea. After waiting off the port till the 24th without mentioning his intentions, he addressed his crew, reminding them of many enterprises they had undertaken, and pointing out to them that unless they should at once attempt the capture of the frigate, some more fortunate vessel would carry off the prize. Three hearty cheers showed him that he might depend on his crew. “I shall lead you myself,” he added. “Here are the orders for the six boats to be employed, with the names of the officers and men to be engaged on the service.”

Every arrangement had been judiciously made. The crew were to be dressed in blue; the password was Britannia, the answer Ireland. The boarders were to take the first spell at the oars; then, as they neared the Hermione, they were to be relieved by the regular crews. The expedition was to proceed in two divisions, the one to board on the starboard, the other on the larboard bow, gangway, and quarter. Sharp axes were provided for those who were to cut the bower cable, while others were told off to cut the stern cable, and certain men were to go aloft to loose the sails. In the event of their reaching the ship undiscovered, the boarders only were to board, while the boats’ crews were to take the ship in tow directly the cables were cut; but should they be discovered, the crews of each boat were to board and all aid in the enterprise. The rendezvous was to be on the Hermione’s quarter-deck. At half-past seven the boats were hoisted out, the crews mustered, and away they pulled from the Surprise. As it happened, within a mile of the Hermione the expedition was discovered by two gunboats, and the alarm being given, firing commenced. Captain Hamilton on this pushed for the frigate, believing that all his boats would do the same, but some, misunderstanding his orders, engaged the gunboats. On approaching, lights were seen at every port, with the ship’s company at quarters. Captain Hamilton pushed for the bows, and climbing up, his foot slipped and his pistol went off; but he soon succeeded in gaining a footing on the forecastle, and those who had been ordered to loose the sails immediately got the foresail ready for bending and hauling out to the yard-arms, thus forming a screen to themselves, for not a Spaniard was there to interfere with them. On looking down from the forecastle, they saw the crew of the Hermione at quarters on the main-deck, firing away into the darkness, utterly unconscious that the enemy were on board. Captain Hamilton, with the gunner and fourteen men, now made his way to the quarter-deck—part of them, however, under the gunner, being driven back by the Spaniards, who gained possession of the forecastle. Another party of English also neglecting to rendezvous on the quarter-deck, the captain was left for some minutes to defend himself against the attack of four Spaniards, one of whom stunned him, when he fell. Happily, some of his men came to the rescue, and a party of marines climbing over the larboard gangway, now gave a favourable turn to affairs. The rest of the boats coming up, the marines formed, fired a volley, and ran down with fixed bayonets on the main-deck. About sixty Spaniards retreated to the cabin, and surrendered. For some time, however, fighting continued on the main-deck and under the forecastle. The cables were cut, the sails were loosed, while the gunner and two men, though severely wounded, standing at the helm, the boats took the frigate in tow, and she stood out of Puerto Cabello. The batteries immediately opened, and a Portuguese reported that he heard the Spanish prisoners threatening to blow up the frigate. A few muskets fired down the hatchway restored order, and in less than an hour after Captain Hamilton was on board, all opposition had ceased, and the Hermione was his prize. By 2 p.m. the ship was out of gunshot of the batteries, the towing-boats were called alongside, and her crews came on board. In this wonderful enterprise the British had only 12 wounded, while the Spaniards, out of a crew of 365, lost 119 killed and 97 wounded, most of them dangerously. The cutting-out of the Hermione may well be considered one of the most desperate services ever performed, and no man was ever more deserving of the knighthood he received than Captain Hamilton, who had planned every detail, and personally led the bold attack. He himself was among the most severely wounded; besides a blow on his head, he received a sabre wound on the left thigh, another by a pike in his right thigh, and a contusion on the shin-bone by grape-shot; one of his fingers was badly cut, and he was also much bruised.

For some time previously to this, detectives, if they may be so-called, were stationed at each of the ports to discover the members of the crew who had been on board the Hermione at the time of the mutiny. No mercy was shown to those who had taken part in it. A large number were hung; it used to be said, indeed, that more suffered than actually then belonged to her, though they might have done so at some former period.

Sir Edward Hamilton long lived to enjoy his honours.

The days when fabulous amounts of prize-money were to be picked up had not yet passed by, although the rich Spanish galleons which went to sea in the times of Drake were seldom to be found. In October of this year, 1799, fortune smiled on the officers and ships’ companies of two British frigates. The Naiad, of 38 guns, Captain Pierrepoint, while cruising in latitude 44 degrees 1 minute north, and longitude 12 degrees 35 minutes west, came in sight of two frigates, to which, notwithstanding the disparity of force, he gave chase. They proved to be the Spanish 34-gun frigates Santa Brigida and Thetis, from Vera Cruz, bound to Spain. He followed them all night, when, early in the morning of the 16th, another ship was seen in the south-west, which hoisting her number showed herself to be the 38-gun frigate Ethalion, Captain James Young; and soon afterwards two other 32-gun frigates, the Alcmène, Captain Digby, and the Triton, Captain J. Gore appeared. The Spaniards, hoping to escape, steered different courses, but each were pursued by two British frigates, which, before long coming up with them, compelled them to haul down their colours. Fortunately, a breeze coming off the land, the captors with their prizes were enabled to stand off the coast, just in time to save themselves from being attacked by four large ships, which came out of Vigo. While the English frigates were preparing to receive the enemy, the four ships put back into port. The prizes were found to have on board a cargo of specie, besides other merchandise, to an amount which gave each captain upwards of 40,000 pounds, each lieutenant 5000 pounds, each warrant officer upwards of 2000 pounds, each midshipman nearly 800 pounds, each seaman and marine 182 pounds. Even the seamen and marines might have been well contented with the gold pieces they had to chink in their pockets; though in too many instances they were probably all dissipated before they had been many days on shore. Yet complaints were general of the uneven way in which prize-money was distributed. It was a common saying among sailors, that when the pay-clerk went on board ships to pay prize-money, he clambered with his money-bags into the main-top and showered down the money at random; all which remained upon the splinter-netting (a coarse rope netting spread as a kind of awning) was for the men, and all that went through for the officers. The captain of a ship not under the admiral’s flag received three-eighths of the net proceeds. In this instance the three-eighths were divided among the four captains who assisted in the capture of the two Spanish frigates. On the treasure being landed, it was escorted in sixty-three artillery waggons, by horse and foot soldiers, and armed seamen and marines, attended by bands of music, and a vast multitude, to the dungeons of the citadel of Plymouth, whence it was afterwards removed, much in the same style, and deposited in the Bank of England.

Still more fortunate, a few years later, was Lord Cochrane, when, in command of the Pallas, he captured three rich prizes in succession, of which the value could not have been far short of 300,000 pounds. As, however, he only took one fourth, his share amounted to about 75,000 pounds. As it was, however, he nearly lost not only a large portion of his booty, but his liberty, as, while returning home after he had taken the last prize, three of the enemy’s line-of-battle ships were seen. The wind freshening to half a gale, the Pallas was standing on, carrying all the sail she could, when it was found that the enemy were gaining on her. In this desperate emergency Lord Cochrane ordered every stitch of sail to be suddenly taken in, and the three ships of the enemy, one being on the weather, another on the lee beam, and the third nearly on the weather quarter, unable to get their canvas off and haul to the wind, shot miles away to leeward. The Pallas on this wore round and made sail on the opposite tack. The enemy, however, were soon again in chase, but night coming on, a lantern in a cask was put overboard, and the Pallas, altering her course, got clear of her pursuers, and reached Plymouth in safety. As he sailed up the harbour Lord Cochrane had a gold candlestick, five feet in height, fixed to the mast-head, and, as may be supposed, he never after this had any difficulty in manning his ship, when gold candlesticks were to be picked up, in addition to “pewter” and “cobs,” the nickname given by seamen to silver and dollars. They have always been found ready to volunteer on board dashing frigates sent to stations where such prizes were supposed to abound.

The last important action was that known as the Battle of the Baltic. Napoleon had induced the Northern powers of Denmark, Sweden, and Russia to form a league, denominated an armed neutrality, for the French being unable to keep the sea, he hoped under their flags to obtain provisions and ammunition for his armies. To counteract this formidable confederacy, the English sent a fleet of 18 sail of the line, with a few frigates, and a number of bomb-vessels and gunboats, in the first place to attack the Danish fleet, and then to take in hand the other two confederates. After many delays, and attempts to induce the Danes to come to terms, on the 2nd of April, 1801, a portion of the fleet, which had been intrusted by Sir Hyde Parker to Lord Nelson, appeared before Copenhagen, and commenced an attack on the floating batteries and forts prepared by the Danes for the defence of their city. There is not space to give the details of the battle. The Danes fought heroically, their floating batteries being remanned over and over again from the shore. After three hours’ cannonading, from which both parties suffered severely, Sir Hyde Parker, understanding that two of the British line-of-battle ships were in distress, threw out a signal for discontinuing the action. On its being reported to Nelson, he shrugged his shoulders, repeating the words, “Leave off action? Now, damn me if I do. You know, Foley, I have only one eye—I have a right to be blind sometimes;” then putting the glass to his blind eye, in that mood of mind which sports with bitterness, he exclaimed, “I really do not see the signal—keep mine for closer battle flying! That’s the way I answer such signals. Nail mine to the mast.”

At 1:30 p.m. the Danish fire slackened, and at 2 p.m. ceased along nearly the whole of the line. Among the British officers who fell was the gallant Captain Riou, who was cut in two while carrying his frigate, the Amazon, into action. After the flags of all the chief batteries had been struck, some of the lighter vessels that had got adrift fired on the boats which approached to take possession of them. Nelson prepared a letter to send to the Crown Prince of Denmark, threatening to destroy the prizes unless this proceeding was put a stop to. He concluded his letter, “The brave Danes are the brothers and should never be the enemies of England.” A wafer was then given him, but he ordered a candle to be brought from the cock-pit, and sealed the letter with wax, affixing a larger seal than is ordinarily used, remarking as he did so, “This is no time to appear hurried and informal.”

The remainder of the batteries having at length ceased firing, a flag of truce arrived from the shore, when the action, which had continued for five hours, was brought to a close, the total loss of killed being 255, and of wounded 688. The Danish loss amounted to between 1600 and 1800. The result of the victory was the secession of Denmark from the league, and the Emperor of Russia dying soon afterwards, the armed neutrality was dissolved.

Napoleon now began to hope more ardently than ever that he should ere long land his victorious legions on British ground. To carry them over, he had collected a large flotilla, chiefly at Boulogne. By Lord Nelson’s orders, a desperate attempt was made by the boats of the squadron to destroy them. Some were gun brigs of between 200 and 250 tons; others were flats, vessels capable of carrying a crew of 30 men and 150 soldiers, with either a mortar or a long 24-pounder, as well as swivels and small-arms. Though some few were captured, all attempts at their destruction failed. The British cruisers, however, kept too good a watch to allow them to put to sea.

Numerous cutting-out expeditions took place during the war, in which both officers and men displayed the greatest possible amount of courage and determination. One of the most daring and successful on record was the capture of the French 20-gun ship-corvette Chevrette, while lying under some batteries in Camaret Bay, by the boats of the Doris, Beaulieu, and Uremic, forming part of the Channel Fleet under Admiral Cornwallis, stationed off Brest Harbour. At the first attempt the boats were discovered, and the Chevrette ran a mile and a-half farther up the bay, and took on board a party of soldiers. Notwithstanding this, the next night, the 21st, the boats of the three frigates, joined by the barge and pinnace of the Robust, 74, amounting in all to 15, and containing about 280 officers and men, under the command of Lieutenant Losack, the second in command being Lieutenant Keith Maxwell of the Beaulieu, left their ships at 9:30 p.m. As they were pulling into the bay, Lieutenant Losack, with six boats, went in chase of a boat supposed to be sent as a look-out from the Chevrette, and as he did not return, Lieutenant Maxwell proceeded on without him. About 1 a.m. the flotilla coming in sight of the Chevrette, she opened a heavy fire on them of grape and musketry, and at the same time they were assailed by a fire of musketry from the shore. Undaunted by this, the British boarded the ship, some on the starboard bow and quarter, and others on the larboard bow, bravely opposed by the Frenchmen, who were armed with muskets and pistols, sabres, tomahawks, and pikes. Some, indeed, attempted to enter the boats, but were driven back by the British, who, having lost their pistols and muskets, made their way cutlass in hand. Some who had been directed to loose the sails, fought their way on to the corvette’s yards. Here they found the foot-ropes strapped up, but, notwithstanding every obstacle, the sails were let fall in less than three minutes after the boarders had gained the deck. The cable having, in the meantime, been cut outside, a light breeze blowing from the land, and the quartermaster of the Beaulieu, Henry Wallis, fighting his way to the helm, and though bleeding from his wounds, taking charge of the wheel, the ship drifted out of the bay. On seeing the canvas loose, some of the Frenchmen leaped overboard, and others sprang down the hatchways, thus allowing the British to gain possession of the quarter-deck and forecastle, now nearly covered with the bodies of the slain. For some time, however, the Frenchmen who had fled below kept up a sharp fire of musketry, but the English, firing down in return, compelled them to yield. On her way out the prize was exposed to a heavy fire of round and grape from the batteries, but, the wind increasing, she got out of grape-shot. Not till then did Lieutenant Losack and his companions get on board. Two officers were killed, one of whom was Lieutenant Sinclair of the marines, while defending Mr Crofton, a midshipman, who had been severely wounded while boarding. The other, Robert Warren, a midshipman. Another, Lieutenant Waller Burke, was mortally wounded. Altogether, 11 were killed and 57 wounded, and I marine drowned in the Beaulieu’s barge, which was sunk by a shot from the corvette. The gallantry of the boatswain of the Beaulieu, Mr John Brown, was also conspicuous. After attempting to force his way in to the Chevrette’s fore-quarter-gallery, he climbed up over the taffrail, when standing up for some time exposed to the enemy’s fire, waving his cutlass, he shouted out, “Make a lane there;” then, gallantly dashing among the Frenchmen, he fought his way to the forecastle. Here he continued driving back the French, who attempted to regain the post, all the time carrying out the orders he received from the quarter-deck, while he assisted in casting the ship and making sail as coolly as if he had been carrying on duty under ordinary circumstances.

During the war, which ended at the peace of Amiens, on the 27th of March, 1802, England had captured 80 sail of the line, and numberless other ships, besides various islands in the West Indies and other parts of the world, from the French, Spaniards, and Dutch. Though most of the latter were given up, the navy of England had gained a renown which can never be obliterated.

Chapter Sixteen.

George the Third—from A.D. 1803 to end of war A.D. 1814.

The “piping times of peace” were not destined to last long. Napoleon, indeed, had never ceased making preparations for war from the time the treaty of Amiens was signed. On the 16th of May the British Government, discovering his aims, issued letters of marque and ordered general reprisals; and at the same time Holland, being in reality a province of France, all ships belonging to the Batavian Republic in English ports were detained. Admiral Cornwallis, in command of the Channel Fleet, of 10 sail of the line and frigates, which was lying in Cawsand Bay, had his flag flying on board the Dreadnought, 98. With these he proceeded the next day to cruise off Ushant, and watch the motions of the French ships in Brest Harbour; other small squadrons being sent, as soon as they were ready, off the other French ports, containing either ships of the line or gunboats, of which Napoleon was collecting vast numbers for the invasion of England. In a short time that war, which was to last ten years, commenced in earnest. The French gunboats were, however, kept pretty close prisoners by the English cruisers, and whenever any of them ventured out from under the protection of their batteries, they were attacked, captured, driven on shore, or compelled to seek shelter in the nearest port under their lee; while many of them were gallantly cut out and carried off in triumph, even when moored in positions where they could receive assistance from the forts on shore.

Out of the numberless gallant deeds performed by the crews of boats and small vessels engaged in this service, one must be instanced for its singularity, and the bravery displayed by the commanding officer and his followers. A hired cutter, the Sheerness, carrying 8 4-pounders and 30 men and boys, under the command of Lieutenant Henry Rowed, while watching Brest Harbour, observed two chasse-marées close inshore. Having sent a boat with seven men and the mate to cut off one of them, the commander proceeded in the cutter in chase of the other, which was about five miles off, under the protection of a battery. A calm coming on, he, with the boatswain, John Marks, and three other men, jumped into a small boat and pulled away for the chase. The latter, after some time, ran on shore under the battery, where thirty soldiers were observed drawn up on the beach. Notwithstanding the heavy fire they at once opened, Lieutenant Rowed dashed alongside. The Frenchmen having deserted their vessel, he began making efforts to get her off; in this, as the tide was rising, he at length succeeded, and going ahead in the boat, towed her away from the shore. He had pulled about a third of a mile, when suddenly a French boat, with an officer and nine men armed with muskets, were seen alongside, having pulled up in the wake of the vessel. Before the French could have time to attack them, John Marks sprang on board the chasse-marée, and seizing a boat-stretcher, stood prepared to prevent any of the enemy from getting up the side. The astonishment of the Frenchmen gave time to the lieutenant and his three men to climb on board and to prepare their firearms and cutlasses. The French, who attempted to get up the side, were driven back, when they sheered off, but discharged their muskets at the English as they pulled away, while the battery also opened fire. Wonderful as it may seem, though forty-nine musket-balls were found sticking in the prize, not a man was hurt; and both chasse-marées were carried off.

For some time the principal fighting was between the English cruisers in the channel and the invasion flotilla, as Napoleon’s gunboats were called; and as their stings might annoy, though they could not inflict serious injury, attempts were made to destroy them by fire-vessels or catamarans—which was the name given to a species of nautical infernal machine—though without much success. The catamaran consisted of a coffer of about 21 feet long and 3 and a half broad, somewhat in shape like a log of mahogany, wedge-shaped at each end. It was covered with thick planking, and lined with lead, thoroughly caulked and tarred, while over all was a coat of canvas, payed over with hot pitch. To give an idea of its size, the vessel weighed about two tons. Inside was a piece of clock-work, the mainspring of which, on withdrawing a peg placed on the outside, would, after going six or ten minutes, draw the trigger of a lock, and explode the vessel. Every other part was filled with about 40 barrels of gunpowder and other inflammable matter. As much ballast was placed in it as would keep the upper surface of the deck even with the water’s edge. It had no mast, and had to be towed towards the scene of its operations. The tow-rope was at one end, and to the other was fixed a rope with a grappling-iron at its extremity, kept afloat by pieces of cork. This grappling-iron, it was intended, should hook itself to the cable of the vessel it was to destroy, and thus swing the catamaran alongside. It was, indeed, on a larger scale, though with less destructive power, something like Harvey’s torpedo of the present day.

Lord Keith, who was with a squadron off Boulogne, first made use of four of the machines, in the hopes of destroying some of a flotilla of 150 vessels moored in a double line outside the pier. Three exploded one after another, doing very little harm; but a heavily armed launch, which had chased one of the boats towing a catamaran, ran foul of it, when the launch and every one on board was blown into the air.

Numerous other engagements took place, and frequently the portions of the flotilla moving from the different ports towards Boulogne were severely handled by the British cruisers. Occasionally, small English vessels, venturing too close inshore for the purpose of attacking them, were captured by the French.

At length Napoleon managed to collect a vast number of prames and gun-vessels, with other craft, the whole flotilla amounting to 2293, of which the larger were armed. These were intended to carry 163,645 men, of whom 16,783 were sailors, besides 9059 horses. This flotilla was organised in six grand divisions. One, denominated the left wing, was stationed at Étaples, to convey the troops under Marshal Ney from the camp of Mottrieux. Two other divisions were in the port of Boulogne, to convey the troops from the two camps on either side of it, under Soult. A fourth was at the port of Vimereux to carry the corps of Marshal Lannes. The Gallo-Batavian flotilla, assembled off Ambleteuse, formed the fifth grand division, destined to transport the troops under Marshal Davoust; while the sixth, at Calais, was to carry the Italian infantry, and various divisions of mounted and dismounted dragoons.

On the 3rd of August, 1805, Napoleon came to Boulogne to inspect the flotilla, and so completely organised was it by this time, that although the extremities of the camps were more than two miles from the point of embarkation, an hour and a-half only was occupied in getting men and horses on board. All he wanted was the arrival of his fleet under Villeneuve, to protect his mighty flotilla during its passage across the channel, and then, as his generals at all events believed, the conquest of England was certain.

Meantime Nelson, who at the breaking out of the war had been appointed to the command of the fleet in the Mediterranean, was watching Villeneuve, resolved to prevent him from appearing on the spot where his fleet was so anxiously looked for by Napoleon. On the 18th of May, 1803, he had hoisted his flag on board his old ship, the Victory, and on the 20th had sailed from Spithead, first bound to Brest, and from thence to the Mediterranean. Here he remained for nearly two years, without once setting foot on shore, watching and waiting for the Toulon fleet, endeavouring to induce them to come out and give him battle. At length, on the 18th of January, 1805, the French fleet did come out, but a heavy gale blowing. Nelson was then at anchor off the coast of Sardinia. Supposing that they had gone to Egypt, he sailed in chase, but found that they had put back into Toulon. Hence again Villeneuve sailed, and escaping through the straits, was joined by the Spanish fleet at Cadiz, which had 4500 troops on board. The combined fleet of the enemy now numbered 20 sail of the line and 10 frigates, while Nelson had but 10 sail of the line and 3 frigates. With these, however, he chased Villeneuve to the West Indies, where, after threatening several of the islands, he fled back to Europe, with Nelson after him. When about twenty leagues west of Finisterre, on the 22nd of July, the French admiral was attacked by Sir Robert Calder, with 15 line-of-battle ships, but escaped into Cadiz, with the loss of two of the Spanish ships. Nelson, meantime, had sought the enemy on the north-west coast of Ireland, and then came back into the channel, where his ships reinforced the fleet under Admiral Cornwallis off Ushant, and he himself, worn out with fatigue and anxiety, went on shore for a short rest.

It was now that Napoleon urged Villeneuve to come into the channel, ending with the words, “England desires us, we are all ready, all is embarked, appear, and within four-and-twenty hours all is finished.” No sooner did Nelson hear that the French and Spanish fleet had entered Cadiz than, again offering his services, he arrived at Portsmouth on the 14th of September, and the next morning, putting off in his barge to the Victory, he bade his last farewell to England. On the 29th of September, his birthday, he was off Cadiz, and joining Collingwood, took command of the British fleet, then amounting to 27 sail of the line. Villeneuve had been waiting till the Spaniards were ready, and till a favourable wind would allow him to sail. On the 9th of October Nelson sent Collingwood his plan of attack, his intention being to advance towards the enemy in two lines, led by eight of his fastest three-deckers, and thus to break through the enemy’s line. Collingwood, having the command of one line, was to break through the enemy about the twelfth ship from the rear, Nelson intending to lead through the centre, while the advanced squadron was to cut off three or four ships ahead of the centre. He would make few signals: no captain could do wrong who placed his ship close alongside that of an enemy. Not till the 19th did the admiral learn that Villeneuve had put to sea, when he at once concluded that he intended to enter the Mediterranean. Two days afterwards, the ever-memorable 21st of October, 1805, at daylight, when the English fleet was about seven leagues from Cape Trafalgar, Nelson discovered the enemy six or seven miles to the eastward, which had so manoeuvred as to bring the shoals of Trafalgar and San Pedro under the lee of the British fleet, while they kept the port of Cadiz open for themselves.

Nelson now hoisted the signal to bear down on them in two lines. Nelson led one in the Victory, Collingwood the other in the Royal Sovereign. On going into action he asked Captain Blackwood, who had come on board to receive orders, what he should consider a victory. “The capture of 14 sail of the line,” was the answer. “I shall not be satisfied with less than 20,” said Nelson.

Shortly afterwards up went the signal, “England expects every man to do his duty.”

Notwithstanding the attempts made to induce Lord Nelson to allow the Teméraire to lead his line into action, the Victory carrying all sail, kept her station. Ahead of her was Villeneuve’s flag-ship, the Bucentaur, with the Santissima Trinidad as his second before her; while ahead of the Royal Sovereign, the leader of the lee column, was the Santa Anna, the flag-ship of the Spanish vice-admiral. The sea was smooth, the wind very light; the sun shone brightly on the fresh-painted sides of the long line of French and Spanish ships, when the Fougueux, astern of the Santa Anna, opened her fire on the Royal Sovereign, which, at about ten minutes past noon, delivered her larboard broadside, with guns double-shotted, at the Santa Anna, and with such precision as to disable 14 of her guns, and to kill or wound 400 of her crew; while with her starboard broadside she raked the Fougueux. Just then Collingwood exclaimed to his captain, “Rotherham, what would Nelson give to be here;” and at the same moment Nelson was observing, “See how that noble fellow Collingwood carries his ship into action.”

The wind now falling to almost a calm, the Victory and the ships in her wake advanced so slowly that seven or eight of the rearmost ships of the French van having opened fire upon the Victory before she had fired a single gun, 50 of her men were killed or wounded, and her main-topmast with her studdensail-boom shot away, and every sail, especially on the foremast, had become like a sieve. At about four minutes after twelve she opened with both her broadsides. Captain Hardy now informed Nelson that it was impossible to break the enemy’s line without running on board one of their ships. “Take your choice—go on board which you please,” was the answer.

The Victory, as she approached the Bucentaur, fired a 68-pounder carronade containing a round-shot and a keg with 500 musket-balls, from the larboard side of her forecastle, right into the cabin-windows of that ship; and as she forged slowly ahead, the whole of her 50 broadside guns, all doubly and some trebly shotted, so as completely to rake her, killing or wounding as many men as the Bucentaur had lost, and dismounting 20 of her guns. Receiving the fire of an 80-gun ship, the Neptune, the Victory’s helm being put hard a-port, she ran on board the Redoutable, into which she poured a heavy fire, while with her aftermost starboard guns she engaged the Santissima Trinidad. Besides the heavy fire of great guns and musketry she was enduring from other ships, she received the shot of the Redoutable’s main-deck guns, and also constant discharges of musketry from the three tops of that ship. It was from the mizen-top of the Redoutable, at about 1:25 p.m., that, as Nelson and Captain Hardy were walking the deck together, the admiral was shot by a musket-ball, which entered his left shoulder, and descending lodged in his spine. Hardy, who had just turned, saw him in the act of falling, with his left hand just touching the deck. He was removed by the sergeant of marines and two seamen to the cock-pit.

In the meantime the action raged furiously. Soon after the first four ships of the lee division had cut through between the centre and rear of the enemy’s line. The remainder, as they came up, forced their way into the dense mass and engaged such ships as they could best attack. The weather division was doing the same, rather ahead of the centre, and at about 1:30 p.m. the battle was at its height. At about 3 p.m. the firing began to slacken, and two hours afterwards had wholly ceased, by which time 9 French sail of the line, including one burnt, and 9 Spanish were captured. Nine French and 6 Spaniards escaped, of which 4 French ships made sail to the southward, and 11, 5 of which were French and 6 Spanish, reached Cadiz, most of them much knocked about; while all the frigates and smaller craft also escaped.

Within twenty minutes after the fatal shot had been fired from her, the Redoutable struck her colours, and about three hours after Nelson had received his wound, he breathed his last.

In the whole action the British lost 449 killed and 1241 wounded, while several of the ships lost two of their masts, and five were totally dismasted. Lord Nelson intended to anchor the fleet and prizes, but this Lord Collingwood did not think fit to do, and a gale coming on from the south-west, some of the prizes went down, others were driven ashore, one escaped into Cadiz, some were destroyed, and only four by the greatest exertions were saved. To the credit of the Spaniards it must be recorded that the English prize-crews which landed from the wrecks were treated with the greatest kindness.

Although there were few trophies, the result of the victory was completely to disconcert Napoleon’s plans, and to prevent him from invading England. Four ships which escaped after the action were captured by Sir Richard Strachan on the 4th of November, and not while the war continued did the French and Spanish navies ever recover the tremendous blow they had received off Cape Trafalgar. Thus, of the once formidable French and Spanish fleet of 35 sail of the line, 2 were taken by Sir Robert Calder, 4 of those captured at Trafalgar were carried into Gibraltar, as were the 4 taken by Sir Richard Strachan, 15 were sunk or were burnt or wrecked; 3 only fit for sea escaped into Cadiz; while 7, so severely battered as to be mere wrecks, got into the same port, making up the whole number mentioned. In vain for some time did Napoleon attempt to send another fleet to sea. His ships were either blockaded by the British squadrons, or, when they did manage to escape, were attacked and beaten by our fleets. At the same time small squadrons or single cruisers running out of port committed much havoc on English commerce; not, however, with impunity. Numerous actions between light squadrons and single ships took place. The enemy, indeed, were never safe, even in port; and expeditions to cut out vessels in the harbours or under the protection of forts were much in vogue.

The navy of England was, at the commencement of 1806, larger than it had ever before been, consisting of 551 cruisers in commission, of which 104 were line-of-battle ships; in addition to which 26 were building or being built, and 10 in ordinary, a large proportion of the rest being frigates carrying from 56 to 28 guns.

A new method had been introduced to strengthen ships by diagonal braces or by doubling or sheathing them with plank, and sometimes when they were in bad condition both bracing and doubling them. By this means 22 sail of the line, several frigates, and other smaller vessels had been made fit for active service.

In this year, also, was launched the first British ship of war constructed of teak. Two first-rate ships also were ordered, the Nelson and the Caledonia, of a tonnage and force double that of many of the old ships of the line. To man this large fleet Parliament made a vote of 120,000 seamen and marines.

The four ships captured by Sir Richard Strachan were carried into Plymouth, and were added to the British Navy, the Formidable having the name of Brave given to her, the Duguay-Trouin that of the Implacable, while the Scipion and Mont Blanc were allowed to retain their former names. The Implacable and Scipion were, however, the only ships considered as fit for service.

Notwithstanding the heavy loss France had sustained, Bonaparte managed to send to sea a fleet of 11 sail of the line, and a number of frigates, in two squadrons. One of these sailed for the West Indies early in 1806, while the other steered for the Cape of Good Hope. Admiral Duckworth, who, with 7 sail of the line, had been blockading Cadiz, came up with the former of these squadrons, consisting of 5 ships, 2 frigates, and a corvette, and after a severe action took or destroyed the whole of the five line-of-battle ships.

Among the gallant actions performed at this time was one which shows that seamen fight as well on shore as afloat. The British 38-gun frigate Loire, Captain Maitland, cruising off the coast of Spain, having chased a privateer into the Bay of Camarinas, situated to the eastward of Cape Finisterre, sent in three of her boats, under the command of Lieutenant James Lucas Yeo, to bring her out. Instead of one, they found two privateers, moored under a battery of 10 guns. Both were captured, in spite of the fire of the battery; but in order to secure the larger of the two, Lieutenant Yeo was compelled to abandon the smallest vessel. To recompense himself for her loss, he captured three merchant-vessels laden with wine on his way out. From his prisoners Captain Maitland learned that a French privateer of 26 guns was fitting out at Muros, and being acquainted with the navigation of the bay, he resolved on her capture or destruction. Accordingly, on the 4th of June, he stood into the bay, with springs on his cables, ready to attack the fort, and towing his boats, with fifty officers and men under the command of Lieutenant Yeo. On passing close to the shore, the Loire was exposed to a fire from two long 18-pounders, which considerably annoyed her. On this Captain Maitland ordered Lieutenant Yeo to land and spike the guns. The gallant lieutenant departing on this service, the Loire stood on, when, as she opened the bay, she discovered at anchor within it a large corvette pierced for 26 guns, and a brig of 10 guns; but as the armament of both vessels was on shore, they were unable to offer any resistance. The Loire, however, was now exposed to a hot fire from a fort of 12 long 18-pounders, from which, as she was less than a quarter-of-a-mile off, nearly every shot struck her hull. Finding that by standing on he should be exposed to a still hotter fire, Captain Maitland ran as close in as he could venture, and anchoring the frigate with a spring on her cable, opened her broadside. So strong, however, was the fort, that the frigate’s shot committed little or no damage, while numbers of her crew were falling, some severely wounded. Lieutenant Yeo had in the meantime landed, and storming the 2-gun battery, put its defenders to flight. Having spiked the guns, Lieutenant Yeo discovered the large fort close to the town of Muros, which was severely annoying the frigate. Without hesitation, he resolved to attack it, and his men were eager to follow him. The garrison were so occupied in firing at the frigate, that not only was the approach of the British unperceived, but the outer gate had actually been left open. On the seamen rushing forward, headed by Lieutenant Yeo, the sentinel who only just then perceived them, fired his musket and retreated, followed closely by the storming party, which on reaching the inner gate was met by the governor, and those he had time to rally round him, sword in hand. With a blow of his cutlass, which was broken in the effort, the lieutenant laid him dead at his feet. A desperate struggle ensued in the narrow passage between the officers of the garrison and the British seamen, who, bearing down all opposition, drove the enemy before them to the farther end of the fort, many of whom in their terror sprang through the embrasures down upon the rocks below, a height of twenty-five feet. The garrison of the fort consisted of upwards of 100 men, composed of the crew of the corvette, 22 Spanish soldiers, and several Spanish volunteers. Of these, the governor, the second captain of the corvette, and a Spanish gentleman, with nine other men, were killed, and thirty wounded, before the survivors, finding all opposition useless, laid down their arms; when the British colours, greatly to the satisfaction of the frigate’s crew, were seen flying on the flagstaff. Directly the fort was in the possession of the British, the seamen and marines did their best to assist the wounded prisoners, and were amply repaid by the gratitude which the unfortunate men’s friends expressed when they came to carry them into the town. The guns being spiked and thrown over the parapet, and part of the fort being blown up, the British embarked, carrying off 40 barrels of powder, 2 small brass cannon, and 50 stand of arms. The corvette and brig, as also the Spanish merchant-vessel, were taken possession of, when Captain Maitland sent a flag of truce to the town, promising that should the stores of the two privateers be delivered up, he would not injure the town; he also refrained from capturing a number of small merchant-vessels which lay in the bay, considering that it was cruel to deprive the poor owners of the means of obtaining a livelihood. His terms were gladly accepted, and the bishop and one of the principal inhabitants of Muros came off to express their gratitude for the kind way in which their victors had treated them, and offering such refreshment as the place could afford to the British captain and his officers. The corvette was named the Confiance, and on his return home Lieutenant Yeo was appointed to her. Shortly afterwards he was raised to post-rank, the Confiance being rated as a post-ship, with an armament of 22 carronades, 18-pounders, and a complement of 140 men and boys, in order that he might still remain her captain.

Among the most remarkable of the gallant actions of this period between single ships was that fought in August, 1805, between the British 18-pounder 36-gun frigate Phoenix, Captain Thomas Baker, and the French frigate Didon, of 40 guns, Captain Milius. The Didon measured 1091 tons, and had a crew of 330 men, the weight of her metal amounting to 563 pounds; while the Phoenix measured but 884 tons, her crew numbering only 245 men, and the weight of her metal was 444 pounds. The Didon, which had three days before sailed from Corunna with despatches for the Rochefort squadron, and after escaping an action from another English frigate, had been visited by the skipper of an American merchant-vessel, who informed Captain Milius that a ship whose topgallant-sails were just then rising out of the water to windward was an English 20-gun ship, on board of which he had been the previous evening, and from what he had heard he was sure that she would venture to engage the Didon. Captain Milius, though ordered to avoid an action, believing that victory was certain, backed his mizen-topsail and kept his main-topsail shivering to allow the British ship to come up with him. The stranger was the Phoenix, and which was not only a smaller frigate, but Captain Baker had disguised her to resemble at a distance a sloop of war. The mistake into which Captain Milius had been led by his treacherous visitor was therefore not discovered until the Phoenix was close to the Didon, which ship, hoisting her colours, fired a gun to windward, and at 8:45 a.m. opened her broadside. Captain Baker, in order to prevent the Didon from escaping, had resolved to engage to leeward, but, from the manoeuvres of the French ship, unable to do this, he stood down right at her to windward with all sail set. By this bold measure he succeeded in bringing his broadside to bear on the Didon at pistol-shot distance, when a hot fire of round-shot, grape and musketry was exchanged between the combatants. The Phoenix from the press of sails she carried, ranged ahead of the Didon, which lay almost stationary, and before she could haul up, was raked by the latter; but as the crew were ordered to lie down, they escaped without damage. By the rapidity with which the crew of the Phoenix repaired her damaged rigging, they avoided an attempt made by the Didon to rake her with her starboard broadside. In a short time the Didon’s larboard bow ran against the starboard-quarter of the Phoenix, both ships lying nearly in a parallel direction, the former having only one gun which could be brought to bear on her antagonist. At that moment the Frenchmen in vast numbers attempted to board the Phoenix, but were vigorously repulsed; while the marines of both ships exchanged a warm and destructive fire. At this juncture a young midshipman, Edward Phillips, observed a man upon the Didon’s bowsprit end taking deliberate aim at Captain Baker, close to whom he was standing. Being armed with a musket, he, thrusting the captain on one side, fired. At the same moment the Frenchmen fell into the water, while the bullet intended for the captain’s head tore off alone the rim of his hat. Several men who were sick below, leaving their hammocks, employed themselves in bringing up powder, while the acting purser, Mr John Colman, who might with propriety have remained to assist the surgeons in the cock-pit, appeared on deck with a brace of pistols in his belt and a broadsword in his hand, encouraging the crew by every means in his power. Still, the great superiority of the French made it doubtful which ship would gain the victory; when Captain Baker by great exertions brought the aftermost main-deck gun to a port which he had cut by enlarging one of the stern windows. Several of his men were killed by the French marines while the operation was going forward, but at length he succeeded in running it through the port, and, at his first discharge, sweeping the Didon from her larboard bow to her starboard-quarter, laid low twenty-four of her crew. The British marines were, in the meantime, keeping up so spirited a fire on the forecastle of the Didon that they prevented the Frenchmen from discharging the carronade placed on it. This work continued for half-an-hour, when the Didon fore-reached on the Phoenix, which, as she did so, brought her second aftermost gun to bear on her, and at its first discharge cut away the gammoning of her bowsprit and did other damage. Though the guns of the Phoenix were lighter than those of the Didon, they were fired nearly half as quick again. The Didon had by this time, as she passed out of gunshot, lost her main-topmast, while her foremast was in a tottering condition, and her hull severely shattered. The rigging of the Phoenix had also been so much cut about that she was almost unmanageable. Both frigates, which had gone into action with nearly all their sails set, now exhibited a melancholy appearance, their canvas riddled or in tatters, and rope-ends drooping from their masts and yards. Their crews were now employed in repairing their damaged rigging, and so well trained and diligent was that of the Phoenix that in a short time they had knotted and spliced her rigging and rove fresh braces. While so employed, about noon, they were encouraged by seeing the Didon’s foremast fall over the side. Soon afterwards a light air of wind springing up, the Phoenix, trimming her sails, stood down towards the Didon, and having got within gunshot, was about to open her fire, when the French frigate, being utterly helpless, hauled down her colours.

The Phoenix had lost her second lieutenant, 1 master’s mate, and 10 seamen killed, and 3 officers, 13 seamen, and 12 marines wounded; while the Didon had had 27 officers and men killed, and 44 badly wounded out of her crew of 330 men, who were looked upon as one of the most efficient in the French navy, while Captain Milius, who was known for his gallantry and seamanship, had fought his frigate with the greatest bravery.

The crew of the Phoenix had still a difficult duty to perform. Their prisoners greatly outnumbered them, and not only had they to refit the two ships, but to keep a strict watch on their captives. The Didon’s main-mast was so severely wounded that it had immediately to be cut away, when the Phoenix, taking her in tow, steered for a British port. On the evening of the 14th she fell in with the Dragon, 74, which ship accompanying her, the next day they came in sight of M. Villeneuve’s fleet. On this the Phoenix, with her prize in tow, made sail to the southward, pursued by several French ships; but after a time they tacked and left her and her prize to proceed unmolested. Having passed Lisbon, she was steering for Gibraltar, when, during a thick fog, the ringing of bells and firing of guns were heard. Meeting with the Euryalus frigate, Captain Baker learned that the sounds proceeded from the Franco-Spanish fleet. He accordingly again altered his course to the westward. He had a still greater danger to contend with. The French pilot belonging to the Phoenix overheard some of the prisoners talking of a plan for getting possession of the Phoenix. The intended mutiny was speedily crushed. Shortly afterwards the pilot brought aft Captain Milius’ late coxswain, accusing him of being the ringleader. The French captain was very indignant, and demanded of the man whether he had any complaint to offer. On his acknowledging that he had none, Captain Milius besought Captain Baker to put the fellow in irons, declaring him to be a disgrace to the name of Frenchman. After this the prisoners remained quiet, and the Phoenix with her prize, having the advantage of a good wind, at length safely reached Plymouth Sound on the 3rd of September. The Didon, which was a beautiful and fast-sailing frigate, was purchased for the navy, but, without ever having been sent to sea, was unaccountably broken up in 1811.

Humane and brave as British officers have almost always proved themselves, tyrannical captains, who in most instances have been also deficient in courage and seamanlike qualities, have occasionally been found in the service. Among men of this class the Honourable Captain Lake, commanding the sloop of war Recruit, must be ranked. While at Plymouth he had pressed a young seaman, Robert Jeffrey by name, belonging to Polperro in Cornwall, out of a privateer. Shortly afterwards the Recruit sailed for the West Indies. While in those seas, the ship having run short of water, Jeffrey was accused of stealing, on the 10th December, a bottle of rum, and some spruce beer out of a cask. He was accordingly put in the black-list. Two or three days afterwards the Recruit came in sight of the desert island of Sombrero, eighty miles to the south-west of Saint Christopher. Captain Lake on seeing it suddenly took it into his head to maroon Jeffrey on the island. Accordingly, that very evening, he was conveyed on shore in a boat, commanded by the second lieutenant, who had with him a midshipman and four seamen. Even the buccaneers, when they thus treated a culprit, had the humanity to leave him arms, and food, and clothing; but Captain Lake ordered the unfortunate youth to be left on this uninhabited spot with no other clothing than that he wore, without a particle of food. The lieutenant, observing that his bare feet were cut by the sharp stones, obtained a pair of shoes from one of the men, and gave him a knife and a couple of handkerchiefs, contributed by himself and the midshipman. The lieutenant advising him to keep a bright look-out for passing vessels, then, according to his orders, leaving the poor fellow, pulled back to his ship. Soon after the arrival of the Recruit at the Leeward Islands, Sir Alexander Cochrane, the commander-in-chief, hearing what had occurred, sent her back to bring off the man, in case he should have survived. The officers on landing searched the island over, but could discover no traces of the marooned seaman. Jeffrey, however, was not dead. For eight days he had subsisted on such limpets as he could find among the rocks, and the rain water which he discovered in their crevices. He was growing weaker and weaker, for though he had seen several vessels pass, he was unable from weakness to hail them; till, on the morning of the ninth day, an American schooner, the Adams, of Marblehead, Massachusetts, hove in sight, and his signal being seen, the master came on shore and saved him from the death which probably would have soon overtaken him. He was landed at Marblehead, where he remained till 1810, when the English Government hearing of the occurrence, sent for him, and gave him his discharge, taking the big R off his name thus enabling him to receive all arrears of pay. On the whole circumstance being inquired into, Captain Lake, who acknowledged that he had landed Jeffrey upon Sombrero under the belief that it was inhabited, was deservedly sentenced to be dismissed from the British Navy. In 1807, it having become known that Napoleon intended to take possession of the Danish fleet, to recompense himself for the loss of his own, a British fleet of 17 sail of the line and 21 frigates, and smaller vessels, was despatched to the Baltic, under the command of Admiral Gambier. An army of 20,000 men was also sent at the same time, commanded by Lord Cathcart, and they were directed to demand the surrender of the Danish fleet, the English Government undertaking merely to hold it as a deposit, to be restored at a general peace. The fleet reached its destination early in August. After various skirmishes with the Danish gunboats and batteries, it completely surrounded the island of Zealand, when the troops were landed, and the Danish general, Peiman, refusing the terms offered, on the 2nd of September the English fleet and batteries opened fire on Copenhagen, which was ultimately set on fire. The bombardment continued for three days, with a short interval, in the hopes that the Danes would yield; but it was not till a number of the garrison and inhabitants had been killed, and a large portion of the city burnt down, that General Peiman sent out a flag of truce. Lord Cathcart’s reply was, that no capitulation could be listened to unless accompanied by the surrender of the Danish fleet. This was at length agreed to, and the British were put in possession of the citadel and the ships of war, with their stores. In six weeks the whole of the fleet fit for sea was carried off, the remaining few ships being destroyed; while a large amount of naval stores was embarked, as was the army, without a casualty. On going down the sound, the Neptunus, one of the prizes, an 80-gun ship, got on shore, and was destroyed, as were also most of the Danish gunboats, in consequence of bad weather coming on. The fleet, however, without further accident, at the close of October, arrived safely at Yarmouth and the Downs. Whatever opinion may be formed of the legality or expediency of the enterprise, no one can deny that it was carried out with ability and promptitude; and as the Danes would undoubtedly have assisted Napoleon in his designs against England, she was certainly justified in thus summarily preventing Denmark from injuring her.

It was at this time that the Danish island of Heligoland was captured by the Majestic, 74, and the Quebec frigate, but being of no possible use, was recently handed over to Germany.

The next expedition on a large scale in which a British fleet was engaged brought neither advantage to the country nor honour to its leaders. The Turks having been tampered with by the French, Sir John Duckworth, in command of a squadron, had been sent to Constantinople to take possession of or destroy the Turkish fleet should the sultan not give a sufficient guarantee of his friendly intentions. According to his instructions, Sir John proceeded with his squadron up the Dardanelles, his ships being exposed to the fire of the forts on either hand. Altogether, the loss of the squadron amounted to 6 killed and 51 wounded. The Turks, however, were not to escape without punishment. Not far from the Castle of Abydos lay the Turkish squadron, which had the audacity to fire on the British ships as they passed. While four of the latter came to an anchorage to prevent their escape, Sir Sidney Smith, with three frigates, ran in and anchored within musket-shot of them, when, opening his fire, he compelled one of the Turkish sixty-fours and two frigates, and other smaller vessels, to run on shore, the only ones which did not do so being captured, a fort under which they had sought protection being also destroyed. Unhappily, one of the British ships, the Ajax, commanded by Captain Blackwood, caught fire during the night, and so rapidly did the flames extend, that no efforts availed to put them out, and upwards of 250 souls, among whom were two merchants and two women passengers, perished. It was supposed that the fire was caused by the spontaneous combustion of some coals stowed in the after-cock-pit.

Sir John, on arriving before Constantinople, lost a considerable time in diplomatic negotiations, while the Turks were doing their utmost to fortify their city and the island of Prota, which commanded the anchorage. Instead of attacking the city, Sir John sailed again down the Dardanelles, receiving on his way a hot fire from the Castle of Abydos and other forts on either hand. The Turks fired granite shot, one of which, weighing 800 pounds and measuring 6 feet in circumference, passed through the side of the Active, two feet above the water, and lodged on the orlop-deck, close to the magazine-scuttle, without injuring a man. So large was the aperture made by it, that Captain Mowbray, her commander, saw two of his crew thrusting their heads out of it at the same moment. Another shot of the same weight struck the main-mast of the Windsor Castle, and cut it more than three-quarters through. Other ships were struck by shot of equal dimensions. Four men on board the Standard were killed by one of these shot, which, at the same time striking a salt or ammunition box on deck, caused an explosion by which a lieutenant, 3 petty officers, and 37 men and 6 marines were wounded, and 4 seamen in their alarm leapt overboard—the total loss by this single shot amounting to 8 killed and drowned, and 47 wounded. The story is told of a seaman who thrust his head out of one of the shot-holes, and pertinaciously kept it there. When asked why he did so, he replied that he considered it the safest place, as he was sure no other shot would come in at that hole.

By great exertions the French had in the year 1809 fitted out 9 line-of-battle ships, in addition to the squadrons already at sea, which, under the command of M. Allemand, had arrived in Basque Roads.

Here they were for some time blockaded by the British Channel Squadron under Lord Gambier, whose flag was flying on board the Caledonia, of 120 guns, Captain Sir H. Burrard Neale. Lord Gambier had himself suggested the possibility of destroying the French fleet by means of fire-ships, though he considered, as his letter expresses it, “a horrible mode of warfare, and the attempt very hazardous, if not desperate.” The Admiralty had, however, anticipated him, and had already ordered the construction of several fire-ships, which, on the arrival from the Mediterranean of Lord Cochrane, commanding the 38-gun frigate Impérieuse, were placed under his command. On his reaching the fleet he was coldly received by the other captains, who were jealous of the appointment of a junior officer to conduct so important a service. Lord Cochrane remarks that two only, Rear-Admiral Stafford and Sir Harry Neale, received him in a friendly manner. Lord Cochrane was not a man to be disconcerted by such conduct, and felt thoroughly convinced that the plan he proposed would succeed. The French, aware of the danger of their position, had done their utmost to fortify it. The defences on Ile d’Aix were strengthened, and works were commenced on the Boyart Shoal on the opposite side of the entrance to the roads, while a boom half-a-mile in length, composed of spars and cables, had been laid down and secured by heavy anchors. This boom, forming an obtuse angle, occupied a deep channel between Ile d’Aix and the Boyart Shoal, and it was supposed would prove effectual against the passage of fire-ships. The French fleet was drawn up in two lines inside the boom, with three frigates in line ahead of them. The ships thus placed, aided by the batteries on shore, would have been sufficient to sink the British fleet had it attempted to force a passage. Besides the fire-ships, Lord Cochrane had constructed two explosion vessels. The largest contained 1500 barrels of powder, formed into a solid mass by wedges and wet sand rammed hard between the casks. On the top of this mass of gunpowder were 400 live shells with short fusees, together with as many hundreds of hand grenades and rockets.

The night of the 11th of April was fixed on for the enterprise. The fire-ships were ready, but one mortar-vessel, the Etna, alone had arrived. The Impérieuse, from whence operations were to be directed, anchored close to the inner end of the Boyart Shoal. The Aigle, Unicorn, and Pallas frigates, brought up in a line to the northward of her, in order to receive the crews of the fire-ships and support the boats of the fleet, while the Etna anchored off the north-east point of Ile d’Aix, covered by the Emerald frigate and four gun brigs. Two others, with screened lights hoisted, were to act as pointers for the guidance of the fire-ships. They were to pass between the two light vessels, and then shape a course for the boom. A strong wind from the north-west enabled the fire-ships to run about two points free for the boom. At 8:30 p.m. Lord Cochrane, accompanied by Lieutenant Bissell, embarked on board the largest of the explosion vessels, on the perilous undertaking, the other fire-ships followed. He was accompanied by a boat’s crew of four volunteers only, in addition to the lieutenant. Having nearly reached the boom, he ordered the lieutenant and his men to get into the boat while he ignited the port-fires. It was supposed that the fusees would burn fifteen minutes, by the end of which time the boat might be well out of the range of the grenades; but scarcely five minutes had elapsed ere a terrific explosion occurred, throwing up a huge wave which nearly swamped the boat, while grenades and rockets were darting round them on all sides, shells and missiles of every description rising in the air. The escape of Lord Cochrane and his companions was almost miraculous, for not one of them was hit. The fire-ship, too, had performed her destined work, if not as completely as had been desired, sufficiently so to enable the Mediator fire-ship, Commander Woolridge, to force her way. In his eagerness to direct her against the enemy, he remained till the explosion actually occurred, when he, with two lieutenants, a seaman, and the gunner, who was killed, were blown out of the ship. So well directed were the six other fire-ships that two fell on board the Ocean, of 120 guns, and the Regulus, a 74, the former being compelled to cut her cables, and she soon afterwards, narrowly escaping the Pallas Shoal, ran on shore, where she again had a narrow escape from another fire-ship. So panic-stricken were the French crews that every effort to escape was made. The scene was indeed truly terror-inspiring, the darkness rendering the effect of the burning ships, the flight of shells and rockets, and the flashes of the guns awful in the extreme.

The danger in which the French ships were placed will best be understood from an account written by one of the officers of the Ocean, the French admiral’s flag-ship. After the Ocean, narrowly escaping being blown up, had grounded, a burning fire-ship grappled her athwart her stern. Every effort was made to prevent the fire from catching the ship; the engine playing, completely wetted the poop, while spars were used to heave off the fire-ship, and axes to cut the lashings of her grapnels fastened to the end of her yards; but the chevaux-de-frise on her sides held her firm. The flames from the fire-ship covering the whole of the poop, it seemed impossible that the Ocean could escape. At this juncture two other line-of-battle ships, the Tonnerre and Patriote, fell on board her. The first broke her own bowsprit and destroyed the Ocean’s main-channels. As the fire-ship athwart the stern was now about to drive forward along the starboard side, the Tonnerre was got free. Unless this had happened the fire-ship would have fallen into the angle formed by the two ships, and would inevitably have burnt them. The fire-vessel having now drifted under the bowsprit of the Ocean, was there held for some time. In order to afford the Tonnerre and Patriote an opportunity to get out of her reach, an attempt had been made to drown the magazine, but the flow of water was too slow for the purpose. In the efforts to clear the fire-ships upwards of fifty men fell into the sea and were drowned, the boats saving others.

Shortly afterwards another fire-vessel approached on the starboard-quarter, but the Ocean’s guns cut away her main-mast, and wearing, she passed close alongside. For the remainder of the night vessels were seen burning on all sides. Daylight revealed the French fleet in a deplorable condition; the Ocean on the mud at a distance of half-a-mile to the south-east of the anchorage in Aix Road; to the south-east of her, about fifteen hundred yards off, on a rocky bed, lay the Varsovie and Aquilon, and close to them on somewhat better ground the Regulus and Jemappes. The Tonnerre, already bilged, and her main-mast cut away, and most of her guns hove overboard, lay at the entrance of the Charente, and at some distance off the Calcutta, close to the wreck of the Jean Bart. The Patriote and Tourville also lay not far from the channel of the Charente. Four frigates were also on shore in the same direction. All the grounded ships were more or less on the heel—those on the Pallas Shoal in a very desperate condition. Thus, although the fire-vessels had not caused the immediate destruction of any of the French fleet, they had been the means of reducing nearly the whole of them to a comparatively defenceless state. Lord Cochrane, in the Impérieuse, being the nearest English ship, was the first to perceive their condition, and immediately telegraphed, “The fleet can destroy the enemy—seven on shore;” at 6:40, “Eleven on shore;” and at 9:30, “Enemy preparing to heave off.” At first it was hoped that Lord Gambier would immediately stand in and complete the destruction of the helpless enemy; and there can be little doubt, had such men as Sir Sidney Smith or Lord Cochrane himself been in command, such would have been accomplished; but Lord Gambier, afraid of risking the loss of the whole fleet by venturing among the shoals, called his captains on board, held a council of war, and allowed the favourable time to pass by. The tide rising enabled several of the ships to get afloat, and run up the Charente out of the way of danger. The Impérieuse, without waiting for orders, after signalling for assistance, stood towards three of the French ships, the Calcutta, Varsovie, and Aquilon. After some time she was joined by some gun brigs and bomb-vessels, and later by the Indefatigable, and other frigates. She had, in the meantime, compelled the Calcutta to cease firing, and the Frenchmen to abandon her. Lord Cochrane then sent a midshipman and boat’s crew to take possession, when, without orders, the midshipman set her on fire, and in the evening she blew up with a tremendous explosion. The Tonnerre was also set on fire by her own officers and crew, and blew up. The fire from the English ships compelled the Varsovie and Aquilon to submit at 5:30 p.m. Five other French ships lying on shore at the mouth of the Charente might also have been destroyed had there been any reserve of fire-vessels, but these were wanting, and though efforts were made to prepare three more, by the time they were ready the wind had shifted and they could not be used. The French lost the Varsovie, of 84 guns, the Aquilon and Tonnerre, of 74 guns, and the Calcutta, of 50 guns. The Impérieuse during the action had three seamen killed, and Mr Gilbert, an assistant-surgeon, Mr Marsden, purser, seven seamen, and two marines wounded, while the Revenge had three men killed and Lieutenant Garland and fourteen men wounded, she also receiving considerable damage in her hull from the batteries on Ile d’Aix. The French loss was much more considerable; the Varsovie especially, having 100 killed and wounded, while the captain of the Aquilon was killed in a boat of the Impérieuse, when seated by the side of Lord Cochrane, by a shot from the burning Tonnerre. The burning Varsovie and Aquilon, being supposed by the French to be fire-ships, created a further panic among them. The captain and crew of the Tourville, believing that the fire-vessel was bearing down upon them, deserted their ship, and hastened in their boats on shore. A gallant French quartermaster, however, of the name of Bourgeois, managed to get on board again before the boat shoved off, resolved to stand by his ship to the last. To secure his safety should the fire-ships grapple the Tourville, he at once began constructing a raft. He had just completed it when an English boat approached, the crew of which were ignorant that the ship was abandoned. Bourgeois hailed her twice, but receiving no reply, fired a musket which he found at the gangway. This was returned, but the intrepid fellow, hastening to the captain’s cabin, where he found twenty loaded muskets, discharged them in quick succession, when, greatly to his satisfaction, the boat pulled away. After he had been on board an hour, he discovered three of his shipmates insensible from drink on the lower-deck. A short time after this three of the Tourville’s boats, with a young midshipman, who now took the command, returned on board the Ocean, and he and the brave quartermaster prepared to defend their ship to the last. Fortunately for them, the English, not aware of what had happened, did not attack her, or she would undoubtedly have been added to the list of the French ships destroyed on the occasion Lord Cochrane still remained with the gun brigs, and the Pallas, Captain Seymour, her commander, having gallantly decided on rendering him assistance. At 8 a.m. on the 13th of April he despatched the brigs and mortar-vessel to attack the ships still aground. The Etna unfortunately split her mortar, and the other vessels could do the enemy but little harm. A strong wind and tide prevented the Impérieuse and Pallas from taking a part in the attack. At noon five other small vessels were sent in by Lord Gambier, who wrote to Lord Cochrane giving him leave to attack the Ocean, but observing that there was little prospect of success, and desiring to see him as soon as possible. Lord Cochrane replied, “We can destroy the ships which are on shore, which I hope your lordship will approve of.” The Impérieuse, therefore, remained until the next day, when Lord Gambier, finding that Lord Cochrane would not quit his post as long as he had a shadow of discretionary authority, superseded him in the command of the fire-ships by Captain Wolfe, observing, “I wish you to join me as soon as possible, that you may convey Sir Harry Neale to England, who will be charged with my despatches.” The Impérieuse, therefore, proceeded to Basque Roads, where Lord Cochrane had a disagreeable interview with the admiral, who insinuated that he desired to take all the merit of the service to himself. On his arrival in England Lord Cochrane, who had now a seat in Parliament, gave notice that he should oppose the vote of thanks about to be proposed to Lord Gambier. On hearing this Lord Gambier, on his arrival, demanded a court-martial. The evidence of Captain Pulteney Malcolm was much in favour of Lord Cochrane, but the other witnesses supported Lord Gambier, and sentence was pronounced, honourably acquitting him of all blame. From that day Lord Cochrane’s prospect of success in the navy was destroyed. Though attempts were made by Lord Mulgrave to bribe him over, he refused to abandon what he considered his duty to his constituents and the country. The vote of thanks to Lord Gambier was carried by a majority of 161 to 39.

The following year, when Crocker, secretary to the Admiralty, brought forward the navy estimates, Lord Cochrane moved an address for certain returns relating to pensions on the civil list, contrasting them with pensions to naval officers; remarking in the course of his speech, “An admiral, when superannuated, has 410 pounds a-year, a captain 210 pounds, while a clerk of the ticket-office retires on 700 pounds a-year. Four daughters of the gallant Captain Courtenay, who was killed in action with the enemy when commanding the Boston, have 12 pounds, 10 shillings each; the daughters of Admiral Sir A. Mitchel and Admiral Hepworth have each 25 pounds; Admiral Keppel’s daughter, 24 pounds; the daughter of Captain Mann, who was killed in action, 25 pounds; and four children of Admiral Moriarty, 25 pounds each. Thus thirteen daughters of admirals and captains, several of whose fathers fell in the service of their country, receive from the gratitude of the nation a sum in the aggregate less than Dame Mary Sexton, the widow of a commissioner.”

Remarking on the pension list, he observed, “Captain Johnstone receives 45 pounds 12 shillings for the loss of an arm; Lieutenants Harding and Lawson, 91 pounds, 5 shillings each for a similar loss; Lieutenant Campbell, 40 pounds for the loss of a leg; and Lieutenant Chambers, RM, 80 pounds for the loss of both legs—while Sir Andrew Hammond retires on a pension of 1500 pounds per annum.”

Amongst the most renowned exploits of the navy is that of the capture of Curaçoa. It having been reported to Vice-Admiral Dacres, then commander-in-chief on the Jamaica station, that the inhabitants of the island of Curaçoa wished to ally themselves to Great Britain, he despatched the Arethusa, 38-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Charles Brisbane, accompanied by the Latona, also of 38 guns, Captain Wood, and the Anson, 44 guns, Captain Lydiard. These, when close to the island, were joined by the Fisgard, of 38 guns, Captain Bolton. Captain Brisbane, suspecting that the governor and the troops garrisoning the strong forts would not be willing to yield them up as the inhabitants might desire, without waiting to enter into diplomatic negotiations, determined at once to run into the harbour of Saint Anne, the capital of the island, and to invite the authorities to yield under the muzzles of his guns. A favourable wind, which sprang up on the last day of the year 1806, gave him hopes of being able to carry out his project. On New-Year’s Eve it was known that every true Dutchman would indulge in extra potations, and that by getting in at daylight, before the garrison had regained their senses, there would be every probability of catching them unprepared. Excellent arrangements were made; each frigate had her allotted station, and the larger portion of her crew was divided into storming parties, under their respective officers. The master, with the remainder of the hands, being left in charge of the ship. Each was to wear a distinctive badge, so that they might know each other during the fighting. The difficulties to be encountered were of no light description. The harbour, only fifty fathoms wide, was defended by regular fortifications; one, Fort Amsterdam, on the right of the entrance, mounting sixty guns in two tiers. On the opposite side was a chain of forts, and at the farther end an almost impregnable fortress, called Fort République, enfilading it almost within grape-shot distance. Besides these defences, a 36-gun frigate, a 20-gun corvette, and two large armed schooners lay athwart the harbour, which nowhere exceeds a quarter-of-a-mile in width.

At daylight the Arethusa leading, with a flag of truce at the fore, followed by the other three frigates, entered the port, receiving as she did so a warm fire from the Dutch, who, however, only at that instant aroused out of their beds, took but bad aim. In a few minutes the wind beaded the frigates, but shifting again, they stood on, and took up their stations in favourable positions, with their broadsides bearing on the Dutch forts and ships. So close in were the frigates that the Arethusa’s jib-boom was over the wall of the town. Captain Brisbane now sent a summons to the governor, to the effect that the British squadron had come to protect, not to conquer the inhabitants, but that if a shot was fired, he should immediately storm the batteries. He wisely gave the governor but five minutes to make up his mind. Receiving no answer, Captain Brisbane ordered the ships to open their broadside, when each having fired three, he and Captain Lydiard boarded and carried the frigate and corvette. This done, they proceeded to storm Fort Amsterdam, which, though strongly garrisoned, was carried in about ten minutes, one party breaking open the sea-gate with crowbars, while another escaladed the walls. The citadel of the town, and several other forts, were carried with equal celerity. A fire was next opened upon Fort République, and preparations were made to attack it in the rear with a body of 300 seamen and marines, but so completely confounded were the garrison by the suddenness of the assault that, though they might have effectually resisted, and possibly blown the British ships out of the water, they yielded without firing a shot, and a little after 10 a.m. the British flag was hoisted on their walls. Two hours later the island of Curaçoa capitulated, and was taken possession of by the victors.

During this brilliant morning’s work the total loss of the English amounted to only 3 killed and 14 wounded, chiefly in the capture of the ships; and the Dutch lost 5 killed and 8 wounded, besides nearly 200 men killed and wounded on shore.

Many other gallant actions were fought between light squadrons and single ships, and numerous cutting-out expeditions in boats were successfully undertaken. During these years the British line-of-battle ships attained a size far greater than had existed at any preceding period. The Caledonia, though ordered as far back as the year 1794, did not begin building till January, 1805, and was launched on the 25th of June, 1808. Though originally intended to carry only 100 guns, she was altered to a 120-gun ship, her draught being prepared by Sir William Rule, one of the surveyors of the navy. Her length on the lower gun-deck from the rabbet of the stem to the rabbet of the stern-post was 205 feet; her extreme breadth 53 feet 8 inches; her depth of hold 23 feet 2 inches; and she was of 2615 tons burden. Her net complement, including marines and boys, was 891. She was, and continued to be, the finest three-decker in the service. She excelled in all essential qualities, rode easy at her anchors, carried her lee-ports well, rolled and pitched quite easy, steered, worked, and stayed remarkably well, was a weatherly ship, and lay to very close, close-hauled under whole or single reefed top-sails. She went nine knots, and under all large sail eleven knots.

She was followed by the Nelson, of the same size, the Britannia, built at Plymouth, and the Prince Regent at Chatham. Two others of a somewhat similar size were subsequently added, the London, built at Plymouth, and the Princess Charlotte at Portsmouth, in the year 1813.

The prizes captured during the year 1807 nearly doubled that of any other period. At the same time, the losses sustained by the navy were greater than had ever before occurred, amounting to no less than 38 ships. Of these, no fewer than 29 foundered at sea or were wrecked, a large proportion of their crews perishing with them. The navy of England had, however, greatly increased. At the commencement of 1815 she possessed 124 line-of-battle ships, averaging each 1830 tons; whereas at the end of the previous century, they averaged only 1645 tons. If we take a glance back to a still more distant period, we shall judge better of the enormous progress made during the last two centuries. In the year 1641 the navy of England consisted of 42 ships, the aggregate tonnage of which was 22,411 tons. At the period of which we are writing it amounted to 966,000 tons, and within fifty years of that period, Scott Russell launched in the Thames one vessel of 22,500 tons, being in excess by 89 tons of the whole British fleet at the time of Charles the First. At that period about 8000 men were considered sufficient to man the navy, while in 1814, 146,000 men were voted; the navy estimates amounted to 18,786,509 pounds, and the burden of 901 ships amounted to 966,000 tons.

England, taught by the loss of several frigates captured by American ships of the same class, though vastly superior in size, began to construct frigates to compete with her foes. Three small-class seventy-fours, the Majestic, Goliath, and Saturn, were cut-down so as to retain their main-deck batteries, on which they were armed with 28 long 32-pounders, while on their lower-decks they received an equal number of 42-pounder carronades, besides two long 12-pounders as chase-guns; making 58 guns on two flush-decks, with a net complement of 495 men and boys. They thus, though denominated frigates, possessed a slightly increased weight of metal in broadsides to that which they before carried. It was hoped that with the aid of black hammock-cloths thrown over the waist of the barricade, they would be so disguised as to tempt any large American frigates they might fall in with to come down and engage. Such ships would have been more than a match for the heaviest of the American 44-gun frigates. They were in reality two-decked ships, but, as it turned out, they had no opportunity of proving their powers with any of the vessels with which they were intended to cope.

Several other fine 50-gun frigates were built; the Endymion, Glasgow, and Liverpool, Forth, Liffey, and Severn the three latter of fir, and the two before-mentioned of pitch-pine; the chief complaint made of them being that their quarters were rather confined. They had a complement of 350 men and boys. Other smaller frigates were constructed for economy’s sake of yellow pine, most of them carrying medium 24-pounders, with a complement of 330 men and boys. To the British Navy were also added two classes of sloops of war; the largest, of about 430 tons, mounted 18 32-pounder carronades on the main-deck, and 6, 12, or 18-pounder carronades on the quarter-deck and forecastle, with two long sixes, making a total of 26 guns, with 121 men and boys. The second-class was the 18-gun brig-sloop. Another class of ship-sloops or corvettes were fitted out for sea while Sir Joseph Yorke was First Lord of the Admiralty, having a flush-deck, and carrying 18 32-pounder carronades and two long nines. They were fitted with stern chase-ports, but from the narrowness of their sterns there was no room to work the tiller, while the guns were pointed from the ports. They were defective also in having their masts too slight, while they were in other respects heavily rigged. The worst vessels, however, constructed at a later period, were the 10-gun brigs of war, small, narrow craft, so low between decks that the unfortunate commander, if a tall man, had to stand up, with his head through the skylight, and his looking-glass on deck, to shave himself. For many years commanders were appointed to them with a crew of upwards of 100 men, two lieutenants, and other gun-room officers, as well as midshipmen, whose berth measured seven feet by five. Being excessively crank, the greater number foundered, and gained for the class the unenviable title of “sea-coffins.” They and frigates carrying 28 guns, generally known in the service by the name of “jackass-frigates,” were the worst class of vessels belonging of late years to the British Navy. They existed, however, till steam power and the screw propeller caused those that had escaped destruction to be broken up or sold out of the service. For some years previously, however, the 10-gun brigs were commanded by lieutenants, with, of course, reduced crews.

Chapter Seventeen.

War with United States of America to war in Syria—from A.D. 1811 to A.D. 1840.

Much indignation had long been felt by the people of the United States in consequence of Great Britain claiming the right of searching neutral vessels for deserters from our ships. There existed, also, among them another cause of annoyance. It was this, that while the rest of the world were at war, the Americans had enjoyed the advantage of being the carriers for other powers, and that Napoleon, in the hope of crippling England, had declared all neutral vessels that had touched at any of her home or colonial ports liable to confiscation, thus virtually putting a stop to the commerce of the United States. Instead of complaining of France, the Americans put the blame on England, and hoped by going to war with her to regain the carrying trade they had lost. England had, besides, given great provocation as far back as the year 1807, when a small squadron of British ships was stationed off the American coast. Several men having deserted from the different ships, some of them were received on board the United States frigate Chesapeake. Hearing of the occurrence, the admiral at Halifax despatched the 50-gun frigate Leopard, commanded by Captain Humphries, with orders to the captains of any of the ships should they fall in with the Chesapeake without the limits of the United States to insist on searching her for deserters. Having delivered her despatches, the Leopard was lying with the rest of the squadron, when the Chesapeake, which was at anchor in Hampton Roads, put to sea on her way to the Mediterranean. On this, the Leopard received orders from the British commodore, to make sail in chase of her. Captain Humphries, shortly afterwards, falling in with the Chesapeake, hailed to say that he had a message from the British commander-in-chief. To this the American commodore, Barron, replied, “Send it on board—I will heave to.” On the arrival of the Leopard’s lieutenant on board the Chesapeake, Commodore Barron declared that he had no such men on board as were described. On the lieutenant’s return, Captain Humphries again hailed the Chesapeake, and receiving unsatisfactory answers, observing also indications of intended resistance on board the American frigate, he ordered a shot to be fired across her forefoot. At intervals of two minutes he fired others, but evasive answers only being returned, and it being evident that the object of Commodore Barron was only to gain time, the Leopard opened her fire in earnest. After she had discharged three broadsides at the American frigate the latter hauled down her colours, having only returned a few guns. On this a lieutenant from the Chesapeake came on board the Leopard with a verbal message from Commodore Barron signifying that he considered his ship to be the Leopard’s prize. Without undertaking to receive her as such, Captain Humphries sent two of his lieutenants, with several petty officers and men, on board the Chesapeake to search for the deserters, and the crew being mustered, one of them, who was dragged out of the coal-hole, Jenkin Ratford, was recognised as a deserter from the Halifax. Three others were found, who had deserted from the Melampus, and about twelve more from various British ships of war. The first four, however, alone were carried on board the Leopard, when Commodore Barron again offered to deliver up his frigate as a prize; to this Captain Humphries replied that, having fulfilled his instructions, he had nothing more to desire, but must proceed to his destination. He, however, expressed his regret at having been compelled to attack him, and offered all the assistance in his power. The Chesapeake had indeed suffered severely from the broadsides of the Leopard, twenty-two shot being lodged in her hull, while her masts and rigging were greatly damaged. She had lost three seamen killed, while the commodore, one midshipman, and sixteen seamen and marines were wounded. Though nearly a hundred tons larger than the Leopard, and carrying a greater weight of shot, while her crew numbered fifty men more, she was almost unprepared for battle, so that no imputation could be cast on Commodore Barron for not continuing the engagement.

On arriving at Halifax the unfortunate Jenkin Ratford was found guilty of mutiny and desertion, and was hanged at the foreyard-arm of the ship from which he had deserted. The other men, though found guilty of desertion, were pardoned.

This untoward event was the cause of protracted diplomatic negotiations. Every apology was offered to the United States; and England gave up all claim to the right of searching men-of-war of other nations for deserters. About three years afterwards the British frigate Guerrier impressed out of an American merchant-vessel a man named Deguyo, said to be a citizen of the United States, and shortly afterwards two other native Americans in the belief that they all three were English subjects. At this time the 44-gun frigate President, belonging to the United States, lay moored in the Chesapeake. On receiving directions from his government, Commodore Rogers, who took the command, put to sea in search of the Guerrier on the 12th of May, 1811. Soon after noon of the 16th, from the mast-head of the President, a ship was descried standing towards her under a press of sail, which Commodore Rogers at once concluded was the frigate Guerrier. The stranger was, however, the British ship-sloop Little Belt, mounting 18 32-pounder carronades, and 2 long nines, with a crew of 120 men and boys, commanded by Captain Bingham, who at the same time made out the President. Captain Bingham, finding her signals unanswered, felt assured that the stranger was an American frigate, and continued his course round Cape Hatteras. By the time the evening was closing in, the President was up to her Captain Bingham hailed, asking, “What ship is that?” Commodore Rogers merely repeated the question. At that instant a gun was fired from the President, as was afterwards alleged, by chance. On this the Little Belt fired, and a furious action commenced, which lasted upwards of half-an-hour, with a short intermission. The after-sail of the Little Belt being shot away, and her rigging much damaged, she fell off, so that, being unable to bring her guns to bear on her antagonist, she ceased firing. Commodore Rogers again hailed, when he received answer that the vessel he had attacked was a British ship of war, but, owing to the freshness of the breeze, he did not hear her name. During this short engagement her masts and yards were badly wounded, and her rigging cut to pieces, while her hull was severely injured. She had lost a midshipman and 10 men killed or mortally wounded, and 21 wounded; while the President had only one boy wounded, and her rigging and masts but slightly injured. The President now hove to to leeward during the night, while the Little Belt was employed in stopping her leaks and repairing damages. Next morning the first lieutenant of the President came on board, expressing Commodore Rogers’ regret at the unfortunate affair, and stating that had he known the size of the British ship he would not have fired into her. Captain Bingham inquired why he had fired at all; on which the lieutenant replied that the Little Belt had fired first. Captain Bingham denied this, and the subject was long a matter of dispute—though there can be no doubt that one of the President’s guns went off, possibly by chance, and that Captain Bingham lost no time in replying to it. That Captain Bingham’s conduct was considered most gallant was proved by his being immediately promoted to post-rank.

The following year the United States unhappily declared war against Great Britain. The American government had previously laid an embargo upon all their national ships and vessels during a space of ninety days, so that when war broke out on the 18th of June a large number of fast-sailing-vessels of all sizes were ready to issue forth as privateers; while Commodore Rogers, in command of the squadron, consisting of the President, United States, and Congress frigates, and two brigs of war, sailed in hopes of capturing a fleet of above 100 homeward-bound Jamaica men, known to be off the coast, under the convoy of a single frigate and brig. Fortunately for the merchant-vessels, Commodore Rogers discovered the British frigate Belvidera, of 36 guns, 18-pounders, commanded by Captain Byron, standing towards him. Captain Byron, having ascertained the character of the American squadron, tacked and made sail, not so much to escape as to lead the enemy to a distance from their expected prey. By consummate seamanship and gallantry, he kept them employed, carrying on a spirited action with his two long 18-pounders run through his stern-ports, and the two 32-pounder carronades on his quarter-deck, greatly galling the President, and afterwards the Congress, when that frigate got near enough to open her fire. So successfully did he manoeuvre, that after leading his pursuers a long chase, he escaped from them and got into Halifax. The Belvidera lost altogether 3 killed and 22 wounded. The President, which was cut up in her rigging, lost 2 midshipmen and a marine killed, and 22 officers and men wounded; while the Jamaica convoy reached England in safety.

The war between England and her former dependencies had now commenced in earnest. Since their independence, the United States had taken pains to construct an efficient, though small navy. Aware that it would be useless to attempt building line-of-battle ships to compete with the fleets of Europe, they had turned their attention to the construction of frigates, to act as ocean cruisers, of a size and armament capable of contending successfully with any possessed by England, or indeed any other maritime power. The result proved the wisdom and forethought of their naval authorities. Their most famed frigates were the Constitution, the United States, and President. The other two were of the same size and force as the latter vessel. The President measured 1533 tons: her sides and bulwarks were thicker, and her spars and rigging stouter than those of a British 74-gun ship, while she sailed admirably. She was pierced for 56 guns, but only mounted 52, of which 32 were long 24-pounders, and 20 42-pounders, her complement being 480 men. The other two mounted 54 guns, and the Constitution carried 32 instead of 42-pounder carronades.

On the 18th the Constitution, Captain Hull, then cruising off the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, having heard from an American privateer that a British ship of war was at a short distance to the southward, immediately made sail in that direction. The ship of which Captain Hull had heard was the British frigate Guerrier, commanded by Captain Dacres, an officer of known talent and gallantry. She carried 48 guns, including 30 long 18-pounders on the main-deck, 16 carronades, 32-pounders, and 2 long nines on her quarter-deck and forecastle. She measured under 1100 tons, and though her regular complement was 300 men and boys, she was nearly 40 men short. Seeing the Constitution approaching, at 4:30 p.m. on the 19th the Guerrier laid her main-topsail to the mast, to enable her the more quickly to close. She then hoisted an English ensign at the peak, another at the mizzen-topgallant mast-head, and the Union Jack at the fore, and at 4:50 opened her starboard broadside at the Constitution. The American frigate being admirably manoeuvred, her heavy shot in a short time began to tell with destructive effect on the English frigate. The Guerrier’s mizzen-mast was soon carried away, as it fell, knocking a large hole in the counter, and by dragging in the water, brought the ship up in the wind—thus enabling the Constitution to place herself on the Guerrier’s larboard bow, in which position she opened a destructive fire of great guns and small-arms on the British frigate, who could only return it with her bow-guns. The riflemen in the Constitution’s tops continued firing all the time with unerring aim. Captain Dacres was severely wounded, as were several of his officers. At length the Guerrier’s foremast and mizzen-mast were carried over the side, leaving a defenceless wreck, rolling her main-deck guns in the water. From the rotten state of her breachings, many of her guns broke loose, but still Captain Dacres, having cleared away the wreck of his masts, continued the action, till the Constitution, having rove new braces, took up a position within pistol-shot of the Guerrier’s starboard-quarter. Finding his ship utterly unmanageable, to prevent further sacrifice of life, Captain Dacres at 6:45 hauled down the Union Jack from the stump of the mizzen-mast, the only stick he had standing. The Guerrier in this desperate action lost 15 men killed and 63 wounded, 6 of the latter mortally; while the Constitution, out of her 468 men and boys, lost 7 killed and about double that number more or less wounded. Though the Americans might well be gratified at the result of the action, the English had no cause to be ashamed at the loss of the Guerrier to a ship the weight of whose broadside was nearly one-half heavier than that of her own, especially when a considerable number of the Constitution’s crew were English seamen, and all had been carefully trained.

On the 25th of October the Macedonian, a frigate of the same size as the Guerrier, was captured by the United States, a frigate in all respects similar to the Constitution. Commodore Decatur, commanding the United States, used every effort to induce the crew of the captured frigate to enter the American service, though, to the credit of British seamen, the band alone, who were foreigners, and three or four others, said to be Americans, yielded to his persuasions.

The third British frigate, also of the size and force of the two preceding ones, captured by the Americans was the Java, taken by the Constitution, on the 29th of September. The Java was originally the French frigate Renommée, and had been commissioned at Portsmouth by Captain Lambert to carry out Lieutenant-General John Hislop, the governor of Bombay. Her crew, hurriedly got together, were inefficient in the extreme. They consisted of 60 raw Irishmen, 50 mutinous fellows sent from on board the Coquette, a body of 50 marines, several of whom were recruits, while the prison-ships and press-gangs furnished a large portion of the remainder. Exclusive of the petty officers, the best of the crew consisted of eight seamen, who were allowed to volunteer from the Rodney, indeed, scarcely fifty of the whole ship’s company had ever been in action, while the ship herself was hurriedly fitted out, lumbered up with stores, and scarcely in a condition to put to sea. Meeting with a succession of heavy gales, it was not till the 28th December that Captain Lambert had an opportunity of exercising his men at firing the guns, when the Java fired six broadsides with blank cartridges, the first the greater number of his crew had ever discharged. While steering for Saint Salvador to obtain water, early the following morning, the Java sighted the Constitution, and made sail in chase. Standing to the wind, which was very fresh, the Java rapidly gained on her, and at length the two ships being within half-a-mile of each other, the Constitution fired her larboard broadside, which the Java waited to return till she got considerably nearer, when she fired her broadside, every shot of which took effect. The untrained British crew lost soon after this an opportunity of raking their powerful antagonist. Most gallantly Captain Lambert fought his ship, and his rigging being cut to pieces and masts injured, with several officers and men killed and wounded, he determined to board his antagonist as affording the best chance of success. His bowsprit, however, catching the starboard mizzen-rigging of the Constitution, his ship was brought up to the wind, and he lost the opportunity both of raking her or boarding. While in this position, Captain Lambert fell mortally wounded, when the command devolved on Lieutenant Henry Chads. The Constitution getting clear, had now the Java at her mercy. Still, animated by their officers, her crew, bad as they were, worked energetically at their guns, and seeing the Constitution standing off to repair damages, cheered under the belief that she was taking to flight. After the action had lasted rather more than three hours, the Constitution placing herself so as to rake the dismasted Java, Lieutenant Chads ordered the colours to be lowered from the stump of the mizzen-mast, and the frigate was taken possession of by the victor. The whole of the Java’s boats, and all except one of the Constitution’s, were knocked to pieces. The operation of conveying the prisoners on board the American frigate occupied a considerable time. As soon as it was accomplished, the Java, being much shattered was set on fire. Though the Americans behaved civilly to the British officers, the crew complained bitterly of being handcuffed and otherwise severely treated. The Java had her captain, 3 masters’ mates, 2 midshipmen, and I supernumerary clerk killed, and 17 seamen and marines, and 102 officers and men wounded, among whom was her gallant first lieutenant.

Several brig-sloops and other small craft were also captured during the war by the Americans, who had every reason to be proud of the gallantry displayed by their seamen. Success, however, did not always attend on the “star-spangled banner,” and, as was natural, the captains of the British 38-gun frigates were eager to fall in with one of the famed American forty-fours. Among others, Captain Philip Vere Broke, commanding the Shannon frigate, resolved, if possible, to show what a well-disciplined crew could do. He had from the time he had been appointed to her, several years before, diligently exercised his crew in gunnery, so that those who knew him and his ship’s company felt confident of his success. The following lines, written soon after the commencement of the war, prove this:—

“And as the war they did provoke,

We’ll pay them with our cannon;

The first to do it will be Broke,

In the gallant ship the Shannon.”

The following song well describes the far-famed action:—

The “Chesapeake” and the “Shannon.”

At Boston one day, as the Chesapeake lay,

The captain, his crew thus began on:

See that ship out at sea, she our prize soon shall be;

’Tis the tight little frigate the Shannon.

Oh, ’twill be a good joke

To take Commodore Broke,

And add to our navy the Shannon.

Then he made a great bluster, calling all hands to muster,

And said, Now boys, stand firm to your cannon;

Let us get under weigh without further delay,

And capture the insolent Shannon.

Within two hours’ space

We’ll return to this place,

And bring into harbour the Shannon.

Now alongside they range, and broadsides they exchange,

But the Yankees soon flinch from their cannon;

When the captain and crew, without further ado,

Are attacked, sword in hand, from the Shannon.

The brave commodore of the Shannon

Fired a friendly salute

Just to end the dispute,

And the Chesapeake struck to the Shannon.

Let America know the respect she should show

To our national flag and our cannon;

And let her take heed that the Thames and the Tweed

Give us tars just as brave as the Shannon.

Here’s to Commodore Broke of the Shannon;

May the olive of peace

Soon bid enmity cease

From the Chesapeake shore to the Shannon.

In March, 1813, Captain Broke sailed from Halifax in company with the Tenedos, Captain Hyde Parker. Captain Broke, finding that the Constitution and Chesapeake were in Boston Harbour, the former undergoing considerable repairs, sent Captain Parker away, in hopes that the latter would come out and fight him. The Chesapeake was at this time commanded by a gallant officer, Captain Lawrence. Although Captain Broke captured several prizes, rather than weaken his crew, he destroyed them all, while he remained off the port waiting for the expected encounter. At length, having waited till the 1st of June, Captain Broke addressed a letter of challenge to Captain Lawrence, which begins: “As the Chesapeake appears now ready for sea, I request you will do me the favour to meet the Shannon with her, ship to ship, to try the fortune of our respective flags;” and added, “You will feel it as a compliment if I say, that the result of our meeting may be the most grateful service I can render to my country; and I doubt not that you, equally confident of success, will feel convinced that it is only by repeated triumphs in ‘even combats’ that your little navy can now hope to console your country for the loss of that trade it can no longer protect.”

The Shannon, having stood in close to Boston Lighthouse, with colours flying, lay to, when the Chesapeake was seen at anchor. She shortly afterwards, under all sail, stood out of the harbour, accompanied by numerous yachts and a schooner gunboat, with several American naval officers on board. At half-past five in the afternoon the Chesapeake, with a large flag flying, on which was inscribed the words, “Sailor’s rights and free trade,” approached the Shannon, and soon afterwards, luffing up within about fifty yards of her starboard-quarter, gave three cheers. At 5:50 p.m. the Shannon’s aftermost main-deck gun was fired, and the two combatants exchanged broadsides. The Chesapeake, however, coming sharply up to the wind, in consequence of all the men at her helm being killed, was exposed to a shot from the Shannon’s aftermost gun, which took a diagonal direction along her decks, beating in her stern-ports and sweeping the men from their quarters. The Shannon’s foremost guns also did considerable damage. In a few minutes the Chesapeake fell on board the Shannon, when Captain Broke, ordering the two ships to be lashed together, called away the main-deck boarders, and, followed by about twenty men, sprang on to her quarter-deck, which had been completely deserted. The British were, however, encountered on the gangways by some twenty-five or thirty Americans, who made but slight resistance, and being driven towards the forecastle, endeavoured to escape down the fore-hatchway, while others plunged overboard. The remainder threw down their arms and submitted. During this time the boarders were exposed to a destructive fire from the main and mizzen-tops, which continued till the main-top was gallantly stormed by a midshipman, William Smith, and five topmen. Having made their way along the Shannon’s foreyard on to that of the Chesapeake’s main-yard, another midshipman, Mr Cosnahan, climbing up on the starboard main-yard, fired at the Americans in the mizzen-top, when he compelled them to yield. Captain Broke, at the moment of victory, was nearly killed, having been cut-down by one of three Americans, who, after they had yielded, seized some arms and attacked their victors. The Americans, also, who had fled to the hold, opened a fire of musketry, which killed a marine. A still more unfortunate accident occurred; the Shannon’s first lieutenant, Mr Watt, after being severely wounded, was in the act of hoisting the English flag, when the halliards getting entangled, the American ensign went up first, and, observing this, the Shannon’s people reopened their fire, and he and several of those around him were killed before the mistake was rectified. Captain Broke, who had been assisted to a carronade slide, directed Lieutenant Faulkner to summon the Americans in the hold to give in if they expected quarter. They shouted out, “We surrender,” and all opposition ceased. From the moment the first gun was fired till Captain Broke led his boarders on the deck of the Chesapeake, only eleven minutes elapsed, and in four minutes more she was his. Including the first lieutenant, her purser, and captain’s clerk, the Shannon lost 24 killed and 59 wounded, two of these, her boatswain and one midshipman mortally; while the Chesapeake lost 47 killed, among whom was her fourth lieutenant, her master, one lieutenant of marines, and 3 midshipmen, and 14 mortally wounded, including her brave commander, and his first lieutenant, and 99 wounded. Other accounts state that the killed and wounded amounted to nearly 170. Among the 325 prisoners taken on board the Chesapeake, above 32 were British seamen. Several of the Shannon’s men recognised old shipmates among their foes, and one of the former, when boarding, was about to cut-down an enemy, when he was stopped by the cry, “What! you Bill!”

“What! Jack!”

“Ay, Bill, but it won’t do—so here goes,” and the poor fellow sprang overboard, and was drowned, rather than meet the fate which might have been his lot, as he had deserted from the Shannon a few months before.

The two frigates were pretty equally matched, there being a slight superiority only in favour of the Chesapeake, which was 31 tons larger, and had a crew of fully 70 more men. The gallant Captain Lawrence and his first lieutenant, Augustus Ludlow, died of their wounds, the former on the passage to Halifax, the latter on his arrival, and were buried there with all the honours their victors could bestow. Their remains were shortly afterwards removed in a cartel to the United States.

Passing over a number of actions between smaller vessels, in which sometimes the English and at others the Americans were the victors, a celebrated combat in the Pacific between two frigates, the American being the smallest, must be mentioned. In October, 1822, the United States 32-gun frigate Essex, commanded by Captain David Porter, sailed from Delaware Bay on a cruise in the Pacific. Having captured several whale-ships, he named one of them the Essex Junior, and having visited the Marquesas, where he exhibited his prowess against the natives, he reached Valparaiso about the 12th of January, 1814. The British 36-gun frigate Phoebe, Captain James Hillyar, with the 18-gun ship-sloop Cherub, Captain Tucker, which vessels had sailed in search of him, standing towards Valparaiso, on the 8th of February discovered the American cruisers, with several prizes at anchor in the harbour. For a couple of weeks or more Captain Hillyar did his best to draw the American ships out of the port. Captain Porter, however, had considered that his most prudent course was to attempt to escape, and he and his consort were on the point of doing so, a strong wind blowing out of the harbour, when the Essex was struck by a squall, which carried away her main-topmast. She accordingly bore up and anchored, while the Essex Junior ran back into the harbour. The Phoebe and Cherub made sail towards them. The former at length got near enough to open her fire. Captain Hillyar now ordered Captain Tucker to keep under way, while he himself stood in closer with the intention of anchoring close to the Essex. The latter ship now cut her cable, and endeavoured to run on shore, but the strong wind from the land blew her off towards the Phoebe, and she had again to let go an anchor. By this time most of her boats were destroyed. The three boats from the Essex Junior were alongside, carrying off the specie and other valuables in the ship. Those of her crew who were English taking the opportunity of escaping, a report was raised at this juncture that the ship was on fire, and a number of her men leaped overboard during the confusion. At about 6:30 p.m. the Essex hauled down her flags, and the boats of the Phoebe, pulling for her, saved the lives of 16 of her crew who were in the water, though too late to rescue 30 others who perished; while between 30 and 40 reached the shore. The Phoebe lost 5 killed and 10 wounded, and the Americans 24 killed, including one of the lieutenants, and 45 wounded. As soon as the Essex could be repaired, the command of her being given to Lieutenant Charles Pearson, she and the Phoebe sailed for England, and anchored safely in Plymouth Sound, although Captain Porter had stated that the damage she had received would prevent her making the voyage. Of the prizes she had taken, not one reached the States, all having been recaptured, with the exception of three, which were burnt by the Americans, and one, the Seringapatam, the American prize-crew of which mutinied and carried her to New South Wales, whence she was brought to England and delivered to her former owners; while the Essex herself was placed on the list of the British Navy. Those who have read the journals of Captain Porter’s cruise in the Pacific will feel very little pity for him on account of its result.

This miserable war, proved, on the whole, disastrous to the Americans. The ships of the English squadron on their coasts were employed in sailing up their rivers, destroying their towns, as also in despatching numerous boat expeditions to cut out their merchantmen, and to attack the gunboats prepared for the defence of their harbours. At the same time, both parties fitted out flotillas on the great lakes, where a number of engagements, often with heavy losses on either side, occurred. The principal British officer employed in this service was Sir James Yeo, who was sent with a small body of seamen to man the ships on these fresh-water seas. Some of these vessels were of large size; one named the Prince Regent measured 1310 tons, and carried 58 guns, with a complement of 485 men and boys. Another, the Princess Charlotte, measured 815 tons, and carried 42 guns. The larger number of vessels, however, were of much smaller size. The Americans had also several powerful vessels, and before the close of the war they had actually begun to build one 74 and a frigate, to vie with a ship built by the English called the Saint Lawrence, of 2305 tons, and intended to mount 102 guns. None of these large craft, however, went out of harbour. The whole of the gear and stores for these vessels had been brought overland at a considerable expense, and it was said that the Admiralty sent out a supply of water-casks, forgetting that their ships were to navigate fresh-water seas. To make any of the actions which took place intelligible, far more space would be required than can be afforded. Happily, by the end of 1814, this unnatural and ill-advised war was brought to a conclusion; the Americans finding that although occasionally victorious, they were in the end greatly the losers. It left, however, an amount of ill-feeling between the two nations which the war of independence had failed to create, and which it took many years to eradicate—though, happily, at the present time the people of both countries are too right-minded and enlightened to wish to see a recurrence of a similar contest, both convinced that it is to their mutual interest to remain in amity, and to cultivate to the utmost that good understanding which has for long happily existed.

After the conclusion of the war, the Caribbean Sea was infested by a number of piratical vessels manned by blacks and desperate characters of all nations, which committed great havoc among the British merchantmen. Though several were from time to time captured, the pirates still continued their depredations. Bad as they were, some proved themselves not altogether destitute of humanity. On one occasion a small vessel, tender to his majesty’s frigate Tyne, commanded by Lieutenant Hobson, with a crew of 20 men, was surprised and captured by a powerful piratical craft. The pirates were, according to their usual custom, about to hang their prisoners; but seized with compunction, or dreading the consequences of their intended crime, they spared their lives, and allowed them to return to their ship. As it happened, the very men who had acted so humane a part were shortly afterwards captured, and the circumstance not being taken into consideration in their favour, they were hanged at Jamaica. At this time, a desperate character, named Cayatano Aragonez, commanded a schooner called the Zaragonaza, of 120 tons, carrying a long swivel 18-pounder, 4 long 9-pounders, and 8 swivels, with a crew of between 70 and 80 men. Hearing of the way his friends had been treated, looking upon it as an ungenerous act, he vowed to take fearful revenge on all the English he could capture. Summoning his men, he bound them under an oath never to spare an Englishman’s life, and in the event of being captured, to blow up themselves and their enemies. Some time before, they had taken a black man, a native of Jamaica, who had been compelled to act as their cook. In order thoroughly to commit his crew, Aragonez resolved on the sacrifice of the hapless negro. In vain he pleaded for mercy; he was hauled out to the end of the spritsail-yard, when the miscreants commenced firing at him from the deck, and thus tortured him for twenty minutes before death put an end to his sufferings. Sir Charles Rowley, commander-in-chief in the West Indies, having determined to put a stop to the exploits of the pirates, despatched the Tyne, under the command of Captain Walcott, accompanied by the sloop of war Thracian, to look out for and destroy them. Their chief places of rendezvous were known to be among the numerous keys or sandy islets off the coast of Cuba. Captain Walcott, after for a long time vainly searching for the pirates, was informed by the master of an American pilot-boat that a schooner supposed to be the Zaragonaza had been seen cruising off Barracoa, at the east end of Cuba. Captain Walcott endeavoured to bribe the American pilot to remain with him. He, however, declined the risk, declaring it was impossible to capture the schooner with boats, and as she was a remarkably fast sailer, she was sure to escape; should the enterprise not succeed, he would become known as the informer, and be no longer able to act as pilot in the Bahama Channel. This was a disappointment to Captain Walcott, who knowing that two Spanish men-of-war schooners were cruising off the coast, and that there were numerous trading schooners of the same appearance, feared that the pirates would escape. However, on the 31st of March, the two British ships discovered the vessel of which they were in search off Barracoa. Captain Walcott had disguised both ships as merchant-vessels, and their sails being set in a slovenly manner, they stood in towards the schooner. For several hours it was evident that the pirate did not suspect what they were. Before, however, they got up with her, she, setting all sail, steered for the harbour of Mata. On this the frigate and sloop crowded every stitch of canvas they could carry in chase. The wind, however, failed them before they could get up to the schooner, which, running in to the harbour, at 1:30 p.m., was seen moored head and stern athwart it, with the Spanish colours flying aloft. The entrance of the harbour not being more than a cable’s length in width, even the Thracian could not venture to approach close enough to attack the schooner. Captain Walcott, therefore, ordered out the boats, which carried altogether forty-seven men, and believing that a desperate resistance would be made, and that should the attack fail the pirates would slaughter all they might capture, he determined to lead the expedition himself. As he shoved off, he desired Commander Roberts of the Thracian to get as close as possible, so as to render all the assistance in his power. The sea was calm, the boats were in full view of the pirate. Shoving off from the ship’s sides, they pulled gallantly towards her. At 3 p.m. they arrived within gunshot, when up went the black flag, thus giving undoubted evidence of the character of the craft, while the schooner opened her fire, at the same time bullets came flying round the boats from a number of the pirate crew who had been landed, and been stationed under shelter among the trees which grew close to the shore of the harbour. Still the British boats pulled steadily on in two divisions, Captain Walcott’s intention being to board the pirate on both sides at once. Each of the pinnaces carried carronades, which were now rapidly fired, while the marines began to blaze away, thus partially, by the smoke which circled round them, concealing the boats and preventing the pirates from taking exact aim. As the boats approached, the deck of the pirate was seen crowded with men, and boarding nettings triced up. Three-quarters of an hour had the British seamen been exposed to her fire, as well as to that from the men on shore, when Captain Walcott issued the order to dash alongside. For a few moments the pirates ceased firing, being employed in loading all their guns in the hopes of sending their assailants with one broadside to the bottom. Three hearty cheers were given, and so rapidly did the boats approach that the shots flew over them, and before the schooner’s guns could be reloaded, the boats were up to her, and the seamen began climbing on board—no easy matter, for the sides were unusually high, and had been greased all over so as to render it as difficult as possible. At that moment the pirate crew losing heart, began to leap overboard and swim towards the shore, in the hopes of preserving their lives. Many, however, were cut-down before they could make their escape, while others were captured in the water. Among them Aragonez himself was taken, with 27 besides, 10 were killed, and 15 wounded; while the English lost 1 man killed and 4 wounded in this most gallant affair. Captain Walcott then sent a requisition to the governor of Barracoa, which induced him to dispatch a party in search of those who had escaped into the woods, when sixteen more were captured and immediately put to death by the Spaniards. The Tyne then sailed with her prisoners for Jamaica, when two of them turning king’s evidence, their chief and the remainder of the miscreant band were executed. The affair may well take rank with any of the most brilliant boat services on record, and Admiral Rowley expressed in a general order his sense of the admirable skill and courage with which the enterprise had been carried out. That most graphic of writers, Michael Scott, who spent many years in the West Indies, had evidently heard of it when he wrote “Tom Cringle’s Log.” The capture of Lieutenant Hobson by the pirates, and his subsequent release, afforded him the idea of the captive of his hero by the picaroon, while the destruction of Obed’s schooner in a harbour off Cuba, with not a few additional touches, was also taken from the account of the capture of the Zaragonaza.

The piratical cruisers belonging to Algiers had long been the terror of the merchantmen of all nations. The Algerines not only plundered but massacred the crews of the vessels they captured, and it was supposed that many hundreds had fallen into their power. Their crowning act of atrocity was the murder of the crews of three hundred small vessels engaged in the coral fishery off Bona, near Algiers, who, being Christians, had landed to visit a church. At length the British Government determined to put a stop to their proceedings, and Lord Exmouth, who had just returned to England, after having compelled the Dey of Tunis to restore 1792 slaves to freedom, and to sign a treaty for the abolition of Christian slavery, was appointed to the command of a fleet which sailed from Plymouth on the 28th of July, 1816, with his flag flying on board the Queen Charlotte, of 100 guns, Captain James Brisbane. During the passage out, every ship in the fleet was exercised with the great guns, firing at a target hung from the end of the fore-topmast studdingsail-boom rigged out for the purpose, so that they became unusually expert. Lord Exmouth’s fleet consisted of only five line-of-battle ships, with the 50-gun ship Leander, four frigates, and several sloops of war and bomb-vessels. Misled by the charts, which were altogether defective, Lord Nelson had required ten sail of the line, and the same number of bomb-vessels, when he proposed to attack Algiers, but the harbour and fortifications had lately been surveyed by Captain Warde, who had found the entrance of the harbour much narrower than had been supposed. The fortifications were, however, formidable in the extreme, the batteries defending the town bristling with several tiers of heavy guns, while powerful forts commanded the approaches. On the mole alone were upwards of 200 guns, and altogether 500 guns, few being smaller than 24-pounders, defended the piratic city. On reaching Gibraltar, Lord Exmouth found a Dutch squadron, Vice-Admiral Van de Cappellon, who entreated leave to co-operate with him, commanding it. After some delay owing to contrary winds, on the 14th of August the English and Dutch fleets, accompanied by several additional gunboats, sailed for Algiers. On their way they met the Prometheus sloop of war, Captain Dashwood, which had on board the wife, daughter, and infant child of the British consul, Mr McDonnell. The two ladies, disguised in midshipmen’s uniforms, had with great difficulty escaped, but as they were passing through the gateway the infant, who had been concealed in a basket, uttering a cry, was detained and carried to the dey. It should be recorded as a solitary instance of his humanity that it was sent off the next morning to its mother by the dey. The surgeon of the Prometheus with three midshipmen and the crews of two boats, consisting in all of eighteen persons, had been detained.

The fleet being becalmed, Lord Exmouth sent a lieutenant in one of the Queen Charlotte’s boats with a flag of truce to the dey, demanding the immediate liberation of the British consul and the people belonging to the Prometheus, the abolition of Christian slavery, the delivery of all Christian slaves in the Algerine state, and the repayment of the money exacted for the redemption of Neapolitan and Sardinian slaves, and peace with the King of the Netherlands. Before the answer had been received, a breeze sprung up, and the fleet standing in to the harbour, the ships took up their appointed positions before the city. The Queen Charlotte made herself fast to the main-mast of a brig on shore close to the mole. Near her lay the Leander, while the other ships arranged themselves to bring their guns to bear on different parts of the city, the lighter vessels bringing up abreast of any openings they could find in the line of battle. Scarcely had the Queen Charlotte brought up, when a shot was fired at her from the city, followed by two other guns, when Lord Exmouth seeing a large body of soldiers standing on the parapet of the mole, watching the ships, mercifully waved his hand to them to make their escape, and as they were leaping down, the Queen Charlotte opened her starboard broadside, the other ships following her example. So admirably were her guns served that her third broadside completely levelled the south end of the mole, when, changing her position, she attacked the batteries over the town-gate, and brought the guns on it tumbling over the battlements. Soon after this an Algerine frigate was boarded by the flag-ship’s barge, under Lieutenant Richards, and her crew driven overboard. Till about ten at night the ships kept up a furious fire at the town and forts; and by this time all the Algerine ships and vessels within the harbour were burning, as were the arsenal and storehouses on the mole, while several parts of the city were in flames. A fire-ship, which had been prepared at Gibraltar, was now, under the conduct of Captain Herbert Powell, run on shore, close under the semicircular battery, to the northward of the lighthouse, and exploding, committed great damage to the enemy. At length, the fire from most of the forts being silenced, and the batteries on the mole being in a state of dilapidation, the ammunition of the attacking ships falling short, Lord Exmouth took advantage of a light air of wind off the land to cut his cables, and stand out of fire, ordering the other ships to follow his example. Severe as had been the punishment inflicted on the Algerines, the allied squadrons suffered considerably, the British having lost 128 killed and 690 wounded, and the Dutch 13 killed and 52 wounded; while many of the ships had had their masts injured, and the Impregnable and Leander had received numerous shot in their hulls—the first ship to the number of 233; an 18-pound shot had entered the bulwark, passed through the heart of the main-mast, and had gone out on the opposite side. The Algerines were said to have lost between 4000 and 7000 men. Next morning a boat was again sent on shore with a note to the dey, repeating the demands of the preceding morning. She was met by an Algerine officer, who declared that an answer, yielding to all demands, had been at once sent. Finally, the dey agreed to the terms, and upwards of 1200 Christian slaves were delivered up, besides the British consul and the people from the Prometheus, 30,000 dollars to the British consul for the destruction of his property, and an apology to him, the restoration of the 382,500 dollars for the slaves redeemed by Naples and Sicily, and peace with the King of the Netherlands.

Numerous promotions followed as rewards to the officers engaged in this most important expedition, the objects of which were so fully attained. As a proof of the disinterestedness of the British, it should be known that of all the slaves liberated few, if any, were English. The Dutch admiral and his officers behaved with the greatest gallantry, each ship taking up her position as close to the enemy’s batteries as she could get. It was the first time that wooden ships were fairly matched against stone walls; the result proved that, provided the ships can get close enough, the advantage will be on their side, unless the stone batteries are of far greater thickness than any that had hitherto been erected.

Severe as had been the lesson received, scarcely eight years had passed by before the Algerines had again sent their cruisers to sea. In consequence of this, Sir Harry B. Neale, then the British admiral in the Mediterranean, received directions to inflict a fresh punishment on them. Before proceeding to extremities, however, he despatched the Naiad, Captain Spencer, to destroy a large 16-gun piratical brig, which had taken shelter under the fortress of Bona. The service was performed in the most gallant way by Lieutenant Quin, first lieutenant of the Naiad, with her boats, he having pulled in under a tremendous fire from the fortress, boarded and blown up the brig. Sir Harry then appeared off the place with his squadron, and the dey, without the slightest resistance, yielded to all his demands.

Six years after this the French, landing a powerful army, captured the fortress by attacking it in the rear, and took possession of the country.

First War with Burmah—1826.

England had been at peace for nearly nine years, when the aggressions of the Burmese on the territories of the East India Company induced the Government to send an expedition into the Irrawaddy, a deep river which runs past Ava, the capital of the country, for several hundred miles into the sea, with many important places on its banks. British troops, under the command of Sir Archibald Campbell, and a small squadron, under the command of Commodore Grant in the Liffey, sailed for Rangoon. The other ships were the Larne, Commander Frederick Marryat, the Slaney, of 20 guns, and Sophie, an 18-gun brig, four of the Company’s cruisers, and a number of small craft to serve as gunboats.

Rangoon having been bombarded by the squadron, the troops landed, and drove the enemy, after some severe fighting, from their stockades. The English flotilla was actively engaged in capturing cargo-boats, which, being cut-down, served well for landing the troops. Captain Marryat, the celebrated novelist, on all occasions especially distinguished himself, showing that he could fight as well as write. Sickness, however, attacked both the seamen and soldiers. In a short time 749 of the latter had died, and thousands were in the hospital; while Commodore Grant and a large number of the seamen had also succumbed to disease. Captain Marryat having been promoted into the Tees, happily for himself, left the expedition. Captain Chads now commanded the squadron, to which, at the recommendation of Captain Marryat, the Diana steam-vessel had been added. Though she was unarmed—for at that time no one thought that steamers could carry guns—she was of great service during the harassing warfare in towing vessels and boats. Still the fever increased to an alarming degree, though some of the invalids when removed to places near the sea, and to floating hospitals, which were established at the mouth of the Rangoon river, recovered.

Though generally successful, the troops were repulsed in an attack upon the pagoda of Keykloo, with a loss of 21 officers and men killed, and 74 wounded, while 28, who had been made prisoners, were found fastened to the trunks of trees on the roadside, mangled and mutilated in the most horrible manner. Sir Archibald Campbell having determined to attack Rangoon, a flotilla of gun-vessels and a mortar-boat were sent up under Lieutenant Keele, the command of the land force being confided to Lieutenant-Colonel Godwin. Lieutenant Keele and those under him behaved most gallantly, destroying thirty of the enemy’s war-boats and opening a heavy fire on the stockades, while the troops stormed and carried the fortress. The Burmese were next driven from Kemerdine, a fortified village above Rangoon. Their war-boats gave considerable trouble, some of them being of large size and carrying a long 9-pounder apiece, with a crew of 76 oarsmen, besides warriors. A squadron of boats, however, captured a considerable number, sank others, and put the rest to flight. The steamer Diana, on board which several carronades had been placed, with a party of small-arm men, did good service under the command of Lieutenant Kellet. The enemy, not aware of the rapidity of her movements, were overtaken, and upwards of forty of their boats were captured.

Early in 1825 Captain Alexander, of the 28-gun frigate Alligator, arrived out and took command; but he was shortly superseded by Sir James Brisbane—he, however, having to leave the station on account of ill-health, Captain Chads again took the command of the flotilla. The army advanced, and the little squadron pushed up the river; Donabew and Proom were taken, on each occasion the squadron acting an important part. Meaday was next captured, and before the close of the year the force reached Melloone, which also quickly fell. Still pressing forward, the army and squadron arrived at Yandaboo, forty-five miles only from Ava—the Burmese, whenever they were met, being completely defeated. For nearly a year the naval officers and their men were away from their ships, rowing and tracking their boats by day against a rapid stream, and at night protected only by awnings, and often hard-pressed for provisions. For upwards of two months they were entirely destitute of fresh meat. Still, all behaved admirably. The defeat of his army, and the rapid approach of the British, at length induced the King of Ava to sue for peace; and Sir Archibald allowing him only ten hours to decide, he agreed to enter upon a commercial treaty upon the principles of reciprocal advantage, to send a minister to reside at Calcutta, to cede certain provinces conquered by the British, and to pay a million of money as an indemnity to the British, a large portion being immediately handed over. This was brought down the Irrawaddy, a distance of 600 miles, and conveyed to Calcutta by Captain Chads. The Companionship of the Bath was bestowed upon the leaders of the expedition, and all the lieutenants and passed midshipmen were promoted—an acknowledgment of the admirable way in which they had performed their duties during the long and arduous service in which they had been engaged.

The Second Burmese War—1851-52.

After a time the Burmese forgot the lesson they had received, and having frequently violated the treaty of 1826, it became necessary to bring them to order. An army of about 6000 men, under General Godwin, who had taken a leading part in the previous operations, was sent out; while the commander-in-chief on the Indian station despatched a small squadron, under the command of Commodore Lambert, of the Fox, 40 guns, with the Serpent, Rattler, Hermes, and Salamander, to which the East India Company added 13 steamers. A naval brigade was formed, and served on shore, under Lieutenant D’Orville, first of the Fox. Most of the places which had before been taken had again to be attacked, and were captured much in the same way as before, though not without severe fighting. The squadron was further increased by the arrival of the Winchester, Captain Loch. Whereas before only one steamer belonged to the squadron, it now consisted of a number of well-armed steam-vessels, suited for the navigation of shallow waters. The boats belonging to the ships co-operated on all occasions, while the troops were carried to their destinations by the steamers.

A most important expedition was sent up the river Irrawaddy under the command of Captain Tarleton, on board the Medusa. He had with him three Company’s steamers. They proceeded to Konnoughee, a short distance below Proom, where a strong force, which appeared on shore, was put to flight by the shells thrown from the vessels. Higher up they found a Burmese army of 10,000 men assembled to guard the passage to Proom and the capital. The river here divides into two channels, one of which the Burmese believed to be too shallow for the passage of the steamers. Captain Tarleton, however, having ascertained that there was water enough for his vessels, pushed through it during the night, leaving the Burmese general and his army in the rear, and by daylight came off Proom. As there were no troops to defend the place, he carried off a number of heavy guns from a battery at the south end of the town. The iron ones were sunk in deep water, and the brass taken on board, to the number of twenty-three. Captain Tarleton had been directed merely to explore the river, or within four days he might have appeared before Ava, and in all probability have captured the city. On his return he was attacked by a large flotilla of war-boats, forty or fifty of which he either captured or destroyed. In consequence of his report, a body of troops was sent up the river on board steamers to Proom, which was quickly captured. Several other expeditions were made up the river, most of them under the command of Captain Granville Loch. Unhappily, he led one on shore against a robber-chieftain, Mya-Toon, who with other chiefs of the same character, had been committing depredations in all directions. The party consisted of about 300 men of the 67th Bengal Native Infantry, 62 marines and 185 seamen, with 25 officers. Having landed at Donabew, they marched inland through a jungle till they reached the robber’s fortress. Before it was an abattis of sharply-pointed bamboos, the road being so narrow that it was impossible to deploy the whole strength of the column. Concealed by their breast-works, the Burmese opened a murderous fire on the British force. In vain Captain Loch endeavoured to force his way across the nullah or trench. At length he fell mortally wounded, while several other officers and a considerable number of men were killed and wounded. At length Commander Lambert, on whom the command devolved, gave the order to his followers to retire. The two field-pieces they carried with them were spiked, and the carriages destroyed, and they commenced their march back to Donabew, carrying their wounded companions, but they were compelled to leave the dead on the field. They were bravely covered by the grenadier company of the 67th, who kept the enemy at a distance till, almost worn out, after twelve hours’ march, they reached their boats. The gallant Captain Loch expired on board the Phlegethon about forty hours after he had received his wound.

This disaster had no effect on the war, and the Burmese monarch being defeated at all points, agreed to open the Irrawaddy to British trade, and, shorn of much of his power, he has since remained at peace with England.

Battle of Navarino—1827.

Unhappy Greece had long groaned under the tyranny of the Turkish yoke, her efforts to throw it off having proved unavailing, and been crushed by the most barbarous cruelty; when at length, in 1827, England, France, and Russia combined to emancipate her, the latter influenced by other motives than those of humanity. Vice-Admiral Sir Edward Codrington was appointed to the command of the British squadron in the Mediterranean, and he was directed to mediate between the contending parties. As he was about to leave England, he received, as it was said, a hint from the Lord High Admiral how he was to conduct his negotiations, with the memorable words, “Go it, Ned!” The French and Russian squadrons, which afterwards joined him, were placed under his command. Sir Edward, on inquiring from Sir Stratford Canning how he was to act, received the following reply: “You are not to take part with either of the belligerents, but you are to interpose your forces between them, and to keep the peace with your speaking-trumpet if possible; but in case of necessity, with that which is used for the maintenance of a blockade against friends as well as foes—I mean force;” and he further added, “When all other means are exhausted, by cannon-shot.”

The harbour of Navarino is in the form of a horse-shoe, about six miles in circumference, with an island stretching across it, the only passage into it being about six hundred yards wide. The Turco-Egyptian army was encamped on the mainland, close to the fortress of Navarino, while on the opposite side was a strong fort, mounting 125 guns. Within this bay the Turkish and Egyptian fleets, consisting of 3 ships of the line, 4 double frigates, and 13 frigates, and a large number of corvettes, brigs, and other small craft, besides a number of transports, were at anchor, drawn up in the form of a crescent. Sir Edward Codrington’s flag was on board the Asia, of 80 guns. He had with him the Genoa and Albion, seventy-fours, the Glasgow, 50, the Cambrian, 48, the Dartmouth, 46, and the Talbot, 28 guns, besides a corvette, 4 brigs, and the Hind cutter, tender to the Asia. The French had 4 line-of-battle ships, a frigate, and 2 corvettes, and the Russians about the same number. The allied fleet was therefore superior to that of the Turks, except in point of numbers. The combined fleet being formed in two columns, the British and French in the weather or starboard line, and the Russians in the lee line, entered the harbour. The Asia led, followed by the Genoa and Albion, and anchored close alongside a ship of the line, bearing the flag of the Capitan Bey, another ship of the line, and a large double-banked frigate, each thus having their opponent in the front line of the Turkish fleet. The French squadron was directed to attack the Turks to leeward, and the Russian to fill up the interval, while the English brigs were to look after six fire-vessels at the entrance of the harbour. Positive orders were given that not a shot should be fired unless the Turks set the example. The first three English ships were permitted to pass the batteries, and to moor without any act of hostility taking place. A boat, however, was sent shortly afterwards from the Dartmouth to request the Turkish fire-vessels to move farther out of the way, when Lieutenant Fitzroy and several of her crew were shot at and killed. On this the Dartmouth and the French admiral’s ship opened a fire of musketry on the Turkish vessel, when one of the Egyptian ships fired a cannon-shot, which was immediately answered by the Dartmouth’s broadside. The ships opposed to the Asia, however, did not for some time fire, and Sir Edward sent a pilot on board the Egyptian admiral’s ship to express his desire of avoiding bloodshed, when, as he was alongside, he was killed by some of the Egyptian crew, and soon afterwards his ship fired into the Asia. The action now became general. The Turks fought with the greatest bravery, but their ships, one after the other, were quickly destroyed, several blowing up. Two of the fire-ships were soon in flames, a third blew up, and a fourth was sunk by the Philomel. A gallant officer, Lieutenant Maine Lyons, a brother of Sir Edmund Lyons, afterwards Lord Lyons, belonging to the Rose corvette, was mortally wounded while endeavouring to tow a fire-ship in flames clear of the French Armide. Commodore Bathurst of the Genoa was also mortally wounded, after having previously been severely hurt by a splinter soon after the commencement of the action. One of the Turkish ships fell foul of the Albion, when the crew of the former attempted to board, but being repulsed, the Turk was boarded instead by Lieutenant John Drake, who compelled her crew to cry for quarter. Unhappily, before he could rescue some Greek prisoners in her hold, she burst into flames, when he was compelled to retire, and her cables being cut by one of the Albion’s midshipmen, she drifted clear of that ship and soon afterwards blew up. Among the many acts of gallantry was one performed by Lieutenant Robb, in command of the Hind cutter. She had arrived after the commencement of the action, when entering the bay she took up a raking position at about the distance of forty yards across the stern of a large frigate, and opened a rapid fire. After remaining here for three-quarters of an hour, and receiving the fire of various smaller vessels, her cable was cut by a shot, and she drifted between a large corvette and a brig, which she engaged till the brig blew up. Her last cable being cut, she drifted into the hottest part of the action, till her main-boom ran into one of the main-deck ports of a Turkish frigate, the crew of which made several attempts to board her, but were repulsed by Lieutenant Robb and his crew. The Turks after some time sent a large strongly-manned boat to attack the cutter. Just as the boat got alongside the Hind two carronades, charged with grape and canister, fired into her by the latter, knocked her to pieces. The cutter after this fortunately drifting clear of the frigate, escaped the destruction which might have been her fate. Besides receiving numerous round-shot in her hull, she lost a master’s mate and 3 men killed, and a midshipman and 9 men wounded. Every ship in the squadron behaved well, and was ably supported by the Russians and French. A small number only of the Turco-Egyptian fleet escaped destruction, though it was larger than Sir Edward Codrington had at first supposed. The very doubtful advantage gained by the action was purchased at the heavy loss of 75 killed, including several valuable officers, and 195 wounded, while the French and Russians together lost still more. The usual rewards were bestowed on the victors; though a new ministry coming in, the action was spoken of in the royal speech as “that untoward event.” However, its ultimate result undoubtedly was the liberation of Greece from the Turkish yoke. Another result was the suppression of the office of Lord High Admiral by the Duke of Wellington, who, on becoming Prime Minister, requested the Duke of Clarence to resign, finding that his royal highness, having a will of his own, was not sufficiently subservient to the government. To the credit of our sailor-king, he never exhibited the least ill-feeling in consequence towards the duke for this apparent slight.

Warfare in Syria with Mahomet Ali.

Mahomet Ali, who, from a common soldier, had raised himself to a high command in the Turkish army, having been sent to Egypt, had deposed the pacha of that province and slipped into his shoes. Nothing stopped him in his ambitious career. Finding the Mamelukes troublesome, he invited about 500, all he could collect, to a feast in the citadel of Cairo, where, with the exception of one chief, who leaped his horse over a high wall and escaped, he caused the whole band to be massacred. Consolidating his power, he made himself independent of the Ottoman Empire, and began to consider the possibility of mounting the throne of the caliphs. To effect this object he assembled a large army, which he sent under his adopted son, Ibrahim Pacha, into Syria. Ibrahim Pacha, on his successful march northward, was encouraged, it is supposed, by the French, when England, with Prussia, Austria, and Russia, thought it time to interfere. The Turks were almost helpless. A large army sent against Ibrahim Pacha had been defeated, and the Turkish fleet had joined that of the Egyptians. The four powers now sent an ultimatum to Mahomet Ali, offering him the hereditary sovereignty of Egypt, and the pachalia of Saint Jean d’Acre for life, provided he would withdraw his troops from Syria, notifying that if he refused he would be compelled to assent by force of arms. Mahomet replied that the territories he had won with the sword he would defend with the sword. An English fleet was accordingly sent out to the Mediterranean under the command of Admiral Sir Robert Stopford, who was joined by some Austrian and Turkish ships, and the ports of Syria and Egypt were blockaded. Captain Charles Napier was appointed to the Powerful, as commodore, with the Ganges, Thunderer, Edinburgh, Castor, and Gorgon under his command. On fitting out the Powerful at Portsmouth, he had the following characteristic announcement placarded on the walls: “Wanted active seamen for the Powerful, Captain Napier. The Powerful is a fine ship, and in the event of a war will not fail to take her own part.” Captain Napier’s character being well known, the Powerful soon obtained an efficient crew.

The attitude taken up by France was so doubtful that it was expected that at any moment war might break out, and the officers of the British squadron were cautioned to be on their guard against surprise. It was, indeed, the most exciting time since the last war. While Sir Robert Stopford was blockading Alexandria, Napier’s squadron anchored off Beyrout on the 12th of August, 1840. At this time Suleiman Pacha, at the head of 15,000 Egyptian troops, occupied Beyrout. Ibrahim was at Balbec with 10,000 more; the garrison of Sidon consisted of 3000 men, that in Tripoli of 5000, while between 40,000 and 50,000 Egyptians were scattered through various parts of Syria. A small Turkish squadron had been fitted out and placed under the command of Captain Baldwin Walker, who was known as Walker Bey. After Napier had been employed some time in examining the coast, Admiral Stopford, who was commander-in-chief of the land as well as sea forces of the allies, in consequence of the illness of Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Charles Smith, appointed him to take the direction of the military force on shore. This was much to the taste of Napier, who was as fond of fighting on land as at sea. Heading the troops on a small pony, in his usual free and easy dress, he carried all before him, and the Egyptian troops being put to flight, the mountaineers crowded in numbers under the standard of the sultan. It was determined to bombard Beyrout; the bombardment of Algiers had shown what could be done against stone walls. A new power was now introduced into naval warfare—a considerable number of steam-ships being among the fleet. They were the Gorgon, Cyclops, Vesuvius, Hydra, Phoenix, and Confiance. At that time little confidence was placed in them as vessels of war, though it was acknowledged that they might prove useful in towing line-of-battle ships into action, or in acting as despatch-boats, or as transports for throwing troops on shore at any particular point.

On the refusal of Suleiman Pacha to yield up Beyrout, the bombardment commenced, and continued for several days. In the meantime the Carysfort, Captain Martin, with the Dido, followed by the Cyclops steamer, with a body of 220 marines and 150 mountaineers, was despatched to attack the strong castle of D’jebl, to the northward. The ships having bombarded the place for an hour, a body of seaman under Captain Austin, and some marines, under Captain Robinson, were landed, protected by the fire of the ships, and proceeded to the assault. They advanced with their usual gallantry, but when they had got within thirty yards of the strong and lofty towers, a destructive fire was opened on them from a crenelated outwork, with a deep ditch in front. In vain the commanding officers looked for some part of the castle which might prove practicable; the muzzles of the enemy’s muskets were alone visible through the loop-holes. As the men were falling rapidly without a prospect of success, it became necessary to draw them off, it being evident that the place could not betaken until a breach had been made in the walls, though the immense solidity of the building prevented much hope of this being done. As the party were on the point of re-embarking, it was discovered that an English flag, which had been planted on a garden wall by the pilot of the Cyclops as a signal to the ships, had been left behind. On this Lieutenant Grenfell, and McDonald, a seaman of the Cyclops, undertook to bring it off, and set out on their hazardous expedition. They were seen from the decks of the ships, and their object being understood, were watched with intense anxiety. Pushing on amid the bullets levelled at them, they reached the garden wall, seized the flagstaff, and escaping the bullets, hastened to the shore. Loud cheers greeted them as they returned on board uninjured with their prize. The next morning it was found that the garrison had evacuated the castle. Five marines were killed in the attack, and eighteen men wounded, including Lieutenant Gifford, R.N., and Lieutenant Adair, of the marines.

Beyrout still held out in spite of the battering it was receiving. Suleiman Pacha proved that he was as courteous as he was brave, for the Indian mail arriving by way of Bagdad, he ordered a flag of truce to be hoisted, and on a boat being sent on shore, delivered the mail, with a polite message, assuring the British that all letters to and from India should be carefully forwarded. Admiral Stopford immediately sent in a letter of thanks to the pacha, and accompanied it with some cases of wine which had been seized in an Egyptian vessel directed to Suleiman, rightly conjecturing that it would not prove an unwelcome present.

Firing was then resumed. Information having been brought by an Egyptian gunner, a deserter, that a train had been laid along the bridge to the eastern castle, where a large quantity of powder was concealed, he undertook to guide a party to cut the train and seize the powder. Commander Worth, who immediately offered to perform this dangerous service, was joined by numerous volunteers. The party embarked in one of the boats of the Hastings, and, protected by the Edinburgh’s launch and pinnace, as well as by the fire from the ships, dashed on in face of a heavy fire of musketry, and landed on the bridge. Having succeeded in cutting off the train, they forced their way into the castle, over the walls of which they threw some sixty or seventy casks of powder, and succeeded in bringing off upwards of thirty more. In this exploit, unfortunately, a midshipman of the Hastings, Mr Luscombe, was killed, and the Egyptian guide, with three seamen, were wounded.

Commodore Napier, at the head of his marines and Turks, had a gallant skirmish on the Kelbson, or Dog River, when he dispersed the Egyptian forces, and took between 400 and 500 prisoners. Next day he returned on board his ship.

While talking with Sir Robert Stopford on the 25th of September, he remarked that Sidon was not yet in our possession, and, according to an article in the Malta Times, said to the admiral, “If you like, I will go down and take it, and be back in eight and forty hours.” He started with the Thunderer, Cyclops, Gorgon, and Hydra, with 500 marines and 800 Turks. On his way he fell in with the Stromboli, from England, with a detachment of 200 marines. These he took with him, and after firing shot and shell at the town for a couple of hours, he made a breach and landed at the head of his men. The struggle was a sharp one, but after a great number of the enemy, who would neither give nor receive quarter, had been killed, as well as the Egyptian commander, who, although the bayonets of two marines were at his breast, resisted, the Egyptian troops, to the number of 500, threw down their arms. Fifteen thousand were afterwards taken. The commodore put himself at the head of the British marines, and breaking into the barracks, as soon as Captain Henderson and another party had lodged themselves in a house above the building, he marched his battalion along the wall from the upper gate, waving his hat at the point of his sword, and cheering on his men, and seized the castle. Among other acts of gallantry must be mentioned a race which took place from the spot where they landed, between Mr James Hunt, a midshipman of the Stromboli, and Senhor Dominica Chinca, a midshipman of the Austrian frigate Guerriera, each striving who should first plant his colours on the walls of the town. It was won by the English reefer. Without in any way detracting from Mr Hunt’s gallantry, it is right to state that Lieutenant Anderson, of the marines, had already planted a Union Jack nearly on the same spot, but which he had afterwards carried to a higher part of the town. The Turkish troops were gallantly led by their colonel, accompanied by Walker Bey and Captain Austin, under a heavy fire, as were the English marines under Captain Whylock and Lieutenants Anderson and Hockins, the latter, who had just landed from England, being unfortunately killed. The Egyptians held out till their leader was killed, when nearly 2000 laid down their arms. The remainder retired through the streets, pursued by the attacking parties, and at length took refuge in a vaulted barrack, where upwards of a thousand men were found lying down ready for a sortie. They at once yielded, and thus in five hours from the commencement of the bombardment, Sidon was captured. The total loss to the allies and Austrians was 4 killed and 21 wounded, while only 12 Turks were wounded.

At what is called the Battle of Boharsof, Commodore Napier, with his gallant aides-de-camp, Lieutenants Bradley and Duncan, and Mr Pearn, master of the Powerful, at the head of his Turks and marines, attacked Ibrahim Pacha, posted in the neighbourhood of Mount Lebanon, among rugged and almost inaccessible rocks. The Egyptians’ position was stormed, and Ibrahim’s army took to flight, he, with a few men, escaping, and leaving 600 or 700 prisoners in the hands of the victors. Beyrout, in consequence of this victory, was abandoned, and taken possession of by the Turks. Thus the gallant old commodore, in about a month, freed nearly the whole of the Lebanon, took 500 prisoners, and gained over an equal number of deserters.

On the 17th of September Caiffa was bombarded and captured by the Castor and Pique, and a Turkish frigate, under Captain Collier. By the same ships, in a similar manner, Tyre was taken on the 24th, without the loss of a man. On the 25th of September Tortosa was attacked by Captain Houston Stuart, commanding the Benbow, in company with the Carysfort and Zebra, he having been informed that a large quantity of provisions was stored in the place, and should they be destroyed the troops in the neighbourhood must evacuate the country, and leave open the communication with the mountains, whose inhabitants were anxious to join the Turks. Unfortunately, when the boats were sent on shore to storm the place, it was found that a reef of rocks, or a sunken mole, would allow only the smaller ones to reach the beach. A gallant party, under Lieutenants Charlwood and Maitland, with scarcely thirty men, were able to get on shore, and both they and the larger boats were exposed to a heavy fire of musketry from numerous loop-holes and crevices from the fortress. Lieutenant Charlwood having broken open several stores, which he in vain attempted to set on fire, the ammunition of the marines, who had followed Lieutenant Maitland, being wet, they were ordered by Captain Stuart to retire. In this disastrous affair 5 were killed and 17 wounded.

The celebrated fortress of Saint Jean d’Acre, which, when held by Sir Sidney Smith, had resisted the arms of Napoleon, had been captured by Ibrahim Pacha in 1837, and still held out. Sir Robert Stopford having received orders to attack it, the ships of the allied fleet proceeded thither, and arrived off it on the 2nd of November. They consisted of the Princess Charlotte, of 104 guns, the Powerful and Thunderer, 84, Bellerophon, 80, Revenge, 76, Benbow and Edinburgh, 72, Castor, frigate, 36, and the Carysfort, 26, the Gorgon, Phoenix, Stromboli, and Vesuvius, steam-frigates, and the Austrian flag-ship, an Austrian frigate and corvette, and the Turkish flag-ship, an 84. Rear-Admiral Walker—the Pique and Talbot frigates, the Hasard, 18-gun sloop, and the Wasp, 16-gun brig—had been there for some days. The fortress of Acre stands on a point of land, thus presenting two sides to the sea, one facing the east, and the other the south-east. In consequence of this, it was necessary that the squadron should attack in two divisions. Sir Robert Stopford went on board the Phoenix to superintend the attack. Napier led the way in the Powerful to the northward, closely followed by the Princess Charlotte, Thunderer, Bellerophon, and Pique, while Captain Collier, of the Castor, commanded on the south. The Powerful, followed by the other ships, having got round a shoal which lies off the city, bore up and ran along shore towards the north angle, anchoring about 700 yards distant from the sea wall, considerably inside the buoys which had been laid down to assist the ships in taking up their stations. As the ships successively brought up, they opened a tremendous fire on the batteries and sea wall, where the shot was so well directed that it would have been almost impossible for any human beings to have stood their ground. The Egyptians, supposing that the ships would anchor close to the buoys, had pointed their guns too high; consequently most of their shot flew over the decks of the ships, wounding chiefly the rigging and spars, while the clouds of smoke which immediately enveloped the fleet prevented them from remedying their mistake. The Revenge had been ordered to keep under way as a reserve, but Napier signalled to her to take up a position ahead of him, to attack a heavy battery of five guns. This Captain Waldegrave did in gallant style.

In the meantime Captain Collier’s squadron were engaging the batteries on the south, well supported by the Austrians, and Admiral Walker, who, running inside all the squadron, took up a warm berth abreast of a new and strong work. The steamers were not idle, as they kept up a hot fire of shot and shell, doing much execution. While the fleet were thus engaged, an incessant roar showing the rapidity of the firing, and clouds of smoke filling the air, a thundering sound was heard—for an instant the whole fortress was illumined with an intense blaze of light, which was as suddenly succeeded by a dense cloud of smoke, dust, bursting shells, and large fragments of stone hurled upwards and in every direction. The principal magazine, containing many thousand barrels of gunpowder, had exploded, in consequence, as was supposed, of a shell having been thrown into it by one of the steam-ships. A large number of the garrison were blown up by the explosion, and many more probably were buried amid the ruins. Notwithstanding this catastrophe, the five guns opposed to the Revenge continued their fire, and kept it up to the last. About sunset the signal was made to discontinue the engagement, but Napier fired away for some time after dusk, lest the enemy should be tempted to re-man their guns. At length the admiral’s flag-lieutenant brought an order for the ships to withdraw. The Revenge, slipping her anchor, made sail without difficulty. The Princess Charlotte picked up both hers and made sail, but, casting the wrong way, nearly got on shore. She was, however, conducted in a most seamanlike manner, not a word being heard on board her. The Powerful was towed out by the Gorgon. The Thunderer and Bellerophon, as also the southern squadron, remained at anchor.

During the night a boat brought off information that the Egyptian troops were leaving the town, and, in consequence, at daylight, 300 Turks and a party of Austrian marines landed and took unopposed possession of it. The casualties of the allies amounted to only 14 English and 14 Turks killed, and 42 wounded. Notwithstanding the long continued fire to which the ships had been exposed, they escaped with slight damage. The havoc caused by the bombardment on the walls and houses was very great, while it was calculated that the explosion had destroyed between one and two thousand persons, two entire regiments being annihilated, with a number of animals. On the 4th another explosion took place, by which a marine was killed, and Captain Collier had his leg fractured.

This was the first occasion on which the advantages of steam had been fully proved in battle, by the rapidity with which the steamers took up their positions, and the assistance they rendered to the other ships, as also by the destruction the shells thrown from them produced. The survivors of the garrison, amounting to 3000, were taken prisoners, while nearly 200 guns and mortars and field-pieces were captured. Ibrahim’s army, which in September had amounted to 75,000 men, had now dwindled to 20,000, who, hard-pressed, were making their way back to Egypt. On the fall of Acre, Napier proceeded to Alexandria, where he entered into a convention with Mahomet Ali, who agreed to evacuate Syria and to restore the Turkish fleet as soon as he had received final notification that the sultan would grant him the hereditary government of Egypt, which, the Turkish fleet being given up, the sultan soon afterwards did. On the return of the Powerful to the fleet, before proceeding to Malta, the ships manned the rigging and cheered, the bands playing “Charlie is my darling.”

This terminated the duties of the fleet on the coast of Syria.

Chapter Eighteen.

First War with China, and efforts to suppress the Slave-Trade—A.D. 1840.

The Chinese had long designated the English, as well as all other Europeans, the “outer barbarians,” and treated them in the most insulting manner. At length the Chinese government, finding that silver alone was given in exchange for opium, was afraid that the country would be drained of that precious metal, and resolved to put a stop to the importation of the drug. Commissioner Lin was sent to Canton for that purpose, and, to prove that he was in earnest, he ordered the first Chinese opium smuggler he could catch to be strangled, shut up the British merchants in their factories, and then demanded the delivery of all the opium ships in the river. At the same time the British flag was fired on, British ships were detained, and a Chinaman having been accidentally killed by a British seaman, the life of a British subject was demanded in return. Captain Elliott, R.N., acting at that time as chief superintendent of trade, immediately sent home an account of the state of affairs, summing up altogether a long list of complaints against the Chinese. On receipt of the news a squadron was sent out of 3 seventy-fours, 2 forty-fours, 3 38-gun frigates, and several sloops of war and brigs, which, on their arrival, were joined by 4 of the East India Company’s armed steamers, and to meet them on their arrival about 4000 troops were despatched from India. Before this the Volage and Hyacinth, while lying in Canton River, had a sharp engagement with a fleet of war-junks, under the Chinese Admiral Kwang. Gallantly as Kwang behaved, in a short time one of his junks blew up, three sank, several were shattered and deserted by their crews, and the remainder fled in the greatest confusion, Kwang’s junk being in a sinking condition. Captain Smith, not wishing to cause any unnecessary bloodshed, retired with his ships to Macao, where he embarked a number of British residents. Kwang, in consequence, boasted that he had gained a great victory, and was covered with honours, his countrymen being encouraged to persevere in the contest. The Chinese also issued a proclamation offering 20,000 Spanish dollars to any one who would capture an English 80-gun ship, and 5000 dollars to the man who took alive a foreign mandarin or captain, and so on in proportion to the rank of the captives; while a third of the sum was to be paid for killing them. The Chinese, determined to resist, prepared fire-ships, exercised their troops, and got up sham fights, dressing some of their men in red clothes, who were always soundly beaten, to teach the Celestials to conquer the barbarian English. They had likewise purchased the Cambridge, an old East Indiaman, of 900 tons, and armed her with thirty-four guns, and had built some curious craft with paddle-wheels, in imitation of English steamers. It was said even that they had funnels, with fires below them to create a smoke, in order to deceive the barbarians. They also threw up forts along the banks of their rivers, sometimes facing them with thin boards or canvas, painted to look like stone, in order to frighten their invaders.

A considerable squadron, under the command of Rear-Admiral Elliott, in the Melville, 74, now arrived. When at Singapore, Captain Maitland had drilled 350 of her seamen to act as light-infantry troops, and had brought them into an admirable state of efficiency. While one part of the fleet blockaded the mouth of the Canton River, the remainder proceeded to the northward to look into different harbours. On her way the Blonde came off Amoa, near which she observed batteries thrown up, and in a short time a number of large armed junks came down as if to attack her. On a boat being sent on shore with a flag of truce, she was fired on by the Chinese. On this the Blonde opened her broadsides, soon knocked the forts to pieces, and compelled the war-junks to run up the harbour.

The Wellesley, with a part of the squadron, then appeared off Chusan. Commodore Bremer was in hopes that his overwhelming force would induce the Chinese to yield, but their fleet was commanded by a tough old admiral, who, ignorant of the power of the English, had no intention of doing so without a fight. During the night the Chinese were seen by the light of thousands of painted lanterns throwing up embankments, and placing fresh guns in position, while numberless merchant-junks, loaded with goods, women, and children, were observed making their way down the river to escape. After giving the Chinese several opportunities of negotiating for peace, the Wellesley opened her fire. It was answered by the whole of the Chinese line of defence. The rest of the fleet than began bombarding the place, and in seven or eight minutes it was reduced to ruins. On the smoke clearing away, the principal battery was seen to be knocked to pieces, as were four war-junks, a few wounded men only being visible, among whom was the brave old admiral, who had lost his leg from a round-shot. On the troops being landed, possession was taken of the abandoned fortifications, and the British flag floated on the first military position in the Chinese Empire captured by her majesty’s forces. An inner fortress was, however, discovered, from which the Chinese soldiers which crowded it, opened their fire, beating their tom-toms and gongs, waving banners, and beckoning the English to attack. A few shells having been thrown into it, the Chinese evacuated the place during the night, and with many of the inhabitants fled into the country. Several persons were found to have been killed, and the governor of the town drowned himself in despair. Chusan was held for some months, at the cost of the lives of many of the soldiers, who suffered from the poisonous exhalations from the paddy-fields, having nothing to do to employ their minds; while the seamen of the Melville, which had been hove down for repairs, kept their health during the six weeks they were employed on her. The squadron got as far north as the great wall of China. On the passage the Pylades corvette, Captain Anson, fell in with three junks. As his boats ranged up alongside of them, upwards of 100 men, who had been concealed, started up and commenced firing and hurling spears and stink-pots on the crews. On this the British shoved off to a short distance, and pouring in some well-directed volleys, killed half the pirates, the remainder jumping overboard and making for the shore—though many were drowned. The other two junks escaped.

One of the favourite exploits of the Chinese was to kidnap the English. A Madras officer of artillery, Captain Anstruther, had been carried off while taking a survey near Chusan. The crew of a merchant-vessel, the Kite, wrecked on the coast, and Mrs Noble, the captain’s wife, were also captured. Near Macao a Mr Staunton had been been carried away, on which Captain Smith, then the senior officer on the station, sent to demand his release. It being refused, and the Chinese being observed strengthening the barrier which runs across the isthmus, joining Macao to the mainland, he considered it probable that the enemy would attack the city. Taking, therefore, the Larne and Hyacinth, with the Enterprise steamer and Louisa cutter, he ran up close to the barrier and opened so warm a cannonade on the Chinese works and barracks, that the enemy’s fire was silenced in about an hour. Some blue-jacket small-arm men and soldiers being then disembarked, they drove the Chinese from every one of their positions, spiked the guns, and burnt the barracks and other buildings. This was the last hostile proceeding of the British in the year 1840. The Chinese, wishing to gain time, induced Admiral Elliott to agree to a truce, shortly after which he resigned command from ill-health, and returned to England, leaving Sir Gordon Bremer as commander-in-chief. At the commencement of 1841 the squadron was further increased by the arrival of the Nemesis steamer, commanded by Mr W.H. Hall, then a master in the navy, and the Sulphur, Commander Belcher. The Nemesis, though not commissioned under the articles of war, most of her officers were in the Royal Navy; but she belonged to the East India Company. She was built by Mr Laird at Birkenhead, and although of about 630 tons burden, with engines of 120 horse-power, with all her armament complete, she drew only 6 feet of water. Her extreme length was 184 feet, her breadth 29 feet, and her depth 11 feet. She had no fixed keel, and was almost perfectly flat-bottomed. She had, however, two sliding or movable keels, made of wood, each about 7 feet in length, one being placed before and the other abaft the engine-room, and, being enclosed in narrow cases reaching to the deck, they could be raised or lowered at will by means of a winch. With the exception of the great paddle-beams across the ship, the planks of the deck, and the cabin fittings, with a few other portions, she was built entirely of iron. As, from her form, she could not have been steered by an ordinary rudder, a movable rudder was attached to the lower part of the true or fixed rudder, descending to the same depth as the two false keels, and, like them, could be raised or lowered at pleasure. Another striking peculiarity of her construction was that she was divided into seven water-tight compartments by means of iron bulkheads, so that, in fact, she resembled a number of iron tanks cased over, a contrivance which saved her from the almost certain destruction which would otherwise have been her lot. By some cleverly-contrived lee-boards her leeway, under sail, was reduced fully one-half. It was found, however, that the want of a fixed keel was a great detriment to her seaworthy qualities.

After a voyage, during which she encountered many dangers, she arrived safely in China, the first iron steamer which had ever performed so long a voyage. From her shallow draft of water she was enabled to play a conspicuous part in most of the operations in the Chinese seas.

Finding that the Chinese, though carrying on negotiations, were making strenuous preparations for war, Sir Gordon Bremer resolved to attack Canton. The entrance of the Canton River is called the Boca Tigris, on either side of which were lines of defences known as the Bogue Forts, supposed to be of great strength. These it was necessary to silence. The marines and other troops were sent on shore to assault the fort of Chuenpee, on the land side, while the ships battered it from the sea. The fort having been attacked by the troops, many of the Chinese were shot, and a large number, not aware that quarter would be granted, threw themselves from the battlements. Fort Tykocktow, on the opposite side of the river, was at the same time attacked by the Samarang, with three other vessels, and a breach being effected, the boats of the squadron, with a body of seamen, were sent on shore, who soon mastered the place. On the Chuenpee side was Anson’s Bay, at the entrance of a small river, here protected by an island at its mouth. A Chinese fleet of about 15 war-junks lay moored in shoal water, under the command of Admiral Kwang. The Nemesis, with the boats of several other ships, was joined by Captain Belcher, of the Sulphur, with two of his ship’s boats, and by Lieutenant Kellett, of the Starling, while the Nemesis soon got close enough to bring her 32-pounder pivot-guns to bear; and at the same time one of the Larne’s boats, under Lieutenant Harrison, made her way outside the island to cut off the junks in the rear. The first Congreve rocket fired from the Nemesis having entered a large junk near that of the admiral, she almost immediately blew up, pouring forth a blaze like the rush of fire from a volcano, and destroying all on board. This so terrified the Chinese that, after a few discharges of round-shot had been fired into other junks, the crews of many jumped overboard, while others cut their cables in the hopes of escaping on shore. Some were immediately captured, others escaped up the river, pursued by the Nemesis, which succeeded in bringing one down and burning another which had grounded.

The next day Admiral Kwang sent off a boat with a flag of truce, in which were an old man and woman, bearing proposals for the cessation of hostilities. They came to request Captain Elliott to meet Commissioner Keshen, who finally agreed that the island of Hong-Kong should be ceded to the British, on condition that the Bogue Forts should be given up, and that, on the English captives being set at liberty, Chusan should be evacuated. To these terms Captain Elliott, the superintendent of trade, agreed, and Hong-Kong was taken possession of on the 26th of January. These terms having been rejected by the emperor, the fleet proceeded, on the 26th of February, to the attack of the remainder of the Bogue Forts. Their defenders were either put to flight or yielded themselves prisoners, and in a short time the British colours were flying on the whole chain of those celebrated works. The next day, the 27th, the light squadron, consisting of the Calliope and Herald, and the Alligator, Sulphur, Modeste, Madagascar, and Nemesis steamers, under Captain Herbert, were sent up to destroy any fortifications they might meet with. On reaching Whampoa Roads, a large armed fort, mounting 47 guns, was seen on the left bank, and extending across the river was a line of rafts secured to sunken junks, on the other side of which were forty large junks and the Cambridge, carrying the admiral’s flag. The steamer pushing on, opened a heavy fire on the Chinese fleet, as well as on the batteries. For about an hour the Chinese held out, and when their fire was nearly silenced, the marines and small-arm men being landed, stormed the works, driving before them upwards of 2000 Chinese troops, and killing nearly 300. The Cambridge and some of the junks still held out, when Lieutenant Watson, first of the Calliope, having gallantly succeeded in dragging one of the boats across the raft, launched her on the other side. As soon as she was in the water, Mr Brown, master of the Calliope, Mr Hall and Mr Galbraith, of the Nemesis, and Mr Saint Leger, got into her with nine or ten men, and pulled away for the Cambridge. So confused were the Chinese that, as the boarding party climbed up on the port side, they jumped overboard on the other, and many were drowned in attempting to swim on shore. A number of dead and wounded were found on her decks. As she was an old ship, she was doomed to destruction, and the wounded being removed, she was set on fire, and soon afterwards blew up with a terrific explosion, the sound of which must have reached Canton. Numerous other forts were destroyed in succession, as were also a considerable number of junks. The steamers had many difficulties to encounter, as thick stockades had been placed across the channel, through which they had to force their way. At length the squadron came to an anchor off Whampoa, when the Nemesis was despatched with a letter to the Chinese authorities. Captain Bethune having undertaken to deliver it, pushed off in a boat with a white flag, when a shower of grape and shot was discharged on her from a fort. In consequence of this the ships pushed on to Canton, and opened a hot fire on the batteries which protect the city. After the bombardment had continued about an hour, the marines were landed, immediately stormed, and completed the capture of the enemy’s works, notwithstanding a determined resistance on the part of the Tartars. Captain Bourchier, in command of the blue-jackets on shore, prevented any outbreak of the population, and he observing a number of burning junks drifting down on the suburbs, to which they would inevitably have set fire, by the most energetic exertions of his officers and men towed them away from the spot. The Herald getting up later in the day, by her imposing appearance contributed to bring the Chinese to reason, and in a short time the British colours were hoisted on the flagstaff of the factory by Commander Belcher. Thus one of the most important cities of China fell into the hands of the British, with a loss of only seven men wounded.

A truce was now agreed to, and trade was again opened, but the Chinese very soon began to rebuild their fortifications, and to fit out junks and fire-rafts. The main body of the fleet having retired, a small squadron remained in the neighbourhood of Canton. The night of the 21st of May was unusually dark; a sharp look-out was therefore kept, the officers lying down in their cloaks on the decks of the ships, ready for service. The Modeste being a little in advance, one of her sentries observed several dark-looking masses dropping down with the stream. On his hailing, they were immediately set on fire by the Chinese, and the flames bursting forth, pointed out the danger to the other vessels. In nine minutes the Nemesis had her steam up, and was running towards the fire-rafts to assist the boats in towing them away. These rafts were formed of boats chained together, so that, drifting down with the stream, they might hang across the bows of the ships, from which they would with much difficulty have been cleared. The Chinese batteries at the same time opened on the squadron, which of course fired in return, while the small-arm men picked off the people on the fire-rafts. In the morning the Shameen battery was taken, and 43 war-junks and 32 fire-rafts were destroyed. During these operations a Congreve rocket, which had been placed in a tube and ignited, hung within it instead of flying out. In another moment it would have burst, scattering destruction around, when Mr Hall thrust his arm into the tube and forced it out from behind. The rush of fire, however, severely burnt his hand, and caused him much suffering. Several other attempts to destroy the squadron by fire-ships were defeated by the vigilance of the officers and crews. On one occasion, the Wellesley, anchored at the Bogue, was attacked by 20 fire-vessels, filled with gunpowder and a variety of combustibles, and chained in twos and threes. Captain Maitland was absent with most of her boats and a large number of her crew and officers, and it was not without great exertion that Commander Fletcher, who had only three boats left on board, was able to tow them clear of the ship.

As it was evident that the Chinese still intended to hold out, the fleet proceeded to attack Canton. The troops and the blue-jackets, who had been landed quickly, stormed the outer defences, while the smaller vessels of the squadron bombarded the batteries on the river-front of the city. The Chinese again made use of fire-vessels, but as they drove down rapidly towards the fleet, the boats pushing off, towed them clear and carried them on shore, when they set fire to the suburbs. Several naval officers lost their lives, and others were wounded. Lieutenant Fox and Mr Kendall, mate, both of the Nimrod, each lost a leg; and Mr Fitzgeorge, mate of the Modeste, was killed. Lieutenant Fox died the same evening.

In the course of three days the whole of the fortifications of Canton were in the power of the British, and though the city contained an immense army, flags of truce were waved from the walls, and the Tartar generals came alongside humbly suing for peace, and offering six millions of dollars for the ransom of the city. This sum was accepted, and sent on board the ships of war, when 18,000 Tartars marched out of Canton. Many officers and men suffered from the fatigues they underwent, and Sir Humphrey Le Fleming Senhouse died in consequence of the exertions to which he had been exposed.

The fleet now proceeding northward, on the 26th of August captured Amoy, a place of considerable importance, about 300 miles north of Hong-Kong. The Chinese fought with more courage and stubbornness than usual, but were driven out of their fortifications by the ships, when the troops, the blue-jackets as usual playing their part, stormed and carried the place. Chusan, which had been given up to the Chinese, was next recaptured, after which Chinghai, a strong place situated at the mouth of the Takia River, was attacked. It was surrounded by a wall 2 miles in circumference, 37 feet thick, and 22 feet high, mounted by 69 heavy guns and numberless jingalls. A lofty and precipitous hill, with a citadel on the summit, commanded the town; stockades had been driven into the water in front of all the batteries and landing-places, and an army of 10,000 men lay encamped, with numerous guns, a short distance from the bank of the river. The ships approached till they touched the ground, when they opened their fire, and a breach was soon effected in the citadel. On this it was stormed by the blue-jackets and marines, when the garrison effected their escape into the city, the walls of which were then scaled in two places, and Chinghai was captured. Ningpo, higher up the river, was taken with even less difficulty. A desperate attempt was afterwards made to recapture the latter place, but the Chinese were repulsed with dreadful slaughter; while another attempt to burn the ships of war by fire-vessels was also defeated. Not less than 50 or 60 fire-rafts were seen coming down together, burning furiously, but the boats of the ships were ready, and grappling them bravely, towed them clear of the fleet.

Still, as the Chinese showed no readiness to come to terms, another town, which lies on the opposite side of the bay in which Chinghai is situated, called Chapoo, was attacked. Sir William Parker landed with a battalion of seamen and marines under Captain Bourchier, while the troops, headed by Sir Hugh Gough, drove the enemy before them. A large body of Tartars had thrown themselves into a building of considerable strength, and in attempting to enter it, Colonel Tomlinson, of the 18th, and a number of his men were killed. Mr Hall, Lieutenant Fitzjames, and other naval officers made several gallant attempts to force their way in. At length the gate was blown open by a powder-bag; many of the defenders were destroyed, and fifty captured. The loss of the British was considerable. The Chinese wounded received great attention from the British medical officers; a conduct appreciated by the governor of Chapoo, who thanked the admiral and general, and when some English fell into the hands of the Chinese, they in return were treated with every kindness.

Before the expedition left Chapoo, all the Chinese prisoners were set at liberty, each man receiving three dollars; when the Chinese, not to be out-done in liberality, restored all the persons they had kidnapped, giving thirty dollars to each white man and fifteen to each native of India.

As the numerous places which had hitherto been taken were at a distance from the capital, the emperor still hoped that he might set the British at defiance. It was determined, therefore, to attack Nankin itself, the second city in the empire, situated about 200 miles up the great river Yang’tse Kiang, or Yellow River. The difficulties of the navigation had hitherto been considered an insuperable obstacle; although the river is of great size, the current runs with prodigious force, and there are numerous shoals and rocks in its course. The river, however, was surveyed by Commanders Kellett and Collinson, and as they reported that water for the largest ships was found right up to Nankin, the admiral undertook to carry the whole of the fleet up to the walls of that city. Woosung and Shanghai, situated on the banks of a river which falls into the sea at the entrance of the Yang’tse Kiang, were first captured, and on the 6th of July, 1842, a fleet of nearly 80 sail, including among them the Cornwallis, of 72 guns, Sir William Parker’s flag-ship, in five divisions, sailed up the mighty stream on their voyage of 200 miles into the very heart of China. Before reaching Nankin they came off the large city of Chin Keang Foo, near which passes the great canal of China. It was captured on the 20th by the troops, aided by a body of seamen and marines under Captain Peter Richards, who scaled the walls on one side while the soldiers got over on another. The Tartars fought with the most determined bravery, holding every house and street, resolved to sell their lives dearly. Frequently, on being defeated, they put an end to themselves, and often destroyed their wives and children. Lieutenant Fitzjames distinguished himself in the attack, having brought up some rockets which, fired among the enemy, threw them into confusion. The gate of the city was just then blown open by powder-bags, when Sir Hugh Gough, who was with the third brigade, accompanied by Sir William Parker, dashed over the ruins. They were met, after fighting their way for some distance, by a sudden fire from a body of Tartars, when Lieutenant Fitzjames and several men were wounded. The British, however, uttering a loud cheer, attacked the Tartars with such fury that they were soon put to flight, when numbers fell by their own hands. The British were speedily in entire possession of the city. Every means was taken to spare life, to prevent plunder, and to restore order. During these operations several vessels of the fleet were employed in blockading the mouths of the great canal, in capturing all the trading junks which came in sight, and in preventing provisions being carried to the city. Still, it was necessary in order to bring the emperor to reason, for the fleet to appear before the walls of Nankin. Having been detained by contrary winds, it was not till the 4th of August that the ships could get up, carrying 4500 troops, besides marines and blue-jackets. The Cornwallis and Blonde then took up their positions within one thousand paces of the Ifung Gate of Nankin, and every arrangement was made for the troops to attack the city. Before the British proceeded to extremities, the emperor having been informed the true state of affairs, authorised his commissioner to treat for peace, and on the 29th of August the treaty for which the British had been so long contending was signed on board the Cornwallis. Among other clauses, China agreed to pay twenty-one millions of dollars; Canton, Amoy, Foo-Chow, Ningpo, and Shanghai, were thrown open to British commerce, Hong-Kong was ceded in perpetuity to Her Britannic Majesty; all British subjects imprisoned in China were to be released, and correspondence was in future to be conducted on terms of perfect equality between the officers of both governments. Thus the war in which the navy of England had played so conspicuous a part was terminated. Its greatest achievement, however, was the passage of the fleet 200 miles up the river, and its return without the loss of a single vessel. This, however, could not have been effected without steamers, which, besides towing the sailing ships, performed important parts in all the operations of the war. Among those who especially distinguished themselves by their activity were Commander Belcher, afterwards Sir Edward Belcher, Mr Hall, of the Nemesis, who was deservedly made a lieutenant and commander, and is now Admiral Sir W.H. Hall, Commanders Kellett, Collinson, and Fitzjames, well known as Arctic explorers, Lieutenant McCleverty, and the bravest among the brave, Captain Loch, who fell in Burmah.

Destruction of Pirates in the Indian and China Seas.

For many years the pirates of the Eastern Archipelago and China seas had committed depredations on the commerce of the more peaceably-disposed people of that part of the world, and had frequently attacked merchant-vessels belonging to the English, as well as those of other nations, generally treating the prisoners they captured with the greatest barbarity. So audacious had they become that in 1836 the Governor-General of India determined to put an end to their proceedings, and Captain Chads, of the Andromache frigate, was sent into those seas to destroy as many piratical fleets and strongholds as he could fall in with. The pirate proas are vessels of considerable size, upwards of 60 feet in length and 12 in beam; though, as they draw scarcely four feet of water, they can run up into shallow rivers and escape. Each proa carried about 80 men, with a 12-pounder in the bows, 3 or 4 smaller pivot-guns, besides jingalls, stink-pots, spears, and the murderous kris which each man wore at his side. The crew in action were protected by a bulwark four or five feet high, thick enough to withstand musket-balls and grape-shot. They sailed in fleets of twenty or thirty vessels together, and were thus more than a match for any British merchantman, even though well-armed, they were likely to fall in with. The boats of the frigate, however, pursued them into their strongholds, and piracy in the neighbourhood of the Malay peninsula was for a time put a stop to. It existed, however, to a far greater degree in other parts of the Eastern seas, and it was not till 1843, that Rajah Brooke had established himself at Sarawak, on the western side of Borneo, that far more strenuous efforts than heretofore were employed against those pests of commerce. Several of the ships of war which had been engaged in the operations against China, on the conclusion of peace, were despatched to the assistance of Rajah Brooke in his noble and philanthropic object. Among the officers employed in the service were the Honourable Captain Keppel, of the Dido frigate, Sir Edward Belcher, of the Samarang, Captain Nicholas Vansittart, of the Magician, Captain Edward Vansittart, of the Bittern, Commander Fellowes, of the Rattler, Captain Mundy, of the Iris, besides many others. The Nemesis and Phlegethon, which had been so actively engaged in China, were sent with other steamers belonging to the East India Company. Sir Thomas Cochrane, commander-in-chief on the Indian station, also visited Borneo in his flag-ship the Agincourt, to superintend the operations which were now energetically pursued for the destruction of the pirates. There is no space to give more than an example of the sort of service in which the smaller vessels and the boats of the squadron were chiefly engaged against the common enemy.

The chief of a piratical band, Sherif Osman, had entrenched himself in a strong position on the banks of the River Songibusar, which falls into the bay of Malludu, near Labuan, in Borneo; and as it was of the greatest importance to destroy him, an expedition, under the command of Captain Talbot, was sent up the river for that purpose. It consisted of the Vixen, Nemesis, and Pluto steamers, and the boats of the Agincourt, Daedalus, Vestal, Cruiser, and Wolverine, several of them carrying guns in their bows, and another furnished with rockets. Altogether, the force consisted of 350 blue-jackets and above 200 marines. After working his way up the river, Captain Talbot came in sight of the enemy posted in two forts, mounting about twelve guns, and protected by a strong and well-contrived boom. Before the fight commenced, Sherif Osman sent a flag of truce begging to confer with Rajah Brooke, and hearing that he was not present, he invited Captain Talbot to meet him, offering to admit two gigs to be hauled over the boom. This being declined, the enemy opened their fire. Before the boats could advance, it was necessary to cut away the boom. While thus employed, axe in hand, a gallant young officer, Gibbard, of the Wolverine, fell mortally wounded. All the time the boats were under a heavy fire, to which they replied with their guns. The boom was fastened to the chain-cable of a vessel of three or four hundred tons. It was at length cut through, when the marines and small-arm men landing, carried the place after a desperate resistance, with a loss of 6 killed, 2 mortally wounded, and 15 severely wounded. The loss of the enemy was proportionably great. Sherif Osman was wounded dangerously, and though he managed to get off, it was supposed that he soon afterwards died in the jungle. In the forts were discovered numerous evidences of the piratical character of the defenders; several chain-cables, two ships’ bells, a ship’s long-boat, and ships’ furniture of various descriptions. Some piratical Illanun and Balagnini boats were burnt, and twenty-four brass guns and several iron ones captured. Thus this piratical nest was completely destroyed.

In the year 1846, several chiefs friendly to the English and opposed to piracy having been cruelly murdered by the Sultan of Brunei Sir Thomas Cochrane determined to destroy his city. There being sufficient water over the bar of the river, the Agincourt, towed by the Spiteful steamer, entered it and anchored within Moarra Island. The smaller vessels being lightened, proceeded up the river, carrying a force of 200 marines and 600 blue-jackets armed as light-infantry, accompanied by the boats of the squadron towed by the steamers. On turning an angle of the river four batteries were seen, two of which were directly ahead, while the stream was staked across. As the squadron was making its way through the piles, the enemy’s fire opened at a distance of 1000 yards. The round and grape passed between the masts of the Phlegethon and beyond the Spiteful, without striking. The guns having been pointed at the stakes, the Phlegethon immediately returned the compliment with rockets and her pivot-guns. After an hour’s cannonade, Captain Mundy shoved off in the gunboats, Lieutenant Patey being ordered to pull for the shore and to storm the batteries which were erected on a precipice nearly a hundred feet in height from the bank of the river. So heavy, however, had been the fire from the steamer and gunboats that the resolution of the enemy failed them, and the gallant crews forced their way through the embrasures. In capturing the enemy’s flag a skirmish took place between their rear-guard and the leading party of the British, while the former were endeavouring to escape into the jungle. Three handsome brass guns were carried off, the iron guns were spiked, and the magazines destroyed. The steamer then taking the Royalist and gunboats in tow, passed two other batteries and anchored half-a-mile below the city, when all hands went to dinner. At half-past one the expedition was again in motion, working up against an ebb tide of three knots. As the Phlegethon opened round the point, the city battery and hill forts mounting 18 guns, commenced firing, and two men were killed and several wounded on board the Phlegethon. She, however, opened a hot fire, and Captain Mundy shoving off in the gunboats, attacked the batteries at close quarters; but before he could reach them, the enemy fled. Nine shot had entered the Phlegethon’s side below the water-line; and had she not been divided into compartments, she would inevitably have sunk. The marines were now landed and occupied the heights above the sultan’s palace, the batteries on which had been silenced by the rocket and field-piece party under Lieutenant Paynter. The pirates had in the meantime manned the batteries already passed, on which Captain Mundy was sent down with the gunboats to destroy them. This he partially did in five hours, but so great was their strength that it would have taken days to do so effectually. Thirty-nine guns, mostly of large calibre, nineteen of them being of brass, fell into the hands of the British. The sultan and his boasted army had taken to flight. He was accordingly pursued by a party under Captain Mundy, to whom Lieutenant Vansittart acted as aide-de-camp. Having gone as far as they could in the boats, they landed, and in their progress destroyed several newly—erected forts. The natives now observing that no injury was done to private property, joined them and offered their services as guides. On their way they fell in with two houses belonging to the sultan, containing shields, arms, and magazines of powder. They were accordingly set on fire and destroyed, but the sultan himself escaped for the time, though his power was completely broken.

The towns of Pandassan and Tampassuck, notorious haunts of Illaun pirates, were destroyed by Captains McQuhae and Mundy, and numerous piratical proas captured, sunk, or burnt. The fierce and desperate character of the pirates was shown on all occasions. The Ringdove, Commander Sir William Hoste, having taken a proa, she was brought under the counter of the brig. From the way in which the crew behaved, it was doubted whether she was really a pirate, but as a protection a guard of three marines and several seamen was placed over them. Suddenly, during the night, they rose without the slightest warning and flew simultaneously with their krises upon the seamen and marines, and before the latter could defend themselves, one marine was killed and the remainder of the guard severely wounded. As the unfortunate marine fell into the hold of the proa, the pirate chief seized his musket and fired it at the officer standing at the gangway. Another desperado, lunging his spear through the after-port of the brig, mortally wounded the master. The pirates then cut the hawser, and seizing their paddles, made off for the shore. The boats were immediately manned and sent in chase, when in ten minutes the proa was boarded, upon which the pirates retreated below, and with their long spears through the bamboo-deck made a desperate defence, but finally, refusing quarter, were slain to a man, and the proa was sunk by the guns of the pinnace.

The piratical fleets cruising off the coast of China committed even greater depredations on commerce, as well as on the population of the sea-board, than even those in the Indian seas. Captain Edward Vansittart, in command of the Bittern, was sent against them with two steamers fitted out by the Chinese merchants. The latter were manned chiefly from an American frigate, the Macedonian, then cruising off the coast. After a search of some days he discovered a flotilla of nearly forty junks, which bore down on him with tom-toms beating, evidently intending to fight. In order to draw them off the shore, he stood away, but as they would not follow the Bittern out of shoal water, she again steered towards them, yawing to bring her guns to bear, while they kept up a steady fire on her. She, however, sank or disabled eight of them, but the rest for a time escaped. Commander Vansittart was, however, able to set free a number of merchant-vessels up different rivers in the neighbourhood, which had been afraid to put to sea on account of the pirates, who had demanded 1200 dollars for the ransom of each vessel. The following day he captured twelve more, each carrying 10 guns with a crew of 50 men. Proceeding northwards, he reached the mouth of the Yang’tse Kiang, where he heard that a strong squadron of pirates had been blockading the island of Potoo, in which place a party of English ladies had taken refuge. On pursuing them, towed by the Poushan to Sheepoo, he discovered twenty-two junks lashed head and stern together across the entrance to the harbour. As the Bittern approached, the pirates commenced a vigorous cannonade, to which she, however, returned so hot a fire that in little more than an hour she had knocked the greater number to pieces, one junk alone being in a condition to carry off. No prisoners were made, but the pirates as they escaped to the shore were put to death by the inhabitants. Commander Creswell, in the Surprise, and Captain N. Vansittart, in the Magician, were equally successful in other directions. The latter had under his command the Inflexible, Commander Brooker, with the Plover and Algerine gunboats. As he proceeded, reports reached him of the atrocities committed by the pirates, and the natives were everywhere ready to give him accurate intelligence of their hiding-places. As they saw the British squadron, they took refuge when they could on uninhabited islands; when they escaped to the mainland the people of the country put them to death without mercy. As he was engaged in burning some captured junks, a sound of firing from the shore reached him. Immediately landing with a party of his men, he pushed in the direction from which the firing proceeded. He did not allow a gun to be discharged till he was within pistol-shot, so that the enemy were not aware of his approach. The whole of his party then opened their fire, and the pirates taken by surprise, scampered off without an attempt at resistance. The British having clambered over a formidable stockade, found themselves in a battery of 14 heavy guns, which must have contained a garrison strong enough to offer a successful resistance had the pirates fought with any courage.

Six large junks were soon afterwards met with, the whole of which were captured, and the crews of every one killed or made prisoners, besides which upwards of twenty prisoners taken by the pirates were released. Soon afterwards, while pursuing a pirate up a creek, his own light gig being far ahead of the heavier boats, he came up with the chase, which with his small party he gallantly boarded, several of her crew being killed, among which was Chappoo, a pirate chief long the terror of those seas. Altogether, in a week’s cruise he had destroyed a 14-gun battery and 100 piratical craft, and had taken upwards of 200 guns and 36 pirates, besides having killed nearly 400 more. He had, in addition, retaken six vessels and liberated sixty prisoners captured by the pirates.

One more example alone can be given of the expeditions against the pirates of those seas. On the 30th of January, 1849, news was brought to Sir James Brooke that a large fleet of pirates had attacked the neighbouring village of Palo, and had threatened with destruction the inhabitants of the Sarabas River. A force, consisting of H.M. brigs Albatross and Royalist, with the Nemesis and Renée, under the orders of Commander Farquhar, immediately got under way, accompanied by a native flotilla, under Rajah Brooke, and proceeded to meet them. The Nemesis steamed out to sea to prevent their escape in that direction, and as soon as she was descried by the pirates they made at once for the Kaluka River, where they were intercepted by the native boats and those commanded by Lieutenants Welmshurst and Everest. The pirates then made a dash to reach their river, when they came in contact with the men-of-war’s boats. It being now dark, there was considerable danger that the latter would fire into each other, or into the craft of their native allies. The password was “Rajah,” and the Malays screamed this out at the top of their voices when they thought any of the Europeans were near them. Commander Farquhar seeing two large proas escaping seaward, ordered the steam-tender to chase. The nearest one, having barely escaped one of her 6-pounder rockets, made for the river, but in her course was encountered by the Nemesis, which dealing death and destruction to all around her, ran her down, and a fearful scene took place as her crew, above sixty in number, came in contact with the paddle-wheels. A large Congreve rocket from the smaller steamer entered a proa which had stood out to sea, and completely destroyed her. The battle continued till past midnight, when Commander Farquhar, taking the boats in tow, commenced the ascent of the Sarabas, to prevent the escape of the pirates by the Rembas branch. At daylight the whole bay presented one mass of wreck, shields, spears and portions of destroyed proas, extending as far as the eye could reach, as well as on the sandy spit which extends a considerable distance seawards. On the left bank of the Sarabas were upwards of seventy proas, which the natives were busy clearing of all valuables and destroying. Of 120 proas which are said to have started on a piratical expedition, more than 80 were destroyed, with 1200 men. No more convincing proof of the inhuman disposition of the pirates need be cited than the fact that the bodies of women, supposed to have been captives taken by the pirates, were found on the beach decapitated and gashed from the shoulder to the feet. On sailing up the river the force destroyed a piratical town, some villages and war-proas, and then passing the Rejang River, chastised another tribe of pirates. Some prisoners were secured, among whom was a child, apparently of European origin. In other districts hostages were taken for the future peaceable demeanour of the inhabitants. By this severe example it was hoped that the piratical habits of the people would be effectually checked, and an opportunity given to the nascent civilisation of those regions to develop itself.

African Coast Blockade.

The horrible traffic in slaves has been carried on from the west coast of Africa to the American continent since Sir John Hawkins shipped his first cargo of blacks for the Spanish settlements, to supply the loss of the mild and yielding natives of the New World destroyed by the avarice and cruelty of their task-masters. The vessels which trafficked in slaves ran down the coast, touching at all the principal native settlements, and purchased such slaves as were offered for sale until their cargoes were completed. Sometimes a well-armed slaver carried off by force the negroes on board another slaver ready to sail, and unable to defend herself. After a time, regular slave-dealers established themselves on the coast, and induced the natives to make war on each other, in order that those captured might be brought to them for sale. There were at convenient points along the coast forts and stations established by the British and other European Governments for the very purpose of facilitating the slave-trade. At length, by the indefatigable efforts of Wilberforce and other philanthropic men, the British public were taught to look on the slave-trade in all its dark and revolting colours. The British slave-trade was abolished on the 1st of January, 1808. At first only a fine was inflicted on those convicted of slave-dealing, but in 1824 the offence was declared to be piracy, and punishable by death. In 1837 the punishment inflicted on British subjects for trading in slaves was changed to transportation for life. On the trade being declared illegal, it was abandoned at all European settlements, with the exception of those belonging to the Spaniards and Portuguese, who, determining to persist in it, had adopted a new mode of operations. They had erected barracoons on those parts of the coast where slaves could be collected with the greatest ease. At stated periods vessels visited them, and took away the slaves without being detained on the coast more than twenty-four hours, and often a less time. They had from forty to fifty points where barracoons were placed, and many thousands of slaves every year were exported from them. A slave factory consists of several large dwelling-houses for the managers and clerks, and of huge stores for the reception of goods, sometimes to the amount of 100,000 pounds. To these are attached barracoons or sheds made of heavy piles driven deep into the earth, lashed together with bamboos, and thatched with palm-leaves. In these barracoons the slaves, when purchased, are imprisoned, till shipped on board a slave-vessel. If the barracoon be a large one, there is a centre row of piles, and along each line of piles is a chain, and at intervals of about two feet is a large neck-link, in one of which each slave is padlocked. Should this method be insufficient, two, and sometimes when the slaves appear unusually strong, three are shackled together—the strong man being placed between two others and heavily ironed; and often beaten half to death beforehand to ensure his being quiet. The floor is planked, not from any regard to the comfort of the slave, but because a small insect being in the soil might deteriorate the merchandise by causing a cutaneous disease. Night and day these barracoons are guarded by armed men, and the slightest insubordination immediately punished.

In building a slaver, the Spaniards and Portuguese spare no expense in order to make her light and buoyant. Her timbers and beams are small, and screwed together. When chased, the screws are loosened, to give the vessel play. Within her hold are erected huge water-casks called leaguers, on these are stowed the provisions, wood, etcetera; above this is the slave-deck. Thirty-six inches may be considered a medium height, but they sometimes measure 4 feet 6 inches, though occasionally only 14 or 18 inches, intended for the stowage of children. The upper-deck is generally clear, except of the sweeps or oars for calms, there is a covered sleeping-place, about 6 feet long by 3 feet wide, on each side, for the captain and pilot. Some used to carry guns, but of late years few do so. They mostly have but one small boat. The sails, on account of the frequency and force of the tornados, are very low and bent broad. Thus, the foreyard of a brig of about 140 tons, taken by H.M. ship Dolphin, was 76 feet long, and her ropes so beautifully racked aloft that after a cannonade of sixty shot, in which upwards of fifty had taken effect, not one sail was lowered. The following are the articles by which a slaver can be condemned if found on board:—A slave-deck, or planks ready for a deck; slave irons and slave coppers, which are a large cooking apparatus for the slaves and crew, standing generally amidships on the upper-deck; an extra quantity of farina, rice, water, or other provisions, which cannot be accounted for. The horrors of a full slaver almost defy description. Arrived on the coast and the port reached, if no man-of-war be on the coast, two hours suffice to place 400 human beings on board. On the slaves being received, the largest men are picked out as head-men, and these dividing the slaves into gangs, according to the size of the vessel, of from ten to twenty, keep them in order. A slave-deck is divided into two unequal parts, the larger for the men, the other for women and children. The stowage is managed entirely by the head-men, who take care that the strongest slaves should be farthest from the ship’s side, or from any position in which their strength might avail them to secure a larger space than their neighbours. The form of stowage is that the poor wretch shall be seated on the beams, and the head thrust between the knees, so close that when one moves the mass must move also. The slaves feed twice a-day, and in order to give room, one-half are allowed at a time on deck at the hour of the meal. They are arranged into messes, and when all is ready, at a signal from the head-men, they commence. The food consists of either rice, carabansas, a kind of bean, or farina, the flour of the cassava boiled. After each meal they are made to sing to digest their food, and then the water is served out, the fullest nominal allowance of which is one quart to each daily, though seldom more than a pint. Irons are seldom used on board, only in case of a mutiny, or if closely chased by a man-of-war, in which case the condition of the slaves becomes truly dreadful; they are all barred below for fear of their rising, are seldom watered till the chase be over, that may last two or three days, while everything that can be thought of to make the vessel sail is done, whatever misery it may cost the cargo. Often some of the unfortunate wretches are thrown overboard in empty casks or lashed to floats, in the hope that the cruiser will stop to pick them up, and thus delay the chase. In many instances, when slaves have been captured, twenty or thirty, or even more, have been found dead on board, while the rest have been in a most horribly suffering condition. Indeed, the operation of taking off the hatches of a captured slaver, from the effluvium which arises, is sufficient to try the strongest stomachs, while the hearts of the captors cannot fail to be touched by the dreadful sufferings of their fellow-creatures which they are doomed to witness. Of late years the slave-trade from the West Coast has been carried on chiefly by fast steamers, but as the men-of-war engaged in the blockade are also steamers, the slave-dealers have found the trade a losing one, so that on the whole of the West Coast there are very few points from which slaves are shipped. From the early part of the century, British men-of-war have been employed on the African coast blockade, but for a long time, as only a few 10-gun brigs, and they inefficient vessels, were sent out, and as there were scarcely ever more than six cruisers at a time on the coast, during twenty years, from 1819 to 1839, only 333 slave-vessels were captured; whereas after that period a superior class of 16 and 18-gun brigs and sloops of war, and latterly fast screw-steamers, fitted for sailing as well as for steaming, were employed; and during the next eleven years 744 slave-vessels were captured. As up to probably two-thirds of those engaged in the trade escaped, we may have some idea of the vast number of blacks carried into captivity to America and the West Indies.

As for many years to blockade a coast-line of 3000 miles and upwards, only a few 10-gun brigs were employed, they being generally slow craft and very crank, in the open sea the fast-sailing slavers managed easily to escape from them. Captures, therefore, were mostly effected by their boats, which were sent up the rivers to lie in wait for the slavers, or to attack them when they were known to be at anchor. This species of service caused a great mortality among their crews, as a night spent in the pestiferous miasma of an African river was sufficient to produce fever among all those exposed to it, while the hot sun of the day was almost equally trying to English constitutions. Thus for many years the mortality among the blockading squadron was very great, and vessels have been known to return home with scarcely men sufficient to work them, and under charge of a master’s assistant, or on one occasion the purser’s clerk, all the superior officers having died or been invalided. Sometimes the boats were sent away for days, and even weeks together, to watch for slavers, and were thus often successful in capturing them when their ships had failed to do so. In this way a mate of the Hyacinth, Mr Tottenham, who was a remarkably good shot, in a four-oared gig chased a slave-brig, armed with a long gun and a number of muskets. Having succeeded with his rifle in picking off four of the slaver’s crew, he compelled her to run on shore to avoid being boarded; the survivors of the crew, eighteen in number, then abandoning her, she was hove off by the Hyacinth, and proved to be of 200 tons, fitted for carrying a thousand slaves, and armed with two guns, and a number of muskets, swords, and bayonets.

Prizes were carried to Sierra Leone for adjudication, often with several hundred negroes on board. To preserve the rescued blacks in health was an onerous care to the captors; and instances have occurred where the greater number of the prize-crew have died from fever. Such was the case with the Doris, a small schooner captured by the Dolphin; her gunner, who was put in charge, with nearly all his men having died, so that she was found boxing about some twenty miles below Acra, without any one to navigate her. Lieutenant Augustus Murray, with a crew of two men and two boys, and a black who had survived the fever, was then put on board on August the 12th. Sickness attacked the lieutenant and his small crew, heavy gales came on, the schooner became so leaky that it was with difficulty she was kept afloat, she narrowly escaped capture by a slaver, the canvas was blown away, and finally calms came, succeeded by terrific storms, so that almost five months elapsed before the sorely-battered craft and her almost starved crew reached Sierra Leone.

Experience at length taught the officers of the squadron the means of combating the deadly effects of the climate, and preserving the health of their crews. The men were not allowed to leave the ship early in the morning without taking hot cocoa and an ample supply of nourishing food. They were clothed in thick flannel suits, were not allowed to remain up the rivers at night, and the use of quinine was introduced. By these means the crews were preserved in health, and only during very sickly seasons was there any great mortality among them; indeed, of late years, vessels have returned from the coast without the loss of a man.

Most of the slavers were unarmed, and those carrying guns rarely attempted to defend themselves when overtaken, although they might have fired to knock away the spars of their pursuers. Occasionally, when attacked by a vessel inferior to themselves, or by one or two boats, a slaver’s crew fought desperately. One of the most gallant actions was fought by the Black Joke, a schooner, commanded by Lieutenant Ramsey. She carried but one long heavy pivot-gun and a carronade, and had, all told, a crew only of 44 officers and men. Lieutenant Ramsey got intelligence that a brigantine, the Marinereto, of large size and great speed, and armed with five Impounder guns, and a crew of nearly 80 men, was lying in the Old Calabar River with a cargo of slaves destined for Cuba. She was commanded by a determined fellow, who had vowed he would never be captured, it was said, and was especially anxious to meet the Black Joke to punish her on account of the slavers she had already taken. Lieutenant Ramsey at once stood down for the Calabar River. As she could not enter it, he kept close off it by night, and stood away from the land during the day, that the slaver, not knowing of his presence, might venture to put to sea. After waiting for some days, the slaver was seen under all sail coming down the river. The Black Joke at once lowered her canvas, that she might remain concealed from the slaver’s view as long as possible. On again hoisting it, the Marinereto, notwithstanding her commander’s boastings, made all sail to avoid her, while Lieutenant Ramsey, setting all the canvas he could carry, stood after her in chase. Still, as the Marinereto was by far the faster vessel of the two, there was every chance of her escaping; when, fortunately, a calm came on, and both vessels got out their sweeps. The Black Joke had now an advantage, as, from her small size, her crew were able to row her rapidly through the water. Keeping the chase in sight all night, by the next morning Lieutenant Ramsey got her within range. Knowing, however, that she had a closely-packed cargo of slaves on board, he refrained from firing for fear of injuring them, although the brigantine was cutting his rigging to pieces with her shot. At length he got sufficiently close to aim only at the slaver’s decks, and having loaded his guns with grape, and ordered two men to be ready to lash the vessels together directly they touched, he directed the rest of the crew to lie down to avoid the enemy’s shot. He now ran the chase on board, discharging into her both his guns, and, under cover of the smoke, gallantly sprang on her deck, followed by a portion of his crew. The greater number, however, were prevented from boarding, as no sooner did the Black Joke strike the slaver than the force of the collision drove her off, and the gallant lieutenant, with only ten of his people, found himself opposed to the eighty miscreants who formed the slaver’s crew, several of whom were either Englishmen or Americans, who, consequently, fought with the greatest desperation. In spite of the gallantry of the British, they ran a great risk of being overpowered, but, happily, a midshipman, Mr Hinds, then scarcely fifteen years old, had the presence of mind to order the crew to get out their sweeps, and, succeeding in again getting alongside the slaver, she was securely lashed to the Black Joke. Young Hinds then calling on his companions to follow, dashed on board the slaver, and, after a desperate hand-to-hand conflict, during which one of the British crew was killed and seven wounded, they cut-down and killed fifteen Spaniards, and wounded a good many more, the survivors, who still greatly outnumbered the victors, leaping below and crying out for quarter. Nearly 500 blacks were found on board, but as the hatches had been fastened down directly the Black Joke had been seen, and the chase had lasted upwards of twenty-four hours, above twenty of the blacks had died, and sixty were dying, from want of air. The prize was carried to Fernando Po, where the survivors were liberated. Lieutenant Ramsey was immediately promoted to the rank of commander. The officers and crews engaged in the service had to go through no common dangers. A Brazilian schooner, the Felicidade, had been captured by the Wasp, when, with the exception of the captain of the prize and another man, the crew were transferred to her, and Lieutenant Stupart, with Mr Palmer, midshipman, and a crew of fifteen seamen, remained in charge of the slaver. On her way to Sierra Leone the Felicidade chased and captured the Echo, with a crew of 28 men and 430 slaves. Lieutenant Stupart taking charge of the more valuable prize, left Mr Palmer in command of the Felicidade, with 7 Englishmen and 2 Kroomen. Unfortunately the captain and several of the Echo’s crew were sent on board her as prisoners. Some days afterwards the Felicidade was seen by H.M. ship Star, Commander Dunlop, and on being chased made every effort to escape. When boarded the crew fled below; many of them were wounded, while there were evident traces that a severe struggle had taken place, and articles belonging to English seamen being found, there could be no doubt that the prize-crew had risen on Mr Palmer and his men, and murdered the whole of them. Captain Dunlop taking out the prisoners, left Lieutenant Wilson and nine men in charge of the Felicidade, with directions to proceed to Sierra Leone. She never reached her destination, having shortly afterwards been capsized, when she sank, a portion of her bow-rail alone remaining above water. To this Lieutenant Wilson and his people clung, and contrived to form a raft, on which two Kroomen and three of the seamen perished, but Lieutenant Wilson, with four survivors, after remaining twenty days on their raft, being supported chiefly by the flesh of a shark caught with a bowling-knot, were picked up after undergoing fearful hardships, and ultimately recovered their health.

Not only were the squadron engaged in capturing slavers at sea, but whenever it could be legally done, the boats were sent on shore to destroy the slave barracoons, and to set the occupants at liberty. This was often dangerous work, for whenever the slave-dealers thought they could do so with success, they did not scruple with their armed men to fire on their assailants. One of the most important services, however, rendered by the squadron was the capture of Lagos, in the Bight of Benin, under Commodore Bruce, in 1851. It had hitherto been one of the chief slave-marts, and its rulers had encouraged the tribes in the interior to make war on each other, for the sake of the captives they might bring to them. Two brothers, the younger of whom, Akitoye, had succeeded by his father’s will as king, the elder, Kosako, having for misbehaviour been banished, it gave an opening for the interference of the English. Akitoye having recalled Kosako, the latter rebelled and usurped the government, compelling Akitoye to take refuge at Badagry. On this Kosako was preparing to attack Badagry, and would certainly have invaded Abbeokuta, the centre of Christianity and civilisation in that part of Africa, when Mr Beecroft, the British agent on the coast, applied to Commodore Bruce for a force to destroy Lagos. The Bloodhound, steamer, with a small squadron of boats, was accordingly sent up, but was fired on by Kosako’s people. In consequence, the town was attacked and entered, with the loss of two British officers and several men wounded. As their force was inadequate to hold the place, the English were compelled to retire. As soon as a sufficient number of vessels could be collected, another expedition was sent against Lagos, which arrived before it on the 26th of December, 1851. As neither the Penelope nor the flag-ship of Commodore Bruce, nor any of the larger vessels, could cross the bar, the Bloodhound and Teaser only, with the boats of the squadron strongly armed, were sent in, under the command of Captain Lewis Jones, of the Sampson, with Commander Henry Lister, of the Penelope, as his second. The expedition was joined by the ex-king Akitoye, and upwards of 600 men, who were landed in some canoes captured by Lieutenant Saumarez. Lagos was strongly fortified; the people also had long been trained to arms, and possessed at least 5000 muskets and 60 pieces of cannon, so that the work undertaken was of no contemptible character. As the Bloodhound and Teaser with the boats approached the stockades, they were received with a hot fire from the guns, jingalls, and muskets of the negroes, which was returned with round-shot and rockets from the steamers and boats. An attempt at landing was made by a party under Lieutenant Saumarez with the boats of the Sampson, but so hot was the fire through which they had to pass, that before they got on shore, Mr Richards, a gallant young midshipman, was killed, and 10 men severely wounded. An attempt was then made to force their way through the stockades, but, after some men had been hit, Lieutenant Saumarez among them, he was compelled to retire. The Teaser having unfortunately got on shore, was exposed to the fire of the enemy; as the only way of saving her, a party was sent under Captain Lister to capture the guns directly pointing at her. After some severe fighting, and the loss of several men, they forced their way into the stockade and drove out the enemy, when all the guns were spiked. During this operation one of the life-boats was captured by the blacks, and in an attempt to retake her with several other boats, another midshipman, Mr Fletcher, was killed. Commander Hillyar and several other officers and men were severely wounded, as was Lieutenant Corbet, in endeavouring to cut the chain-cable of the Victoria, Mr Beecroft’s boat, under a hot fire from the blacks. The life-boat was after all left on shore, when some forty blacks getting into her to carry her off, Mr Balfour threw a rocket from the first cutter, which, entering her magazine, blew it up. In the evening the Teaser, after great exertions, was got off. The next morning the attack was renewed, when at length the rockets from the squadron, admirably thrown, set the town on fire, and, the conflagration extending, the magazine was blown up, the whole place being shortly in a general blaze. A welcome reinforcement of the boats of the Volcano and Water-witch, under Commanders Coote and Gardner, arriving, after an interval of Sunday, preparations were made for another still more formidable attack on the place, when it was found that Kosako had abandoned it, and Akitoye, who with his people had absconded when affairs appeared unfavourable to his cause, was brought back and installed as king. Since then Lagos has become a possession of the British Empire.

A small squadron is still kept on the west coast, and but a very limited number of slaves are shipped from any part of it.

British ships have also been employed in the West Indies and along the eastern coast of South America in capturing slavers carrying blacks either to Cuba or to the Brazils. The Cuban slavers, large well-armed vessels, manned by ruffians of all nations, were frequently guilty of acts of piracy, and often fought desperately before they yielded. As the Brazilian laws now prohibit the importation of slaves, the steam-cruisers on the station have completely put a stop to the traffic.

Dhow chasing on the East Coast of Africa.

The slave-trade is, however, still carried on to a lamentable extent on the east coast of Africa, to supply the Arabian and Persian markets, and has been the chief cause of all the depopulating wars which have taken place on that side of Africa, reducing whole districts inhabited by an industrious people into howling deserts. A squadron, consisting entirely of steamers, has now for some years been stationed on that coast for its suppression.

Though not sanctioned by the Portuguese government, their officials in their possessions at the mouth of the Zambesi and other places along the coast have taken an active part in the trade, as have also the French, who, though they do not call their captives slaves, equally encourage the slave-dealers and internal warfare, by purchasing the blacks taken in battle and carrying them off under the name of apprentices to their possessions in the Southern ocean. The service on this coast, though less unhealthy, provided the crews do not sleep on shore, is often severe in the extreme, the boats being sent away for considerable periods to watch for slaving-dhows as they sail along the coast. These dhows are large, swift-sailing craft, commanded and manned by Arabs, savage fellows, who frequently fight desperately when attacked by the boats. With a strong breeze they often manage to elude even steamers. When hard-pressed, with a full cargo of slaves on board, they will run their vessels through the surf on shore in the hopes of carrying off some of their unfortunate captives who may escape from the wreck, being very indifferent about those who may be drowned. The Arabs themselves generally manage to get on shore, though sometimes the whole of their black cargo is sacrificed.

From the following account by an eye-witness some of the lesser horrors of the slave-trade on the east coast may be conceived. It exhibits, also, the spirit in which our gallant officers and seamen carry on the duty imposed on them.

Her Majesty’s steamer Vulture, Commander Cay, was, in 1874, cruising off Madagascar, when, it being almost calm, a dhow was seen standing for the port of Majunga. Although she had every appearance of an honest trader, a boat was sent to board her, carrying one of the officers and an interpreter, with directions to hail the Vulture should any slaves be found. All was suspense till the cry came from the dhow of “She’s a slaver, sir!” Three hearty cheers were given by the Vulture’s crew. “How many has she on board?” asked the captain. “Two hundred, sir,” was the answer. A hawser was soon passed on board the slaver, and she was hauled alongside. Then began the sickening task of transferring the poor captives from the dhow to the ship. The British seamen behaved nobly; even the regular grumblers forgot their complaints and came forward to assist in transporting the weak and helpless creatures from their prison. So cramped and emaciated were they that many had to be carried in the arms of the men. Tenderly and carefully did these strong, rough fellows bear their helpless burdens, notwithstanding the filth which had accumulated on them during their long imprisonment in the pestilential hold. Now and then a baby appeared, and was eagerly lifted on board by the men. There were seven, and as the little ones were borne along they opened their eyes with wonderment. One baby had been born on board the dhow, and another had lost its mother during the fatal voyage. Those who had suffered most were children whose ages ranged from three to seven years. They had been evidently unable to hold their own against the stronger ones in the scramble for food which had taken place at feeding time; the stronger thrived, while the weaker starved. Of the hapless cargo thirty were at death’s door, and thirty others little more than skeletons. Many of the unhappy beings had scarcely tasted food during their imprisonment in the dhow. In they poured, a living stream, until the ship’s decks were covered with a black mass of human beings of all ages, including women so old that it was difficult to understand what object those dealers in human flesh could have had in shipping such worthless articles for the slave-market. At last the stream stopped. “They’re all out of the dhow, sir,” exclaimed the seamen who remained on board the vessel. “Have another look and make quite sure,” answered the commander. Well it was that they did so, for in a dark corner of the hold, buried all but the head in the sand which the dhow carried for ballast, lay a poor old woman. She was dug out and borne on board.

In the meantime the Arabs came on board the Vulture, but these, having suffered no privations, were able to walk, and as they came over the side the ship’s corporal and corporal of marines stripped them to search for arms or money. Nothing being found, they had their clothes returned, and were marched on to the poop and placed under a sentry’s charge to wait till they could be turned over to the tender mercies of the Sultan of Zanzibar—a fate they dread very much. There were two women on board who seemed past hope of recovery; the one who was dug out of the sand, and another with an infant at her back, in which way these people carry their children. The greater portion were suffering dreadfully. Forty-one men, 59 women, and 137 children were taken out of the dhow from between her decks, where they had been packed, unable to move during the whole voyage. The young and good-looking women, who were the most profitable portion of the cargo, appeared to have been well fed, while the men and boys had been starved. The first care was to remove the filth with which they were covered. Those able to bear it were passed under the steam hose, the few rags they had on being taken away as they entered the stream, and as they passed out dry coverings were wrapped round them, contributed by the officers and seamen, such as shirts, towels, sheets, flannels, etcetera. The weaker ones were washed in warm water with soap. Nothing could exceed the gentleness with which the hardy tars handled these poor creatures. By the time they had all been washed the food was ready, and they were made to sit down in circles of from twelve to twenty. Large bowls of boiled rice and beans were placed in the centre of each group; this was the signal for the most dreadful din; each fearing his or her neighbour would get a larger share, crammed the food into their mouths, fighting, squalling, crying, and shouting being carried on all the time until the dishes were empty. It showed what must have been the state of things in the dhow, where there was no room to portion them off, neither would the lazy Arab disturb himself to see justice done to each. The sick were cared for by the doctor and his attentive sick-bay man, assisted by all the officers. Preserved milk, port wine, brandy and water, and preserved fowl were pressed upon these suffering ones, who were almost too far gone to care for anything, except to be allowed to die in peace. The difficulty was to berth them; it was impossible to let them go below, their filthy habits making it necessary that they should remain on the upper-deck, where plenty of water could be used for washing down. They were accordingly made to lie close to each other, when sails were covered over them and screens were hung round, while the awning was stretched over the top of all. Sleep was out of the question, even for the weary seamen; the groans and cries were most heartrending. The doctor and his assistant were up all night attending to the poor captives. At Majunga calico was purchased to clothe them. In the morning they went through the same cleansing process as the night before, when the warm sun, and decks washed down, made things look more cheerful. The dhow having been burnt, the Vulture stood away for the Seychelles. Cold nights told upon the exhausted frames of the poor captives, fifteen of whom passed away in spite of every care before the ship had completed half her voyage to the Seychelles. Happily the weather remained remarkably fine. Altogether seventeen deaths occurred among the slaves during the twelve days they were on board before the ship reached her destination. Six of these were children. The two women most despaired of were landed in a much improved state.

Frequently the slaving-dhows captured are in a far more horrible state than in the instance above given. The Arabs have been known to murder and throw into the sea every slave on board, in the hopes of preserving their vessel when they have seen no chance of escape. Very often half the slaves die on the voyage between the coast of Africa and the Persian Gulf. Probably, for every slave captured ten human lives have been lost, either in the attack on their native villages or on the journey to the coast, or by the attempts made to land them through the surf when chased by men-of-war, or by starvation and sickness on board. Still, as long as the Arabs have any hopes of making the voyage profitable, they will pursue the traffic, and the only way to put a stop to the horrible system is by making the chances of capture so great that they will be compelled to abandon it in despair. This can most effectually be done by keeping a large squadron of fast steamers, well supplied with boats, under zealous and active officers, with orders to board and thoroughly examine every dhow they can fall in with, and not to allow one to pass which has the slightest indication of being destined for the slave-trade.

British ships of war, mostly steamers, now traverse the whole of the Pacific, one of the chief services in which they are engaged being the prevention of the kidnapping system which has been carried on to a great extent to supply the Fiji Islands and Queensland with labourers. Nothing could be more abominable than the system which has been pursued. Small-armed vessels have been fitted out, and have, by fraud or violence, got the natives of different islands to come on board, when, shutting them down under hatches, they have carried them off and disposed of them, though nominally as free labourers, yet in reality as slaves. By the efforts of the naval officers engaged in the service, the practice has nearly, if not entirely, been suppressed.

These satisfactory results have not been produced without the sacrifice of the lives of many gallant officers and seamen, the destruction of the health of many more, and by a large expenditure of money. The question to be asked is, “Will England be content, when contemplating all that she has done, that slavery and the accursed slave-trade shall exist in any part of the world where she by means of her navy has the power to put it down?” We are confident that from every part of the British dominions the answer will be, “No! at every cost we will continue the noble work we have commenced, and not rest while a single nation dares to assert her right to enslave our fellow-men.”

We hold it as one of the most glorious privileges which England possesses that a slave once setting foot on British soil or reaching the deck of a British man-of-war is a slave no longer, and must not be delivered up to the man who calls himself his owner while an English soldier or sailor remains alive to defend him, or a plank of the ship in which he has sought refuge still floats above the surface. More, we would say that should the fugitive slave place his hand on the gunwale of the smallest boat above which the flag of England flies, protection should be afforded him, even though his pursuers were at his heels. Let other nations know that England denies that one man can justly enslave his fellow—acknowledges not the right of ownership in slaves, but is resolved to strike off the fetters from the captive wherever he can be reached, whether on shore or afloat. But her task is only yet partly accomplished—she has still a great and glorious work before her, and to enable the officers of our ships to perform their duty as they would wish to do it, they must be hampered by no vexatious restrictions, or be allowed to feel that they are liable to heavy fines or censure should they overstep the strict line of their orders. Let them rather be assured that the nation fully understands the difficulties with which they have to contend, and will afford them support should they err in exhibiting their zeal in the repression of the evil traffic. The west coast still requires watching; each harbour on the east coast from which slaves are shipped must be blockaded, till every Arab dhow manned by a slave-trading crew is captured and destroyed. Our fleet of gunboats could not be more usefully employed than in such an undertaking, and in a few years, or months even, under active officers, they would render slave-trading too precarious a pursuit to be followed.

Expedition up the Niger.

To assist in the suppression of the slave-trade on the west coast of Africa, an expedition was organised in 1841, and placed under Captain Henry D. Trotter, commanding H.M. steam-vessel Albert, Lieutenants Fishbourne and Stenhouse. She was accompanied by H.H. steam-vessel Wilberforce, Commander William Allen, with Lieutenants James Strange and H. Harston, and H.M. steam-vessel Soudan, Commander Bird Allen. These vessels were built for the purpose by Mr Laird, of Liverpool. The two first were 139 feet 4 inches in length on deck, 27 feet breadth of beam, 11 feet depth of hold, 6 feet draft of water, and 457 tons measurement, and each was armed with one long brass 12-pounder, two brass 12-pounder howitzers, and 4 brass 1-pounder swivels, besides small arms. They had lofty masts, and were square-rigged forward and schooner aft; but though excellent sea-boats when hauled on a wind, from being flat-bottomed, they made much leeway. The Soudan was smaller, and drew only 4 feet 6 six inches. They were fitted with ventilating machines, and every means that science could devise was employed for the preservation of the health of the crews. On reaching the mouth of the Niger, a party of Kroomen were taken on board. After proceeding some way up the Niger against a strong current, they reached a spot fixed on for establishing a model farm, when the stores for the purpose were landed. Unhappily, the paddle-box boat of the Wilberforce got adrift and sank in the centre of the river, whence she could not be recovered. Soon afterwards sickness attacked the crews of all the ships, and so rapid was the progress of the fever that the little Soudan had only six persons able to move about. All more or less suffered; nothing but muttering, delirium, or suppressed groans were heard on board the vessels. Nearly every person, even those unattacked, complained of the enervating effects of the climate. On the 18th of September the number of the sick had increased to sixty, and many had died. Captain Trotter now decided to send back the Soudan to the sea with the sick on board, under the command of Lieutenant Fishbourne. The medical officer being of opinion, however, that by ascending higher up the river a more healthy climate would be reached, resolved to proceed in that direction in the Albert, while the Wilberforce also returned to the coast. There appeared every prospect of the expedition proving a blessing to the long-benighted inhabitants on either bank of the mighty stream—but Providence ordered it otherwise. In spite of the heroic courage displayed by all the naval officers employed, Captain Trotter was at last compelled to order the ship’s head to be put down the stream, and on his arrival at the coast, as the only chance of saving his fife, the medical officers ordered his return to England.

Notwithstanding the fearful loss of life which had already been incurred, Commander William Allen, now senior officer of the expedition, hearing that Mr Carr, the superintendent of the model farm, had been murdered, and that the people were in danger of an attack from the surrounding natives, resolved at once again to ascend the river. He was on the point of starting, when H.M. steamer Kite arrived with despatches stopping all further explorations. He was, however, directed to send one of the steamers with a black crew, and only the number of white people and officers necessary to navigate her, to bring away the people from the model farm. Lieutenant Webb at once volunteered, and succeeded in carrying out his instructions, with the loss, unhappily, of Mr Webb, clerk in charge, and Mr Waddmgton, boatswain, a fine specimen of the British seaman, all the rest of the whites suffering also from fever. Such was the unhappy termination of an expedition undertaken with the most noble and philanthropic objects in view, and which, had it not been for the deadly climate, must, from the determination and zeal of all those engaged, have been fully successful.

Chapter Nineteen.

Warfare in the Nineteenth Century—from A.D. 1845 to A.D. 1900.

Rarely has England been called on to interfere in any of the quarrels which have been so frequent among the states of South America. However, in 1842, General Oribe, president of the Banda Oriental, having been expelled from Monte Video, induced General Rosas, dictator of Buenos Ayres, to support his cause. Monte Video was therefore besieged both by sea and land by the Buenos Ayrean squadron and army; but the siege was raised chiefly by the efforts of the foreigners residing in the country, among whom was Garabaldi, who then first made himself known, at the head of a regiment of 500 Italians, whom he had raised from among the crews of the coasting vessels in the river. He and his followers appeared in the red shirts which have since become so famous. The English and French ministers residing in the Banda Oriental having vainly endeavoured to induce Rosas to keep the peace, their respective governments sent out a squadron under the commands of Admirals Inglefield and Laine. The fleet of Buenos Ayres was captured, and the invaders were driven out of Colonia, a town of which they had taken possession. Though thus defeated, Rosas still held out on the banks of the Parana, and had strongly fortified a place called Obligado, rather more than a hundred miles from its mouth, having erected batteries of great strength, and thrown a barrier consisting of a number of empty vessels secured together by iron cables across the whole width of the stream, guarded by an armed schooner and some gunboats. The admirals accordingly sent a detachment of their squadrons to attack the fortress, and then to proceed up the Parana to release a large fleet of merchant-vessels which had been detained some hundred miles from its mouth. The British squadron consisted of the steam-frigate Gorgon, Captain Charles Hotham, who had under him the Firebrand steam-frigate, Captain J. Hope, the Philomel surveying brig, Commander B.J. Sulivan, and the Comus, Dolphin, and Fanny, the latter commanded by Lieutenant A.C. Key. The French force was under Captain Terehouart, commanding the Saint Martin, of 10 guns, who had with him the Fulton steamer and three other vessels. After having been detained for some time by bad weather, the squadron arrived opposite the fortress, on which the vessels gallantly opened their fire. It was returned by a tremendous shower of shot, shell, grape, and rockets, by which a number of the English and French were killed. The Spaniards, letting loose their fire-vessels, endeavoured to destroy the ships, but they were towed clear by the boats, while Captain Hope, with a party of men trained for the purpose, under a tremendous fire from the shore, cut through the chains, and opened a way for the passage of the vessels up the stream. The marines and blue-jackets were then landed, when they attacking the batteries, the enemy took to flight, pursued by Lieutenant Key, at the head of a light company of seamen, who carried a wood into which they had thrown themselves. In a few minutes the remainder of the dictator’s vessels were pursued up the streams in which they had sought refuge, and were destroyed. Commander Sulivan, of the Philomel, who had carefully surveyed the river, now undertook to pilot the squadron up to Santa Fé, the appointed rendezvous of the merchantmen. On their passage most of the vessels were attacked by batteries thrown up on the bank, and, unhappily, several officers and men were killed. While the squadron and their convoy were remaining at Santa Fé, Rosas had thrown up a line of heavy batteries on the summit of some high cliffs, at a place called San Lorenzo. It was clear that the fleet would be exposed to considerable danger while passing these batteries. Lieutenant Mackinnon, of the Alecto, having observed that opposite the batteries was a narrow island covered with reeds, grass, and small trees, though otherwise completely commanded by the batteries, proposed landing during the night preceding the day the squadron was to descend, with a number of Congreve rockets, which he suggested should be fired into the fort so as to distract the defenders, while the ships of war and merchant-vessels passed under it. His proposal was adopted. Fortunately, a bank was found parallel with the stream, which was of sufficient height to conceal the rocket party. Having made their way across the island to it during the hours of darkness, the rocket-stands were planted, and all was ready for the passage of the fleet. As Lieutenant Mackinnon was watching the battery from his place of concealment, he observed a sentry suddenly stop, one of the men having incautiously exposed himself, and eye the spot narrowly. “Hold fast,” he whispered to the man; “don’t move, as you value your life.” The man obeyed, and the sentry moved on. At length, the wind being fair, the signal that the fleet were approaching was heard, the Gorgon, Fulton, and Alecto leading. As they approached, Lieutenant Mackinnon, jumping on the embankment and waving his cap, while the British flag was hoisted under the very nose of the enemy, sang out, “Pepper, lads! pepper, lads! pepper, pepper, pepper!” and pepper away the men did with a vengeance. In one minute forty rockets, admirably directed, were poured into the opposite battery, compelling the dismayed enemy to desert their guns. Terrific must have been the slaughter among them. The steamers meantime taking up their position under the batteries, the fleet of merchantmen passed quickly down under the showers of rockets which were fired without cessation. The sternmost ships of the squadron being out of range, the rocket party prepared to retreat, while the enemy, misled by the flagstaff, which was erected at some distance from their place of concealment, fired away at that. A better-conducted or more successful exploit was never performed. The rocket party got back to their boat without the loss of a single man, and, pulling rapidly down the stream, rejoined their ship. The British and French squadron, on their return to Monte Video, defeated an attack made on the city by some of the allies of Rosas, a party of marines and seamen being landed to assist in placing it in a better position for defence.

Captain Loch’s expedition up the Saint Juan De Nicaragua.

In 1848 Captain Granville G. Loch led a boat expedition up the Saint Juan de Nicaragua, which was as spiritedly carried out as any in the times of the previous war. It consisted of the boats of his own ship the Alarm and the Vixen, Commander Rider; and its object was to punish a certain Colonel Sales of the Nicaraguan army, who, after carrying off two British subjects and committing various outrages, had fortified himself in the town of Serapaqui, situated about thirty miles up the river. The current runs at the rate of five knots an hour, and the fort was situated at the head of a long reach, its defences consisting of six angular stockaded entrenchments eight feet in height, of considerable thickness, one side of each looking down the reach and the other across the river, completely commanding the only landing-place. Notwithstanding the strength of the current, Captain Loch commenced the ascent with twelve boats, carrying 260 officers and men, accompanied by the consul in his own boat. Passing over numerous downfalls and rapids, by immense exertions the party, at the end of seventy-two hours, got almost in sight of the fort. Unhappily, the consul and a friend accompanying him fell overboard during the night, and both were drowned. The next morning on approaching the fort the boats were received by a tremendous fire from it and from both banks of the river, which riddled them with shot, broke nearly half the oars, killed two men, and severely wounded Mr Turner, a midshipman, and several others. Notwithstanding this, pulling on against the strong current for an hour and forty minutes, they got past the batteries, and then, dropping down to the landing-place, sprang on shore, and the crews, uttering a loud cheer, stormed the stockades. The Nicaraguans withstood them for some time, but at length giving way fled into the forest, leaving twenty dead behind them, while twice that number were wounded, and two officers and seven men captured. The boats returned down the river, and arrived safely on board the ships.

Attacks on Pirates.

It is impossible to mention one-tenth part of the services performed by our men-of-war in all parts of the world of late years in capturing slavers, destroying pirates, and punishing outrages committed on British subjects. In 1848 an English merchant-vessel, the Three Sisters, was taken possession of by the notorious Riff pirates, and towed close in to the shore on the coast of the Mediterranean, after her master and the crew had fortunately escaped. Commander McCleverty, of the Polyphemus, was at once despatched to retake the brig. On approaching the shore he found a force of 500 men drawn up to defend their prize. The pirates on this daringly opened a hot fire of musketry upon the steamer, which she returned with doses of grape and canister, and quickly dispersed them. The boats, under the command of Lieutenant Allen Gardner, were then sent to bring off the brig, but as they got up to her a gun opened fire on them, and the pirates returning commenced blazing away from behind the rocks at them and the ship, by which Lieutenant Wasey and seven men were wounded. Lieutenant Gardner, notwithstanding, got hold of the brig, and towed her to the Polyphemus, which steamed off with her to sea.

The punishment inflicted on the Riff pirates was soon forgotten, and they continued their depredations on British commerce. In 1851 they captured the brigantine Violet and the schooner Amelia, killing the masters and several men among their crews, while the survivors were carried into slavery. On information of the outrage being received at Gibraltar the Janus, Captain Powell, started immediately to punish the pirates. Both vessels were found total wrecks on shore. The Janus could therefore only retaliate by firing on the piratical boats, which she did, totally destroying the whole of those seen. She afterwards came in sight of another large pirate fleet. The boats were sent on shore to destroy them, but the Riff people collecting in overwhelming numbers, attacked them so furiously that they were compelled to return to the ship, Captain Powell himself and seven men being wounded. The Violet’s crew were, however, liberated.

War with China—1856.

The seizure of the Arrow, sailing under British colours, by the Chinese, and their haughty refusal to make any reparation, compelled the British minister at Canton to apply to Sir Michael Seymour, commander-in-chief on the China station, to try the efficacy of his guns in inducing the commissioner, Yeh, to yield to his demands. The admiral’s flag was flying on board the Calcutta, 84; he had under him the Winchester, of 50 guns, the Sybil and Pique, of 40, and the Hornet and Encounter, screw-steamers, the first of 17 and the other of 15 guns, and three paddle-wheel steamers and three sloops of war. He was in a short time reinforced by the Sanspareil, of 70 guns, the Nankin, of 50, the Amethyst, of 26, several screw-steamers, and a considerable number of gunboats, well suited for navigating the Chinese rivers. The English admiral first sailed up to Canton, and took possession of all its outer defences, one of which, the Macao fort, situated in the middle of the river, he garrisoned with a force of marines. The Barrier Forts, armed with 150 guns, were stormed and captured, the guns spiked, and the buildings destroyed. These proceedings, however, had no effect on Yeh, and he still held out. Accordingly, bringing up other vessels, the admiral ordered an attack on Canton itself. The ships soon made a breach in the walls, when a body of seamen and marines under Captains Elliott and Stuart and Commanders Holland and Bate stormed the place, and in a short time the gallant Bate having scaled the walls at the head of one detachment, waved the British ensign on the top of the breach; the gate of the city was blown open, and in less than an hour Canton was in possession of the British. The blue-jackets and marines abstained from all acts of plunder, and treated the inhabitants so well that they came fearlessly alongside the vessels, bringing fresh provisions of all kinds. The admiral, not considering it advisable to retain the city, withdrew his men, leaving only a force sufficient for the protection of the factory. This place the Chinese attempted to burn, and made every effort to destroy the fleet with fire-rafts and enormous explosive machines, some of which, it is said, contained 3000 pounds of gunpowder. They were invariably, however, towed clear of the ships. Yeh then one night sent a fleet of 23 war-junks in the hopes of surprising the fleet. Getting news of the intended attack, the admiral despatched the Barracouta with a fleet of boats under Captain Wilson of the Winchester, the admiral himself afterwards joining, and in half-an-hour the whole of the fleet was destroyed, with the exception of the admiral’s vessel, carrying 60 guns, which was brought off.

Still Yeh refused to yield, and Sir Michael therefore attacked the Bogue Forts, which now mounted upwards of 200 guns, and the whole were captured with trifling loss the mandarins having run away and deserted their men, who began in their terror to throw themselves into the sea, till they were persuaded by Captain Hall that they would not be injured.

Meantime, the Chinese were beginning to repair the Barrier Forts, which, as they commanded the river, the admiral resolved to destroy. Two of them, the French Folly and Dutch Folly, were successively attacked. Captains Wilson and Cochrane landing at the head of 850 seamen and marines, stormed the latter, and blew up it and the 30 guns with which it was armed. The Dutch Folly was garrisoned by 140 seamen, under the command of Commodore Elliott, while, to protect the squadron, two strong booms were thrown across the river, one above and the other below it. This terminated the year 1856.

Early in the following year the Chinese having collected a fleet of 90 large junks and 30 row-boats, advanced from three different quarters, hoping to overwhelm the British squadron; but the ships, opening their fire, soon put them to flight, when they were followed by the boats and several more destroyed. For several months no active operations took place. Unhappily, the Honourable Captain Keppel’s ship, the Raleigh, on her way to Hong-Kong, struck on a rock and was totally wrecked. Sir Michael, however, gave him command of the Alligator, and placed under him the Bittern sloop and the hired steamers, Hong-Kong and Sir Charles Forbes, attached to the Raleigh as tenders. As soon as active operations were commenced, a squadron of gunboats towing about 20 ship’s boats, most of them armed with a heavy gun, was despatched up the Escape Creek in search of a large fleet of Chinese war-junks. As soon as the Chinese saw them, they took to flight up a shallow creek, where the gunboats pursuing them, grounded; but the officers jumping into the boats, continued the pursuit, when Commander Forsyth captured ten, and Mr Brown, mate of the Hornet, with a single boat’s crew, attacked and carried three large ones in succession. Altogether, ten were taken and seventeen destroyed.

Several smaller expeditions were made with the like success. Still, the main fleet of the Chinese remaining in safety in Fatshan, the admiral resolved to lead against it an expedition he had organised of 11 gunboats and between 50 and 60 boats of the fleet, carrying 2000 men. Each division of boats was commanded by the captains of the ships to which they belonged. The fleet they were to attack consisted of 80 of the largest junks, manned by 6000 of the best Chinese sailors and warriors. It was drawn up under heavy batteries on either bank; across the stream 50 junks were found moored side by side, the large guns in their bows pointed down it. The admiral waited till dead low water, the most favourable time for making his attack, and he hoped that the junks would be unable to move till he got up to them, while should any of his own gunboats take the ground, they would soon again be afloat with the rising tide. The Chinese had further strengthened their position by sinking junks laden with stone, against one of which the Coromandel, carrying the admiral’s flag, grounded. He, on this, landing with a party of blue-jackets and marines, stormed one of the batteries, the garrison of which soon took to flight. Meantime, the Haughty, the leading gunboat, attacked the largest of the junks; her crew jumping overboard, the example was followed by those of the rest of the fleet, when the whole squadron was immediately set on fire. Commodore Keppel attacked and carried a second battery, and then sent his division of boats against another squadron of junks. These having been destroyed, he pushed on three miles till he saw before him the main body of the largest junks moored compactly across the stream with their heavy bow-guns pointing at him. These opened so tremendous a fire that in a few moments every boat was hit. The commodore’s coxswain was killed, and scarcely a man in the boat escaped. While Lieutenant Prince Victor of Hohenlohe was engaged in attending to a wounded man, a shot whizzed between him and the commodore, and had he not been bending down, he would have been killed. So full of water was the boat that Keppel had to jump on the after-thwart to keep his legs out of it, when another round-shot passed through both sides of the boat scarcely an inch below him. At length, as the boat was on the point of sinking, he and his companions, taking the wounded men, got into one of the Calcutta’s boats. The rest of the flotilla had suffered in the same way, and numerous officers and men had been killed or wounded. The commodore, seeing that there was little hope of success at that moment, ordered the boats to retire, and the deck of the Hong-Kong was soon covered with the wounded men brought on board. The fire of the Chinese still reaching her, several more men were killed on board. The admiral, however, hearing the firing, had sent up reinforcements, and Commodore Keppel, calling to the rest of the boats to follow, again dashed forward in the Raleigh’s cutter, in a style which so daunted the Chinese that, cutting their cables, they pulled away up the stream. The British seamen cheered and, opening fire from their big guns, were soon up to the sternmost junks. These were quickly captured, their crews in many instances leaping overboard. The rest were pursued for seven miles, till the British boats found themselves almost in the middle of the large city of Fatshan. Here the commodore landing put a considerable body of troops to flight, and would have captured and held the town had not the admiral considered the enterprise useless. He contented himself, therefore, with towing away five large junks, the only portion of the Chinese fleet which had escaped destruction. This success was purchased at the cost of 84 men killed and wounded. Chuenpee, further down the river, was next captured without difficulty, for though considerably strengthened, so disheartened were the Chinese that they did not attempt to defend it.

Considerable reinforcements were now sent out from England, including the Shannon, Captain W. Peel, the Pearl, Sanspareil, and numerous gunboats; but news of the Sepoy mutiny having reached the admiral, he immediately despatched them to Calcutta with a force of Royal Artillery and other troops. During the eventful struggle which ensued, the crews of the Shannon and Pearl, formed into naval brigades, did good service. In November, 1857, the Indian mutiny being nearly quelled, operations in China were recommenced. Yeh proved as obstinate as ever, and to bring him to reason Canton was again attacked. Besides 800 regular troops, the British force consisted of the marines and 1550 blue-jackets, well trained to act on shore. They were formed into three divisions under Captains Stuart, Key, and McClure, the command of the whole being confided to Commodore Elliott. The French, who had now joined the English, had also a naval brigade of less size. The smaller vessels and gunboats having arrived before Canton, began and kept up a ceaseless fire on the walls as well as on the heights both inside and outside the city, replied to by the cannon, jingalls, and rockets of the Chinese. On the morning of the 29th the naval brigade stormed and captured a large temple close to the walls, and at daylight the artillery, which had been landed, opened fire and soon effected a breach. The signal was now given for the scaling parties to advance, and rushing forward with ladders in hand they were quickly up to the walls. The French had the honour of getting over first, not having waited for the signal. The British seamen in different directions were not long after them, Commander Fellowes, of the Cruiser, being the first to mount. The Chinese fought bravely, and many of the British seamen fell. Among them was Captain Bate, of the Actaeon, who was killed while about to mount a scaling ladder. Captain Key with his brigade seizing a battery turned its guns upon the foe; and division after division having got over, swept the Chinese before them, till by nine o’clock the city was won. So large was the city that it took some days before it could be thoroughly occupied. Among those captured were Yeh himself and several other mandarins of rank. As a punishment for his conduct he was sent as a prisoner to Calcutta. The whole loss of the allies was under 130 men killed and wounded, the larger portion belonging to the naval brigade. After this the fleet proceeded to the Peiho, at the mouth of which stands the town of Taku, to which the emperor had despatched a new commissioner named Tau, to negotiate with Lord Elgin. As, however, Tau behaved exactly as Yeh had done, the English and French admirals sent a squadron to capture the forts which guard the entrance to the river. They had been of late greatly strengthened, and from the ditches and wide extent of mud spread before them, were truly formidable. The force consisted of the Cormorant, Commander Saumarez, the Nimrod, Slaney, several French vessels, and a number of the smaller British gunboats, Opossum, Bustard, Staunch. The two admirals going up on board the Slaney. The Cormorant leading, broke through a boom of great strength, passed across the river, and various vessels quickly taking up their position, opened their fire on the forts, which, though defended for some time, at length yielded, their garrisons taking to flight. A squadron of gunboats, with the English and French admirals on board, then made their way up to Tientsin, a large city midway between Pekin and the sea. The emperor, now fearing that his capital itself would be attacked, came to terms. The fleet, however, remained ready to compel him to keep to them, should he attempt to evade fulfilling his engagements. In the meantime a small squadron, consisting of the Retribution, Captain Barker, the Furious, Captain S. Osborn, the Cruiser, Commander Bythesea, the gunboat Lee, Lieutenant Jones, and surveying-vessel Dove, Commander Ward, made a voyage up the Yang’tse Kiang, 600 miles above Nankin, to a city of importance called Hang-keo. From the shallowness of the water the larger vessels frequently grounded, and on passing Nankin, then in possession of a formidable army of rebels, which attacked them, they had to fight their onward way. At length the Retribution could proceed no farther, but Osborn leading the rest reached Hang-keo in safety. On their way back the larger vessels again grounded, but being released by a flood, the whole succeeded in returning to Shanghai.

Sir Michael Seymour returning home, was succeeded by Admiral J. Hope, with his flag on board the Chesapeake. Besides six larger vessels, he had under his command a squadron of nine gunboats. Each boat was armed with two long guns and two howitzers, and before they went into action the admiral sent on board each from the Chesapeake an additional 32-pounder and an organised crew to work it. Those who knew the Chinese best were very sure, as the result proved, that the emperor did not intend to keep the terms of the treaty. Admiral Hope arrived off the Peiho on the 8th of June, and as soon as he attempted to ascend it for the purpose of proceeding to Pekin to announce the arrival of the British ambassador, he discovered that the forts had been greatly strengthened, and that obstructions of all sorts had been placed across the river. Strong booms had been carried from side to side, and iron stakes driven into the bottom at intervals, reaching within two feet of high-water mark. The Chinese having neglected to remove the obstructions, after the admirals had waited several days, Mr Bruce and the French ambassador having arrived, the admiral sent in to say that unless his demands were immediately complied with he should force his way. A force of blue-jackets and marines 700 strong were told off to storm the forts, and the admiral, shifting his flag to the Plover, led his squadron of gunboats, accompanied by those of the French, towards the forts. During the night Captain Wills with three boats had broken the first boom with barrels of gunpowder, and pushing on, was examining the inner one, when the moon rising revealed his position to the Chinese, who opened so warm a fire on him that he was compelled to retire. The plan proposed was to attack the works on the river side with the gunboats, and the batteries being silenced, to storm with the landing-party. The gunboats, as far as they were able, took up the position allotted to them, but from the shallowness of the water, the Starling and Banterer got aground. No sooner did they open fire than the Chinese began blazing away from a line of heavy guns, which, in a short time, played havoc among them. The Plover was almost knocked to pieces, and her commander killed, 30 of her crew being killed or wounded, and the admiral himself severely hurt. He, however, shifted his flag on board the Opossum, whose commander was shortly afterwards wounded, and her screw becoming fouled, she drifted down the stream. On this Admiral Hope went on board the Cormorant, and on her deck, lying in his cot, issued his directions till overcome by loss of blood. Captain Shadwell then took the command. The engagement continued with great fury on both sides, but the Lee and Haughty were both nearly destroyed. The tide having sunk several feet, the English guns produced less effect on the fort than at first. At the end of four hours, however, nearly all the Chinese guns on the left bank were silenced, though those on the right still continued their fire. It was determined, therefore, to storm the forts on that side, and late in the evening the force destined for that purpose was landed, led by Captains Shadwell and Vansittart and Colonel Lemon, of the marines, and supported by Commanders Commerell and Heath. The gallant Captain Tricault led a body of French, and the boats of an American man-of-war assisted in landing the men. Scarcely, however, had they jumped on shore, unable to obtain the slightest shelter, than the Chinese opened a tremendous fire on them with jingalls, rifles, and muskets, and every gun that could be brought to bear. In a few minutes numbers were hit, Captain Vansittart was mortally wounded, Captain Shadwell’s foot was smashed, and Colonel Lemon fell, severely hurt. The command now devolved on Commerell, who gallantly led forward his men; but two ditches and a wide extent of mud intervened between them and the fort, and so thickly did the shot rain down on them that, before they got twenty yards, 300 were killed or wounded, and they were compelled to retreat—many unfortunate fellows being suffocated in the mud. Of the numerous vessels which had run on shore, all were got off with the exception of the Cormorant, Plover, and Lee, which were knocked to pieces to prevent them falling into the hands of the Chinese. In this disastrous affair above 80 men had been killed and 350 wounded, many of whom died from their hurts.

The Chinese were not allowed, however, for any length of time to boast of their victory. The Peiho was again entered, the town of Pehtang was occupied and the Taku Forts again attacked from the sea and land. Though the army lost a good many men in the operations, not one on board the gunboats was killed. The booms across the river were broken through, the iron stakes drawn, and Admiral Hope pushing on in the Coromandel with a squadron of gunboats, arrived before Tientsin, which yielded to the first summons.

After this the duties of the steamers consisted chiefly in conveying the heavy siege trains of baggage and provisions for the supply of the army in the neighbourhood of Pekin, when after his army had been thoroughly defeated, and at the moment that his city was about to be stormed, the emperor yielded to all the demands of the allies. The emperor had acted with great treachery in the negotiations for peace, imprisoning and torturing the English envoys and escort, so as a lesson to him and his people, his celebrated Summer Palace was burnt to the ground, thus showing them that had they thought fit Pekin itself might have been treated in the same manner.

Russian War—1854-55.

Russia had shown her evident intention of laying violent hands on Turkey, by destroying with a treachery unworthy a civilised nation a Turkish squadron at Sinope, and England and France being bound by treaty to protect the Ottoman Empire, without delay each despatched a fleet into the Black Sea. That of England was under the command of Admiral Dundas, who had his flag on board the Britannia, of 120 guns, his second in command being Rear-Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, whose flag flew on board the Agamemnon, of 91 guns, a name known to fame. The other ships were the Trafalgar, of 120 guns, the Queen, of 116, the Albion, 91, Rodney and London, 90, Vengeance, 84, Bellerophon, 80, Sanspareil, 70, Arethusa and Leander, 50, Tribune and Curacoa, 31, Retribution, steam-frigate, 28, Diamond, 26, Terrible and Sidon, steam-frigates, 22, Highflyer, steam-sloop, 21, Furious and Tiger, 16, the former a steam-frigate, the Niger, 13, and nine steam-sloops. The French fleet consisted of 15 sail of the line, and 21 frigates and smaller vessels.

From the first Admiral Lyons contemplated an attack on Sebastopol, and in order to ascertain the strength of its fortifications, Captain Drummond, of the Retribution, before war was actually declared, was sent there with a despatch for the Russian governor. He ran in during a fog, and had brought up before even his presence was discovered. Having sent his despatch on shore, he waited for an answer, making good use of his time, and when it arrived, having exchanged salutes with the governor, he stood out again with the valuable information he had obtained. Peace not having been actually broken, the Furious, Captain Loring, was sent to Odessa to bring off the British consul, or any British subjects who might wish to leave it. As the frigate was receiving them on board, the garrison, notwithstanding the flag of truce she carried, fired on her. This treacherous conduct deserved a prompt punishment. A fleet accordingly on the 17th of April sailed for that port, off which they anchored on the 20th. The line-of-battle ships could not get close enough to the walls, and a squadron of English and French steam-frigates under Captain Jones, of the Sampson, stood in and delivered their broadsides. Having done so, one after another in succession steamed rapidly round out of gunshot, to return again and fire as before. The Russian guns returned the compliment with red-hot shot, which set the Vauban on fire. Captain Mends, of the “gallant Arethusa,” remembering the fame of her name, though he had only his sails to depend on, ran in as close as the depth of water would allow, and opened a heavy fire from his 9-inch shell guns, and repeated his manoeuvres till recalled by a signal from the flag-ship. Ultimately some gunboats with rockets were directed to try their powers; at last flames burst forth from several parts of the works, and at one o’clock the magazine in the principal fort exploding cast destruction around. The batteries having been now silenced, the squadron stood closer in and destroyed moat of the vessels which had taken shelter behind the mole. Soon after the fleet retired from before Odessa, the Tiger, which had been stationed off the coast, ran on shore. While attempts were being made to get her off the Russians brought down a field battery, from which they opened so brisk a fire that Captain Gifford, being mortally wounded, and several of his men hit, he was compelled, in order to save their lives, to haul down his flag.

Another visit to ascertain the strength of Sebastopol was paid by Captain Tatham, of the Fury. Disguising her like an Austrian packet, which he knew was expected in the harbour, he boldly stood in on the 10th of May, running past two brigs of war, and having sufficiently looked about him steamed as calmly out again, hoisting the British colours as soon as he had got out of shot. While still in sight of the batteries he captured a Russian schooner, and was carrying her off, when some frigates getting under way, chased him and compelled him to abandon his prize. The fleets now proceeded off Sebastopol, sending away some of their ships in order to induce the Russians to come out and fight them. All their efforts proved vain, and Sir Edmund Lyons scoured the Black Sea till not a Russian vessel of any size remained on its bosom.

Some months thus passed, when the army having been collected at Varna, Sir Edmund Lyons, to whom the task was intrusted by the commander-in-chief, embarked them on board the transports destined for their reception. Admirably were the arrangements made, both for their embarkation and landing on the shores of the Crimea. Indeed, difficult as were both operations, they were carried out without the loss of a man, and with that only of one or two horses drowned. While the army marched towards the Alma, the fleet proceeded along the shore. Some of the steamers standing in, put to flight the few Russian troops their guns could reach. For some time it was hoped that the Russian ships would come out of Sebastopol and give battle to the allied fleets; but all hopes of their doing so were lost when the Russians, having arranged some of their finest line-of-battle ships across the harbour, scuttled them, and their masts were seen slowly descending beneath the surface. No hopes remaining of a naval engagement, each ship supplied a contingent of men, who were formed into a naval brigade, under Captain Stephen Lushington, a body of the French seamen being employed in the same manner. None of the brave fellows employed in the siege performed a greater variety of duties, or behaved with more gallantry, than did the British blue-jackets on shore. They fought in the batteries, armed with some of their own heavy ship’s guns dragged up by themselves from the shore, carried the scaling-ladders in many an assault, assisted to land the stores, and were for some time the principal labourers in forming a road between Balaclava and Sebastopol. Led by the gallant Captain Peel, they took an active part in the assault on the Redan, on which occasion they lost 14 killed and 47 wounded. They were ever-active in succouring those who had been left on the field of battle, whether blue-jackets or red-coats, and many who might have perished owed their lives to their courage and activity. During the engagement known as the Little Inkerman, on the 26th of October Mr Hewett, mate of the Beagle, while in command of a Lancaster gun, was greatly instrumental in the defeat of the Russians. Having received a message by a sergeant from an officer, who thought the battery would be taken in reverse, to spike his gun and retreat, he replying that he only received orders from his own captain, got his gun round to bear on the Russians, and blowing away the parapet, poured his fire down on them in a way which compelled them to abandon their object.

As soon as the troops on shore were ready to open with their batteries, the combined fleets prepared to perform their parts in attacking the sea faces of Sebastopol. By this time Admiral Dundas had given up the command of the fleet to Sir Edmund Lyons, who, as before, directed all the operations. The Agamemnon and Sanspareil were the only line-of-battle ships fitted with screws, but there were steamers sufficient to tow all into action, or to assist them out again if necessary. The final arrangements were made on the 16th between the English and French admirals, when it was settled that the French and Turks should attack the forts on the south side of the harbour, and the English those on the north. Early on the morning of the 17th the order to weigh was given—the fleets having been collected in Kazatch Bay, some distance to the north of the city. The French and Turks, who formed one line, naturally led; the Britannia followed, close to the Charlemagne, the rearmost of the French line. An inshore squadron had been formed, consisting of the Agamemnon, Sanspareil, and London, which was afterwards joined by the Albion and other ships. The Britannia, the most southern of the British ships, took up her position opposite Fort Constantine; next to her in succession were the Trafalgar, Vengeance, Rodney, and Queen. The Agamemnon, piloted by Mr Ball in the little steam-tender Circassia, glided on till she was about 750 yards from Fort Constantine, close to a shoal, which prevented her nearer approach. The London, Sanspareil, and Albion followed her, but were unable to get quite as near the fort as she was. The admiral had warned Mr Ball that his little vessel would probably be sunk, and promised to keep a boat ready to save him and his crew should she go down; but undaunted by the danger, he stood on amid a perfect shower of shot and shell, sounding as he went, till the line was cut from the leadsman’s hand by a shot from the batteries; but another leadsman immediately took his place, and the Circassia, without a man killed, though frequently hulled, steamed out of harm’s way. Immediately the Agamemnon’s anchor was dropped, she opened her fire, as did the other ships in succession. Fortunately, from being so close in, the Russian shot mostly passed over her, as the guns had been trained for a longer range; but the ships to the north of her suffered considerably. Happily, one of the first shells she fired reached the powder-magazine in the fort, which, blowing up with a tremendous explosion, drove the Russians from their guns, and though they again returned, it was to find that a large number of them had been dismounted, while the upper part of their works were crumbling to pieces from the effects of the fire from the British ships. From their lower batteries, however, and from various forts on the heights, so hot was the Russian fire, that the Albion and London, terribly shattered, were compelled to haul off. The Sanspareil also brought up so close to the Agamemnon as to be unable to use her foremost guns, and had to get under way to take up a better berth, and for a time the Agamemnon stood the brunt of the battle in her part of the line. The Sanspareil, however, again quickly came to her support, and the Albion, having repaired some of her damages, returned; but as the London was unable to do so, the admiral signalled to the Rodney, the Queen, Bellerophon, and Arethusa, to come to his assistance. A short time afterwards the Queen, set on fire by a shell, was compelled to retreat, and the Rodney got on shore at the end of the bank; but a large portion of her crew having joined the naval brigade, she had but few men on board, and therefore fought only her main-deck guns, and though in so exposed a position, escaped with comparatively little loss. For five hours the whole fleet kept up perhaps the most tremendous cannonade that has ever been fired from British or any other ships, when night coming on, the Agamemnon made the signal for the fleet to retire, she herself being the last to leave her station. Though during that time the upper portions of some of the Russian batteries had been knocked away, and a large number of people killed and wounded in them, the furious cannonade which had been so long kept up produced no result to compensate the British for a loss sustained of 44 killed and 266 wounded, besides the damages received by many of the ships, two of which, the Albion and Arethusa, had to go to Malta to be repaired. Though the French ships suffered more than ours, they lost under 200 men killed and wounded. The steamers had gallantly performed their part in towing the ships in and out of action, notwithstanding the showers of shot and shell directed at them. Altogether, the admirals came to the conclusion that it was useless attempting to batter down the stone walls of the fortifications, or to again expose their ships to such a fire as they had that day endured.

A portion of the allied fleets still remained before Sebastopol, and harassed the garrison by sending into the harbour two fast, strongly-armed steamers night after night, which, always keeping in motion, fired their shot into the city, and rapidly steamed out again before the enemy could get their guns to bear on them. On one of these occasions the admiral’s son, while directing the course of his vessel, was so severely wounded that he died shortly afterwards.

During the winter months of 1855 no operations were undertaken by the fleet, but as soon as the finer weather allowed the ships to navigate the Black Sea, an expedition sailed for Kertch, a town of importance at the extreme eastern point of the Crimea, containing immense magazines of corn, with which from thence the beleaguered garrison was supplied. Just as the expedition was sailing, however, Canrobert, who had supreme authority over the French naval forces, forbade Admiral Brueys from proceeding, and Sir Edmund magnanimously gave up the enterprise for a time at the earnest request of his colleague. A fortnight afterwards, however, General Pelissier succeeding Canrobert, authorised the French admiral to proceed in support of the English. An overpowering fleet accordingly sailed towards the entrance of the Sea of Azov. As soon as the ships appeared off Kertch, the Russians blew up their fortifications without firing a shot, and evacuated the place. The only officer who had an opportunity of distinguishing himself was Lieutenant McKillop, commanding the Snake, of 4 guns. Perceiving a Russian steamer in the offing, he obtained leave to chase her, which he did till she got under the forts of Yenikale, when both fort and steamer opened their guns on him. Undaunted, he returned the salute, throwing his shells upon both his opponents, and in three-quarters of an hour set the steamer on fire. He was still blazing away at the fort, when three other steamers were seen approaching, and they also, as he refused to run, began to attack him, the guns of each one of them being of heavier calibre than his. He continued engaging them till assistance sent by the admiral arrived, when the whole of the Russian vessels were captured.

While the larger ships proceeded in various directions along the coast, a squadron consisting of the smaller vessels and gunboats were sent into the Sea of Azov, under Captain Lyons, of the Miranda, to attack the numerous stores of corn and other provisions accumulated at different spots along the shores. On the return of the Miranda to Sebastopol, Captain Lyons was succeeded by Commander Sherard Osborn in the Vesuvius. Although the duties imposed on the squadron were not apparently of a very heroic character, they were attended with a considerable amount of risk, and were carried out in a most spirited and gallant manner. In several places the magazines and stores were protected by large bodies of the enemy, who fought courageously in their defence, but were invariably defeated by the determination and activity of the British seamen. Taganrog and other places were protected by heavy batteries, which, however, did not prevent the little squadron from attacking them and coming off victorious. For many months the steam-vessels were thus employed moving about from one place to another. Wherever they were least expected, the officers landed with parties of men, and did not hesitate to proceed either up the rivers or some way inland wherever they gained intelligence that storehouses existed, and in no instance failed to set them on fire. Many hazardous and gallant acts were performed. In this way the squadron were of the most essential service to the allies, and by almost depriving the garrison of Sebastopol of their means of support, were mainly instrumental in the reduction of the great fortress. In a short time scarcely a Russian trading-vessel on those waters had escaped destruction or capture. The vessels of the squadron were everywhere, and often, when espied by troops of Cossack cavalry from the shore, there would be a race between them and the vessels who should first arrive at the store-houses, which the latter had destined to destruction, while the steamers’ long guns played on the Cossacks, and generally sent them galloping away inland out of range of fire, so that when they reached the store-houses they found them burnt to the ground. One of the last places attacked was Gheisk, in the neighbourhood of which, extending for fully four miles along the shore, were collected in huge stacks quantities of corn and hay; while close to the town, under the protection of its batteries, were large piles of timber, cured fish, numerous boats, and naval stores of all descriptions. The place was protected by a strong force of infantry and cavalry. Notwithstanding, Captain Osborn proceeded to attack it with the gunboats Grinder, Boxer, Cracker, and Clinker; but the shallowness of the water would allow them to get only just within range of the batteries. The squadron was, however, supplied with a number of large boats which could carry heavy guns, and these he brought close in to the shore in order to cover the landing-parties, distributing them in four divisions, under Commander Kennedy and Lieutenants Ross, Day, and Strode, with directions to land at intervals of a mile from each other, and then driving the Russians before them to set fire to the stores. To protect the stores, the Russians had thrown up light breast-works along the whole of their front, but they were not such as to arrest British blue-jackets for a moment. Fortunately, the wind blew directly on shore, and thus as soon as the boats opened fire the smoke was driven in the faces of the enemy. The seamen quickly landing, notwithstanding the warm fire with which they were received, drove the Russians before them, and the stacks being at once ignited, the dense volumes of smoke which arose from them completely concealed the movements of the British, whose only object being to destroy the corn and hay, did not follow the enemy. Success attended every one of the operations; in a little more than six hours every stack was blazing, as were the piles of timber, the boats, naval stores, and dried fish, under the protection of the batteries at Gheisk—the whole work being accomplished with the loss only of five men wounded.

To prevent the escape of any of the Russian ships on the fall of Sebastopol, the allied squadron brought up across the harbour, when the enemy having already sunk the remainder of their line-of-battle ships, set fire to all their steamers, thus with their own hands destroying the whole of their fleet. The English and French fleet then sailed for Kinburn, standing on the shore of a shallow bay full of shoals. On their way they appeared off Odessa, in order to mislead the Russians, and then proceeded direct for their destination. The troops, consisting of 5000 British, and a large number of French, were landed on the 15th, and some of the gunboats stood in, and began firing to distract the garrison. The roughness of the sea, however, prevented the ships from commencing the grand attack till the 17th. The smaller steamers and gunboats then advanced, circling round and delivering their fire in rapid succession, silencing the Russian guns, killing the men, and forcing them to take refuge under ground. About noon the line-of-battle ships, English and French, entered into action in magnificent order close to the batteries, while a squadron of steamers, led by Sir Houston Stuart and the French rear-admiral, approached the forts on the northern side, and began pouring in their broadsides. Not for a moment was there a cessation of the thundering roar of the guns, while the whole fleet and doomed fortress became shrouded in dense wreaths of smoke, the gunboats on the other side keeping up their fire with fearful effect. The fire from the French floating batteries, which had lately been sent out at the suggestion of Napoleon, was most effective, while their power of resistance was fully as great as had been expected, the heavy shot by which they were frequently struck falling harmless from their iron sides, while the shells shivered against them like glass. The bombardment from the larger ships had continued scarcely a quarter-of-an-hour when a white flag was seen flying from the ramparts as a token of submission, and as if by magic the firing ceased. In a short time afterwards the old Russian general appeared to deliver up his sword, and he and a large staff of officers, who were permitted to retain their swords, became prisoners.

The Russians themselves blew up Oczakov, which was to have been attacked, while Sir Houston Stuart led a squadron up the Boug, and destroyed a battery on its shore. Had not the Russians soon afterwards come to terms, not a place of importance on their southern coasts would have been left in their possession.

Operations in the Baltic.

While one British fleet was attacking the Russians on the southern shores of their empire, another of still greater power was sent up the Baltic to prove to them that no part of their coasts was safe. Great results were naturally expected from it, and, indeed, England had never before sent so really powerful a fleet to sea—not on account of the number of the ships, but from their means of inflicting injury, most of them possessing steam power, while their guns were more effective than any which had before been used. The fleet consisted of the Duke of Wellington, of 131 guns, Neptune, Saint George, and Royal George, 120, Saint Jean d’Arc, 101, Princess Royal, James Watt, Nile, and Majestic, of 91, Caesar and Prince Regent, of 90, Monarch, 84, Cressy, 80, Boscawen and Cumberland, 70, Edinburgh, Hogue, Blenheim, and Ajax, of 60, Impérieuse and Euryalus, of 51, and Arrogant, of 46, besides frigates, sloops, and numerous paddle-steamers, the whole under the command of Admiral Sir Charles Napier. Gallant and energetic as he had always proved himself, he was now sixty-eight years of age, and those who knew him best feared too truly that his energies had begun to fail him, and that he would have acted more wisely by remaining on shore. The French also sent a considerable fleet to take part in the operations. The first portion of the fleet entered the Great Belt on the 25th of March, and proceeding to the Gulf of Finland, established a rigorous blockade. Napier then, moving towards Helsingfors, prevented a junction of the two portions of the Russian fleet, while in the meantime Admiral Plumridge, scouring the Gulf of Bothnia, captured a large number of merchantmen.

One of the first exploits in the Baltic was performed by Captain Yelverton, of the Arrogant, and Captain W.H. Hall, of the Hecla, who, running up a narrow creek, made their way to the town of Ekness, eight miles from the sea, where, after a sharp engagement with some batteries, they carried off a large merchant-vessel under the noses of the enemy. The fleets then appeared off Cronstadt, the approaches to which had been carefully surveyed by the indefatigable Captain Sulivan, of the Lightning, but the strength of the fortifications induced the admirals to believe that it would be useless to attack it, and they in vain endeavoured to tempt the Russian fleet to come out and give them battle. Bomarsund was the first place of importance assailed. It was attacked on the land side by the English artillery and French troops, as well as by the English and French marines, with a brigade of seamen who were landed after a fort which was in their way had been blown to pieces, while thirteen ships of the allied fleet assailed it from the sea. The ships directed their fire against a large circular fort mounting nearly 100 guns, with a garrison of 2000 men, when the shot soon shattered the huge masses of stone, which literally crumbled away before them, and in a short time the garrison, seeing that resistance was useless, yielded, and Bomarsund was taken possession of. It was, however, said that the works, though apparently strong, had been constructed by contract, and were therefore less able to withstand the shot hurled against them than the other fortresses which Russia possessed on her sea-board. Still, if such was the case, it does not detract from the praise due to those who had made the attack. The whole fortress was forthwith blown up, with the exception of one portion, which was allowed to stand for a few days to enable the Edinburgh to try some of her heavy guns against it, and it was finally levelled with the rest of the works.

The winter season coming on, compelled the fleet to return to England. Whatever may be said of the gallant old admiral’s conduct during the war, it was acknowledged that the crews of his ships, though inexperienced when they set sail, returned in a high state of efficiency.

While these proceedings were taking place in the Baltic, in order as much as possible to annoy the Russians in all portions of their vast territory, a small British squadron, consisting of the Eurydice, Captain Ommaney, the Miranda, Captain Lyons, and the Brisk, Commander Seymour, were sent into the White Sea, where, though they found it impossible to attack Archangel, they destroyed several government establishments. The Miranda also, steaming up the river Kola for thirty miles, attacked the capital of Russian Lapland, of the same name, and, with her yardarms almost over the walls, set the city on fire and destroyed most of the public buildings and magazines. In spite of the hot fire with which his ship was assailed from the batteries, Captain Lyons returned from his gallant enterprise without losing a man, and, after capturing a fleet of merchant-vessels, rejoined Captain Ommaney.

The most unfortunate event of the whole war occurred on the Pacific coast, when a small English and French squadron, in attempting to take a number of Russian vessels anchored off Petro Pauloffsky, they were driven off, while by bad management the whole of the Russian vessels escaped.

The following year Admiral Dundas, being appointed to the command in the Baltic, sailed in the Duke of Wellington, of 130 guns, with Rear-Admiral Sir Michael Seymour as his second in command in the Exmouth, of 90 guns, and numerous other line-of-battle ships, block-ships, and smaller vessels, nearly all fitted with the screw, and upwards of twenty gunboats. At the end of May the fleet arrived off Cronstadt, when the two admirals, going on board the Merlin, which, under the command of Captain Sulivan, had been actively surveying that and other places in the Baltic, stood in to examine the works and the Russian fleet protected by them. They were not long in coming to the conclusion that the place, if not impregnable, would be most difficult to assail, while it was ascertained that a vast number of torpedoes had been placed in all directions in the shallow waters over which the ships must pass. Many had been put down in the preceding year, but, though looked for, none had been discovered; this year, however, several were fished up, and one was brought on board the Exmouth, when, while Admiral Seymour and his officers were examining it, it exploded in their midst. Though the admiral was wounded, as were several other officers and men, not one was killed. The Merlin, also, while passing over a shallow, exploded two, one of which drove in her side, breaking or disabling everything in that portion of the ship, though, happily, without committing any further damage. The greater number discovered had not been properly set, and thus had become injured from various causes. The boats, by carefully creeping wherever they were likely to be placed, ultimately discovered nearly the whole which it was supposed had been laid down. Very different would have been the result had they been constructed as torpedoes are at the present day, when in all probability many of our ships would have been destroyed.

The Russian fleet kept securely within their fortifications while the English and French remained off Cronstadt. All intention of attacking it being abandoned, the allies proceeded in different directions. The smaller vessels cruised off the coast, destroying all the government magazines and stores they could reach, and capturing innumerable merchant-vessels; while the admirals were preparing for an attack on the fortress of Sveaborg, which had been considerably strengthened since the preceding year. It stands on three islands, round the whole circumference of which the works form an almost unbroken line, and within them are vast arsenals full of all descriptions of warlike stores; while in front of the fortress lies a cluster of rocky islets. The passages between these islets had been carefully surveyed by Captain Sulivan, and on each of those nearest the fortress, mortar batteries were now placed, while the mortar-boats formed in a line outside them. The gunboats and mortar-vessels in different divisions were directed to stand in among the islets, where there was sufficient room for their movements, while the whole were covered by the frigates, which took up their stations outside. Some of the principal buildings in the fortress had been selected as targets, and so well had Captain Sulivan placed the mortar-vessels, that the shells thrown from them fell exactly on the spots at which they were aimed, as was ascertained by the cloud of smoke which rose from each. Hitherto it had been considered necessary not to fire more than seven shots in an hour from a mortar, but Captain Wemyss, who had charge of the mortar-vessels, considering that should such a plan be adopted, the enemy would have time to extinguish the flames they produced, determined to allow a much less interval to elapse, and sent no less than thirty shells an hour from each mortar. The gunboats were in the meantime performing their part, moving rapidly in circles, each boat firing as she brought her guns to bear on the fortifications. Besides their ordinary armament, each vessel had received on board from the line-of-battle ships a 10-inch gun, and two of them, the Snapper and Stork, had been armed with long Lancaster guns. These were detached to attack a large three-decker at anchor between the islets, and so furious a fire did they open that flames several times burst out from her, while in a short time nearly seventy of her crew had been killed. The Russians, with their numerous guns, fired away rapidly in return. Though the gunboats were within range, their small size and quick movements made them difficult marks to hit, and only one or two were struck. The batteries thrown up on the small islets were throwing shells at the same time, while the Arrogant, Cornwallis, Hastings, and Amphion attacked the Drumsio and Sandham batteries, and kept them amply employed. About noon, some shells fell into several powder-magazines, which blew up with successive explosions, casting huge fragments of masonry and numberless shells into the air, proving the destruction which had been produced. The bombardment continued during the whole day, and not till sunset did Admiral Dundas withdraw the gunboats, or till some time afterwards the mortar-vessels, when the boats of the fleet, armed with rockets, were sent off to attack Vargon and the other principal islands, under Captain Caldwell, of the Duke of Wellington. Thus fearfully the unhappy garrison were annoyed during the whole night, and at daybreak the gunboats and mortar-vessels again began to play on the batteries. The mortars, however, were so considerably worn by the firing of the previous day, that one or two burst, and none were so effective as before. East Svarto, which had before escaped, was now attacked by a division of English and French mortar-boats, placed by Captain Sulivan considerably nearer the fortifications than they had hitherto ventured. Their fire was replied to by some heavy guns, which the enemy had brought up, but no damage was received from them. In a short time, dense columns of smoke and forked flames ascending in all directions showed that the buildings, magazines, and arsenal were being destroyed, and when night came on, one unbroken sheet of flame ascended from the fortress. To prevent the enemy from attempting to extinguish it, the rocket-boats were again sent in, and effectually performed their object. The conflagration continued, raging all night, and on the morning of the 11th there was no sign of its abatement. The admiral was therefore satisfied that the work he had undertaken was accomplished, and as the Russians had ceased to fire, he discontinued the action. The whole of the operation had been accomplished without the loss of a single man killed, and scarcely 16 in the British fleet wounded; but the slaughter among the unfortunate Russians was prodigious. Of one whole regiment but few had survived, and at Vargon and Svarto a large number of the garrison had been killed. Had shells not been used, and an attempt simply been made to destroy the fortress with the ships’ heavy guns, the allies would probably have been driven away with severe loss, without making any impression on its massive walls. It was the first time in the history of war that shells had been thrown from a distance at which the besiegers could not be reached by the enemy’s shot, or that shot had been discharged from vessels moving at so rapid a rate as to render it scarcely possible for the besiegers to strike them. These circumstances, with the use of torpedoes, showed that a new era in marine warfare had commenced, and that from henceforth the style of fighting which had existed down to the period of Algiers and Navarino was about entirely to be changed.

No other operation of importance was undertaken, and the winter approaching, the admiral sent home the sailing-vessels and gunboats, though he did not finally quit Kiel till the first week in December, when soon afterwards the whole fleet arrived safely in England. Happily, the various reverses he had experienced induced the Emperor of Russia to see the hopelessness of continuing the war, and to sue for peace.

From the time of the Crimean war and onwards, the British Navy has happily never had occasion to engage in warfare with the ships of any of the other great Powers. Individual ships and “naval contingents,” however, have taken part in operations of more or less importance, and the first action in which a British vessel was opposed to an ironclad, took place in 1877, when the cruiser Shah engaged for some hours the Peruvian turret-ship Huascar.

In the course of one of the numerous revolutions that so often convulse the South American Republics, the latter vessel had become little better than a pirate, by levying contributions on various seaport towns, but having been venturesome enough to deal with British vessels in the same way, the Shah and the Amethyst were sent to demand satisfaction. The Huascar, however, paid no attention, and at last the British ships opened fire on her.

The Shah was a fast cruiser armed with heavy guns, but was wholly unarmoured, while the Amethyst was only a small sloop, also unarmoured. The Huascar was a small, low, turret-ship of the Devastation type, with only one ten-inch gun mounted in her turret, but she was thickly armoured, and obtained a great advantage by taking up such a position that the Shah had frequently to cease fire for fear of sending her shot into the adjacent town of Ylo.

The combat continued for three hours without result, as the Shah had to keep at long-range; her shot repeatedly struck her opponent, but without result, owing to her armour. One shell however pierced the armour, and bursting inside, killed one man and wounded several more. None of the Huascar’s shot struck the Shah although they fell close on every side. Night put an end to the combat, and enabled the Huascar to escape. In the course of the action the Shah fired the first Whitehead torpedo ever used in actual warfare; the distance however, was too great and it failed to reach the mark. Next day the Huascar surrendered to her own government.

The next occasion on which British warships were engaged was at Alexandria in July 1882. There had been trouble in Egypt for some time, and a month previously many Europeans had perished at the hands of the Alexandrian mob. A “National” party, headed by Arabi Pasha, was preparing revolt, and it was found that the fortifications of Alexandria were being strengthened, which would give serious trouble if marines had to be landed again to give protection to the Europeans. As the French declined to co-operate in any way, the British Government were left to deal with the matter alone, and, as the Egyptians declined to surrender the forts, pending the restoration of order, notice was given that the forts would be bombarded unless the demands were complied with. No answer being forthcoming, seven of the most powerful ironclads proceeded to bombard the forts, and after firing the whole day, drove the Egyptians from their guns and silenced the forts, blowing up a couple of magazines, and dismounting many of the guns. A large number of the Egyptians were killed, while on our side, only six men were slain, the armour giving efficient protection. The armour of the flag-ship however, was once perforated by a 10-inch shell, which dropped smoking on the deck, but a brave gunner, named Israel Harding, rushed upstairs, flung water on it to extinguish the fuse, and then dropped it into a bucket of water. For this brave deed, he was awarded the Victoria Cross.

Later on, our sailors gave great assistance during the expedition sent to relieve General Gordon in Khartoum, manning the gunboats which advanced up the Nile to that city, only to find that he had been murdered whenever it became known that they were at hand.

Chapter Twenty.

The Evolution of the Modern Warship.

We may now pass on from the history of the doings of the British Navy to the history of the ships themselves, and the appliances with which our sailors fought. We have seen that in the time of King Alfred, when the Navy, properly so-called, came into existence, ships had but one deck, or were nearly altogether open, and had but one or two masts with large square sails, being propelled in calms and contrary winds by long oars. For purposes of offence they were fitted with beaks or rams to pierce the sides of the enemy, and were provided with catapults or other engines for hurling missiles, and with tubes for projecting Greek fire to create smoke and set their opponent on fire. The main tactics of the time, however, consisted in grappling with the enemy and transforming the combat into a hand-to-hand mêlée.

When cannon were first mounted on board ship, about the year 1335, they were fired over the bulwarks, and the gunners were thus fully exposed to the enemy’s fire. About the year 1500, however, the Dutch introduced the modern practice of pointing the guns through ports in the ship’s side, so that the gunners would be sheltered from all shot that could not pierce the sides. This improvement was soon universally adopted, and by the beginning of the sixteenth century, ships resembling on the whole the sailing ship of modern times had been evolved, having one or two tiers of guns. But as the fight was still at comparatively close quarters—owing to the guns being small, and of no great range,—warships were fitted with cumbrous “forecastles” and “aftercastles” (see illustration on page 69), and with heavy tops on the masts, to contain musketeers, in order to command the enemy’s deck. These features greatly detracted from their seaworthiness, and made them unwieldy, cumbrous craft.

As the centuries went on, experience gradually remedied the mistakes of the earlier builders. Artillery also was improved, and tactics no longer depended to the same extent on boarding and hand-to-hand fighting. High “forecastles” and “aftercastles,” and heavy tops, thus became of little use and were discarded, as were also the oars used on smaller craft, as the art of sailing became better understood and vessels more seaworthy. For similar reasons the navigating and fighting sections of the crew, hitherto distinct, were merged into one, only a small number of “marines,” as they are now called, being retained to perform military duties for which fully trained seamen were not required.

English naval architects seem to have had little inventive genius till a late period. The early ships were all imitations from the Genoese or other maritime people of the Mediterranean, while latterly the best vessels were either taken from the French or else copied from them. For instance the model for all the 80-gun ships built at the beginning of the nineteenth century was the Canopus, which was taken from the French, under the name of Franklin, at the Battle of the Nile in 1798. The Belleisle, a “74,” captured in 1795, bore a conspicuous part in the battle of Trafalgar. Many frigates also, whose names are known to fame, were acquired in the same way and performed useful service against their former possessors.

In the early part of the eighteenth century British men-of-war were of insufficient size for the guns they were made to carry, with the result they worked and sailed heavily, while in heavy weather their lower batteries could seldom be used. The smaller the vessel the thinner is her planking, and the more liable are her crew and structure to suffer from the shot of the enemy. Other nations realised this long before we did, especially the Americans, who built forty-four gun frigates almost as large as our “seventy-fours,” while their planking was even thicker. This, of course, told heavily against us in the war with the United States, but we were taught a lesson which perhaps helped us later on. In truth Britain’s battles were won not because her ships were superior in size or armament to those of other nations but on account of the pluck, courage, determination, and good seamanship of British officers and crews, and because the latter had been well trained to use their guns.

At last British naval architects woke up from their long lethargy and began to think for themselves. Till the end of the eighteenth century the ships were flat-sterned with heavy “quarter-galleries” projecting from the side at the stern, while their bows below water were bluff with long projecting beak-heads which, to avoid weight, were but flimsy structures, affording no protection whatever to the crew. In 1805 Sir Robert Seppings remedied this defect by constructing a solid circular bow right up to the main-deck, thus protecting the crew from raking shot. A dozen years later the same designer abolished the quarter-galleries, and introduced the neater and stronger circular stern. From this time forward, improvements were considerable and rapid until about 1860, when the ironclad settled the fate of the “wooden walls” that had protected England for well-nigh a thousand years.

But, while the sailing ship was being brought to its highest perfection, it was on the eve of being supplanted altogether. In 1769, Watt took out his first patent for the steam engine, and in October 1788 Mr Miller, of Dalswinton in Scotland, first applied the new motive power to propel a vessel. An engine was placed on a frame, fixed between two pleasure boats, and made to turn two paddle-wheels, one in front of the other—the invention of William Symington—which drove the improvised steamer across Dalswinton Loch, at the rate of five miles an hour. The first practical steamer, however, was not built till 1801, when Lord Dundas, taking advantage of Mr Miller’s labours, after spending 7000 pounds on experiments in two years, built the Charlotte Dundas. It was intended to work her on the Forth and Clyde Canal, but the proprietors having objected that she would damage the banks, she was laid up, as was a second boat.

In 1804, John Stephens of Hoboken, near New York, built a small vessel 22 feet in length, which ran at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour, and Fulton soon afterwards introduced steamers on the Hudson. In the year 1812 the Comet was launched by Henry Bell, a ship carpenter of Helensburgh, and began to ply on the Clyde, being the first British steamer that ran regularly with passengers. The Comet was of 40 feet keel, 25 tons burthen, and 3 horse-power. The second steamer launched on the Clyde was the Elizabeth, in 1813, and the year following, Mr Fife of Fairlie launched the Industry, which was in use for upwards of fifty years. After this, steam navigation rapidly increased, steamers being introduced on the Thames in 1815.

The first war steamer ever built, was constructed by Fulton during the war between the United States and Great Britain in 1814, It was a large vessel after the plan of the first experimental steamer, two vessels with the paddles between them, evidently to protect them from the enemy’s shot. This vessel was intended to carry 30 guns, and was fitted with machinery to discharge hot water through the port-holes, by which the ammunition of the enemy would be rendered useless, and her crew scalded to death, if they attempted to come to close quarters. She was also said to be armed with numerous cutlasses and pikes moved to and fro by machinery, so that the boarding would be impossible, while it was supposed that her paddles would enable her to keep ahead or astern of her enemy, so that the broadside guns could not be trained on her. It is doubtful, however, if this marvellous production was ever actually completed, and as her machinery could only have been imperfectly protected, she might have been disabled and left at her enemy’s mercy.

Some years later the Americans had the honour of performing the first Atlantic voyage under steam, with the Savannah, which arrived at Liverpool on July 15th 1819, after a voyage of 26 days from New York. Six years later the Enterprise, an English vessel, made the longer voyage to India.

Some years passed before it occurred to the Admiralty that steamers could be of any use to the Navy, and it was not till 1823 that they purchased the Monkey tug, which, not withstanding its undignified name and humble employment, had the honour of being the first steam-vessel belonging to the Royal Navy. She was a vessel of about 212 tons, and 80 horse-power, and did good service in her day. Both Admiralty and naval officers held steamers,—“smoke-jacks,” or “tea-kettles,” they were generally called—in great contempt, supposing that their only possible use would be as despatch-boats, or as tugs. It was reasoned that paddles would be so readily disabled in action, that it would be useless to fit them to fighting ships. However, after a year or so, several steam-sloops and frigates were built which took some part in the Syrian and Chinese wars, as also in operations in the Parana. In none of these wars, however, were they subjected to any severe test of their liability to damage under fire.

All possible difficulties on this latter score, were solved in 1834, when Mr Francis Pettit Smith invented the screw propeller, which works wholly under water. He succeeded in propelling a small model by this means on his father’s horsepond at Hendon, in Middlesex, and in 1836 he took out a patent for his invention. The idea was old; in 1775, Bushnell, an American, had utilised it to propel a submarine boat, but up till then, practical difficulties in working had not been solved.

Smith was neither a naval man nor an engineer, and for some time, neither Admiralty, engineers, nor naval men believed that the invention would work with sufficient power to drive a ship against the wind. Fortunately others thought differently, and in 1836, a vessel of 10 tons, with an engine of 6 horse-power, was built and successfully tried, first on the Paddington Canal, and then on the Thames. Finally, it put out to sea, and demonstrated by its behaviour in severe weather, that the screw was equally successful in rough water.

This turned the scales in favour of the screw. A larger boat was built, which showed her powers to the Lords of the Admiralty, by towing their barge to Blackwall and back, at the average rate of 10 miles an hour. Still they were not convinced, and it was not for a couple of years or so that they took the matter up, after a successful voyage made by the Archimedes, the first sea-going screw steamer. They then built a small craft called the Bee, fitted with both paddles and screw, to try which was the better means of propulsion. The screw had the best of it, and after the further experiment of building two vessels of the same size and power, the one with paddles the other with a screw, and finding the screw still superior, it was finally adopted as an auxiliary to the sails. Little thought the naval experts of that period, that another fifty years or so would see both sails and wooden ships quite obsolete—as far as the Navy was concerned at any rate.

These experiments showed clearly that the screw was absolutely essential to every warship, as in a calm, the finest sailing ship would be at the mercy of any small steamer, armed with long-range guns. Thus while new vessels were laid down specially designed to carry screws, wherever it was found possible to do so, all the efficient battleships and frigates were fitted with auxiliary engines. Of course these converted sailing ships, not having been designed for the purpose, could only carry engines of small power, still, it was a case of half a loaf being better than no bread, and was the best that could be done under the circumstances.

The first propellers were in the form of an ordinary screw thread, but it was soon found that separate fans were equally satisfactory, and more convenient to make. Much discomfort was caused by the excessive vibration caused by the early screws, but various improvements in their design reduced this. The fans of the screws are now attached by means of; bolts to a hollow sphere on the end of the shaft, and should a fan be damaged, it can be readily replaced. At first all screws were so constructed, that they could be lifted up through a well when sails alone were being used, so that it would not impede the ship. The funnels, too, being made to shut up like a telescope, a steamer could thus be easily turned into a sailing ship.

At the very time that the screw propeller was initiating a revolution in the method of steam propulsion, another revolution was taking place in shipbuilding material. Iron barges had been used as far back as 1787, and an iron steamer had been built at Tipton about the year 1821, but for another twenty years iron ships were not viewed with favour, and only began to force their way to the front about the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria. Even then they were deemed utterly unsuitable for war vessels, as being very difficult to repair and keep afloat when perforated by the enemy’s shot, as they must inevitably be in action. But in the course of time, the iron vessel naturally raised the possibility of protecting warships by armour, and the matter, was forced to the front when gunmakers followed the lead of the shipbuilders and engineers, and set themselves to see what could be done in the way of improving ordnance, that had remained practically unchanged for hundreds of years, saving for more accurate workmanship.

Up till this time, only solid round-shot had been used on shipboard. An attempt had been made to get Napoleon the First to sanction the use of shells for naval use; fortunately, for some reason or other, he declined to do so, and thus our great struggle for naval supremacy was carried on with the solid round-shot that had been in vogue from the earliest introduction of cannon. The smooth-bore cannon from which they were fired, could not be relied on to project them with accuracy to distances greater than about 1500 yards; beyond this range, their flight became so erratic, that it was simply a waste of ammunition to fire them. Whitworth and Armstrong set themselves to solve the problem of how to make cannon shoot better.

The experiments of Whitworth and Armstrong resulted in the production of rifled guns, based on a principle that had already been tried with success in small-arms. The rifling enabled long conical shot to be fired with far greater accuracy than the old round-shot, and as these conical shot were two or three times as heavy as the round-shot that could be fired from a gun of the same bore, the guns of a given bore had only to be rifled to be suddenly raised to a much heavier grade, supposing them to be strong enough to stand the heavier charge of powder required. Not only that, but their range would be much greater, and their shot would pass through both sides of the stoutest ship in existence. For, when fired at wooden targets identical in material and thickness with the side of a ship, the projectiles went through them as if they had been paper, or, if shells were used, tore them to pieces. Even strong iron plates failed to withstand their impact. The thinner plates they tore open; as the thickness was increased, they first buried their heads in the metal, but stuck fast; then indented it only; and finally glanced off, but not until the plate had been made 4 or 5 inches thick.

Further progress was also made by the invention of breech loaders, which gave an increased rate of fire to these already formidable weapons, and to make matters still worse, much larger guns than had ever been made before could now be constructed without difficulty, and naval men justly began to feel uncomfortable about the safety of our “wooden walls.”

In 1859, the French led the way by constructing the Gloire, which was covered with thick iron plates, and our Admiralty had to face the task of constructing ironclad ships, and of armouring existing ships, pending the construction of others. One thing was very plain; the existing high-sided ships could not carry the weight of even the thinnest armour that would be of any service.

In 1861, the Warrior was produced in answer to the French Gloire. She was a frigate-built vessel doing 14 knots, and carried thirty-two heavy guns, 200 feet only of her length of 310 feet were armoured with iron plates 4 and a half inches thick—which was proof against any guns then existing—as it was thought that her seaworthiness would be impaired if the great weight of the armour were extended to the two ends. But to protect the vessel from raking shot—that is, shots fired at her when bow on, or stern on, to the enemy—armoured partitions, or “bulkheads”, as they are called, were provided.

In 1861, ships of the type of the Minotaur were built, armoured from stem to stern. These were considered monster ships at the time, as they had a displacement of, 10,627 tons and were 400 feet in length. Their speed was 14 or 15 knots, attained by engines of 6,700 horse-power. The bow was constructed on the ram principle, projecting some distance under the water, and her sides were covered with iron plates 5 inches thick, tapering off in thickness, however, as they approached the bow. Further, she was divided into many compartments below water, with watertight doors, so that if pierced, either in action or by grounding, she might still be kept afloat. She was fitted with five masts, made partly of iron, while her armament consisted of thirty-four 12-ton and 18-ton guns. Her cost was, 478,000 pounds but she and her sister ships the Agincourt and Northumberland did not come up to their expectations, being found unwieldy on account of their great length, while in a few years it was found that their armour was not thick enough to withstand the more powerful guns that were being manufactured.

The next type of design was that of the Hercules, the prototype of the “citadel” design. This ship was protected from end to end by much thicker armour than had hitherto been used, but instead of carrying the armour right up to the upper deck, to save weight it was in the form of a narrow belt protecting a few feet above and below the water line only, except amidships, where it was carried up to the upper deck, forming a “citadel,” inside which her ten 18-ton and 12-ton guns were well protected. In this way her guns, waterline, and engines—or “vitals,” as these are known for short—were fully protected at the expense of less vital parts of the ship. Though smaller and less expensive than the Minotaur she was a far more efficient ship. Her broadside was 1818 pounds. The Sultan, another ship of much the same type, had a broadside of 1964 pounds. During the early sixties another type of vessel came to the front. Captain Coles had invented the “turret,” which consisted of a turn-table or revolving platform, round which was a shield of thick armour, turning with it: the top was also closed in. In the shield was a very small port for the gun—which was aimed by revolving the turret till it pointed at the required object. The crew was thus completely protected from the enemy’s fire.

In the American Civil War the Federals or Northerners, had provided two of their wooden frigates with these turrets and sent them to attack the Merrimac, a cut-down wooden frigate which had been armoured and provided with a ram. The Merrimac steamed up to the Congress, delivering her fire with awful effect, and then proceeding towards the Cumberland, ran into her near the bow, ripping an enormous rent in her side, and hung on by her own sharp prow while she fired into the fractured chasm. She then backed out and repeated her tremendous onslaught, suffering little from the fire of her enemy, till the latter went down. She next attacked the Congress with shells, which killed the greater number of the Federal crew, and in half-an-hour the few survivors hauled down their colours.

Later on the Merrimac was attacked by the armoured Monitor. The two ships hammered away at one another for many hours without result; only five men were killed after a five hours action, for the armour beat the gun.

The result of these actions made it clear that turret-ships to be of any use must be armoured, and as a first experiment it was decided to cut-down the Royal Sovereign, a ship of the size of the Duke of Wellington. Her masts and her three upper decks were taken off, her lower-deck alone remaining, so that she was cut-down almost to the water’s edge. Massive plates of iron were fastened to her sides and deck, thus converting her into an ironclad, while four turrets were sunk into the deck in a line fore and aft, three of them containing one huge gun each, firing 300-pound shot, while the fourth and foremost turret contained two guns. The muzzles of the guns were only a little way above the deck, and the bulwarks were hinged so that when the guns were to be fired they could be dropped over the side so as not to be in the way.

Amidships was a circular armoured box, rather higher than the turrets, called the “conning-tower.” Here the captain took his stand in time of action, communicating with the engines, turrets, and other parts of the ship, by speaking tubes. In more recent ships the vessel is also steered from the conning-tower in time of action. Such was our first converted ironclad turret-ship. She was, however, found to be of little value, drawing too much water to serve for harbour defence, and not being handy enough at sea in manoeuvring.

Turret-ships, as first constructed, were very heavily, armoured, and in consequence rather unseaworthy. Being intended for coast defence only, they always had a harbour available in bad weather, and sails were not required as they were never far from a coal supply.

In 1869, however, Sir Edward Reed designed the first sea-going turret-ships, properly so-called, taking the bold step, as it seemed then, of providing no sails. These were the Devastation and Thunderer, which, despite many faults, proved to be serviceable ships for over thirty years. These were ships of, 9,330 tons, and 14 knots speed, and the annexed picture gives their general appearance. Their hulls were protected by 12-inch armour, and the turrets by 14-inch armour, while an important improvement was introduced by providing what is called a “protective deck,” that is, a horizontal deck, of armour several inches thick, which prevents shot from penetrating to the engines, etcetera, below. Their armament consisted of four 35-ton guns firing 600-pound shot, and as all these guns could fire on either side, their broadside was, 2,400 pounds. Their crews were composed of only 300 men, and though they cost about 150,000 pounds less than the Minotaur they were far more efficient and powerful warships. They lay very low in the water, their bows rising only 9 feet above it, while the stern was even lower, being only 4 and a half feet above the waterline. Amidships, however, the deck was raised some 6 or 8 feet higher.

Between the two turrets was a large superstructure, the walls of which curved outwards all over the top. A passage passed through it from side to side, in which were the doors leading to the hatchways and to the hurricane deck above, on which were the conning tower, wheels, etcetera. The boats were also carried on this deck, high above the water, so that there was no obstruction to the firing of the guns in the turrets below.

It might have been supposed, that a ship so low in the water could not venture out to sea in rough weather, but, though her forecastle was frequently completely submerged in a heavy sea, she has behaved very well.

Other turret ships, however, had been built a year or two earlier with masts and sails, and bows of ordinary height. At first these ships were over-masted and canvassed, but after one of them, the Captain, capsized during a gale in the Bay of Biscay, this defect was remedied. This class was represented by the Monarch, completed in 1869, a vessel of 8930 tons, and 15 knots speed. She carried seven guns, those in the turrets weighing 25 tons.

The turret-ship reached its highest development in the year 1876, when the Inflexible was designed. By this time, guns had so greatly increased in power, that the thickness of armour required to withstand their shot was very great, and, as this involved an enormous addition to the dead weight that had to be carried, some means had to be devised whereby an efficient protection could be carried. The “central citadel” form of design was that finally adopted, in which the armour was concentrated on a citadel in the centre of the vessel, amply protecting the engines, turrets, and other “vitals” of the ship, the rest of the hull being left wholly unprotected, save for a “protective deck,” about the level of the waterline. This deck being horizontal, would always be struck by shot at a very oblique angle, hence its thickness afforded a much greater amount of protection—about double—than if placed vertically on the sides.

The Inflexible was a ship of 11,800 tons, and was driven at a speed of nearly 13 knots, by engines of 6,500 horse-power. The turrets were arranged one on each side of the ship, and thus enabled to fire both ahead and astern or on the broadside. These turrets were protected by armour 18 inches thick, and each carried two 80-ton guns, firing a 1700-pound shot to a distance of eight miles. These monster muzzle-loading guns were loaded from outside the turret, by means of hydraulic machinery. The armour on the sides was 2 feet thick, and the vessel was divided into 135 compartments, so that she would not be readily sunk. The Inflexible was the last of the turret-ships properly so-called. She was not the success that had been hoped; her engine power, which gave only 12 and a half knots, had been sacrificed to obtain heavier armament and protection, and as she was slower than much older ships, she was laid aside before vessels launched earlier than she was. About this time, the combination of several important factors worked a revolution in warship design. The Russo-Turkish war of 1878-79, taught that a torpedo was a more important element in naval warfare than had been imagined. Launches going at the rate of 18 or 20 miles an hour, covered a mile in about three minutes, and if they attacked at night, were so small, quick-moving, and indistinguishable, that they could attack the most powerful battleship with little risk of being hit by the snap shots of the few slow-firing heavy guns, with which modern ships were armed.

The machine gun was first introduced to meet this danger; it could send a continuous shower of rifle bullets at the approaching boat, and riddle and sink her before she got near enough to do mischief; but when torpedo boats began to be armoured with iron plates, proof not only against rifle bullets, but even against the heavier Hotchkiss and Nordenfeldt half-pounder guns, except at very close ranges, it was seen that an armament of small guns was desirable to repel torpedo boats, or to be used against unarmoured cruisers, whose superior speed would soon take them out of danger from the slow-firing heavy guns. Another factor was the introduction of longer guns, and what are termed “slow burning” powders. These last do not explode with such sudden violence as the ordinary powder, so that there is less sudden strain on the gun, while a steadier pressure on the shot is kept up. The long gun enables the pressure of the gases formed by the burning powder to act longer on the shot, with the result that a higher velocity is given to it, not only increasing its range, but also its penetrative power.

The result of these improvements was to some extent a repetition of what had taken place when rifled guns were first introduced. Guns could be made lighter, and yet be much more powerful than the old patterns of the same bore, and it was seen that a ship could with advantage be provided with a “secondary” armament, as it is called of these smaller yet powerful guns. Armour, too, was being improved, so that it could be made thinner and yet equally effective; higher speeds were also called for, and it was evident that warships must be designed on different lines to meet or take advantage of the new conditions.

The first ship designed on the new lines was the Collingwood, a vessel of 9,500 tons, 16 and a half knots speed, and 7,000 horse-power. She was the first ship of what was called the “Admiral class,”—several sister ships named after famous admirals. The four heavy guns of the Devastation type of turret-ship were retained, mounted fore and aft, but instead of placing them in turrets, the turret armour was fixed to the deck, forming what is known as a “barbette,” or breastwork, over the upper edge of which the gun fired. Inside the barbette the gun revolved on its turn-table; its breech, together with the gunners, was protected by a hood of armour which revolved with the gun. This arrangement is probably less liable to be knocked out of action by the enemy’s shot than the turret.

Amidships was the “secondary” armament of six 6-inch breech-loading guns. All the guns were mounted well above the water, enabling them to be used even in a heavy sea, which could not be done in the case of ships lying low in the water like the Devastation.

A further impetus was given to the development of the secondary armament by the introduction of “smokeless” powder—which, however, gives a very slight smoke,—and the “quick-firing gun.” By simplifying the breech mechanism, using metal cartridge cases for the ammunition instead of silk bags—which necessitated the sponging out of the piece after each shot to remove the smouldering fragments—arranging the “sights” of the gun so that it could be aimed while loading was going on, and other ingenious arrangements, it was found that 6-inch 100-pounder guns could be fired many times per minute without any mechanical appliances. About the same time also, means were found of firing with safety what are called “high explosives,” that is, explosives of far greater destructive power than the same weight of gunpowder. Similar improvements were naturally extended to the larger guns, and thus there has been a reversion to the type of ships mounting a fair number of guns, the lighter ones, firing shells of 100 pounds, being intended to wreck the unarmoured portions of the enemy, and demoralise his crew; the heavier ones, 200-pounders, 380-pounders, and 850-pounders, being adapted to pierce the armour and destroy the guns or the machinery. Some idea of the terrible power of modern quick-fire guns may be obtained when it is mentioned that a modern ship, armed with one 6-inch 100-pounder gun could fire—and hit every time too, at three-quarters-of-a-mile range—a greater weight of metal per minute than could be kept up by the 52 guns on the broadside of Nelson’s Victory, or even by the broadside of the more modern Britannia.

Such are the types of the principal battleships constructed up to nearly the end of the nineteenth century, and we may now glance at the cruisers.

The frigate of the olden days, used for scouting and cruising, was the favourite ship in the great wars, as they bore off the greatest proportion of prize-money, and afforded their commanders greater opportunities of gaining promotion and distinction. As already mentioned, the French built faster and finer craft of this description than we did, and Nelson was always complaining that we had not a sufficient number of swift frigates to keep down whose of the enemy.

The frigates had from 28 to 50 guns, and did not vary much in general design, although the Americans taught us to build them of larger size and of thicker planking. When steam was introduced, engines were fitted to these cruisers, and they were given a few knots superior speed to the line-of-battle-ships. To enable them to keep the sea for long periods without their bottoms becoming fouled by marine growths—which decrease the speed—their iron hulls were sheathed wood, which in its turn was covered by copper. Ships of this type were not armoured. The Shah, which fought the Huascar in 1877, was a ship of this description; she carried 26 heavy guns, and had a speed of 16 knots.

Other vessels were specially designed as rams. The sinking of the powerful battleships Vanguard, in the Irish sea, and Victoria, in the Mediterranean, after accidental collision with the ram of another ship in the squadron, shows the terrible effect of this weapon when it can strike home. But torpedoes render it highly improbable that the opportunity of using it will ever arise. Modern naval battles will probably be fought and decided, at the minimum range of 2 miles, or thereby.

Chapter Twenty One.

Modern Engines of War.

For many centuries after the invention of gunpowder, little change took place in the weapons used in naval warfare, the chief developments being in the way of better workmanship and material, and the production of guns of larger size.

About the end of the eighteenth century, however, the period from which so many of our modern improvements begin to date, inventors began to plan new and improved methods of disposing of the enemy. About the year 1770, the American Bushnell conceived the idea of what his fellow-countryman Fulton afterwards called the “torpedo.” This weapon consisted of a case of powder which was to be attached to the bottom of the enemy’s ship by the aid of a submarine boat, leaving it to explode later on by means of a clock inside.

The submarine boat was actually made in 1775; it was egg-shaped in form, and held one man. It was propelled through the water by means of a screw propeller, worked by manual power; a similar screw, arranged vertically, enabled the boat to rise or sink at will. With this boat, during the War of Independence, he, or some other operator, succeeded in getting under a British man-of-war lying at anchor near New York. Without her crew having the slightest suspicion of his presence, he attempted to screw his torpedo to her bottom, but his auger encountered what appeared to be a bar of iron. When shifting to another position he lost the ship altogether, and being unable to find her again was forced to cast off the torpedo and make away, as the clock-work inside had been arranged to explode soon afterwards. And about an hour later the crew of the warship were first roused to their danger by the explosion of the torpedo at no great distance from them, and they were the more alarmed as they were wholly unable to account for it.

In the beginning of the nineteenth century another American, named Fulton, having borrowed Bushnell’s ideas, came over to Europe and endeavoured to get the French government to take up his plans for submarine warfare. After long delay he was at length given the sum of 10,000 francs, with which he successfully constructed a submarine boat. In this boat he remained under water for more than four hours, and having been required to blow up a small vessel had no difficulty in getting under her and in blowing her to pieces with his torpedo. The torpedo in a highly developed form is now one of the most important weapons in naval tactics.

In spite of the success of Fulton’s experiments, his plans were not adopted, either by Napoleon or by the British Admiralty, to whom Fulton afterwards offered them. The great European wars having been brought to an end by the downfall of Napoleon, the torpedo for a while sunk into oblivion, although during the Crimean war the Russians used submarine mines to protect their harbours. But during the American Civil War the torpedo was again brought to the front, and the Southerners, or “Confederates,” used vast numbers of them, to the great damage of the Northerners, or “Federals.”

At first these torpedoes proved so harmless—so few exploding out of the hundreds laid—that the Federal officers paid little attention to them. But as the war went on, better methods of exploding them were devised, and vessel after vessel was sunk in a few minutes, often with great loss of life. Some of these were sunk by submarine mines fired by electricity, others by floating torpedoes drifted down by the current or tide; others again by torpedoes at the end of a long spar carried in a small launch. In one instance, a submarine boat was employed, propelled by a screw worked by eight men. Instead of running just beneath the surface, however, her crew insisted on keeping the hatchway just above water, and open, with the result that the wave caused by the explosion of her torpedo rushed in and swamped her, so that she went to the bottom with all on board.

Another night a large frigate was blockading Charleston harbour when a David—as these torpedo boats were then called—was seen approaching. The frigate, which carried a crew of 700 men, slipped her cable and made off at full speed, although she was only being attacked by a small launch, manned by four men, armed with a few pounds of powder extended on a spar in front of her! In spite of a fierce fusillade aimed at her, not a shot struck the David, which returned in safety to Charleston.

The Russo-Turkish War afforded several additional examples of the same kind, which, as already mentioned, had not a little to do with the alteration in naval design and tactics that took place during the last two decades of the nineteenth century.

Torpedoes were of three kinds: the first were really submarine mines, and were placed in a river channel, being fired by electricity when the vessel came over them. The second kind was the floating or Harvey’s torpedo, consisting of a long narrow, but deep wooden case from 44 to 60 inches in length, which contained 30 to 80 pounds of gunpowder, inside a copper lining. It had two levers projecting on the outside, which, on striking an object, set off the explosive inside. This torpedo was used in two ways: the first by setting it adrift on a river, or where there was a well-marked current setting towards the enemy’s ships, when the current carried it to its destination; the other way was by towing it at night, by means of a long line, across the bows of an enemy’s ship; it exploded whenever it came in contact with the ship.

The third kind of torpedo was practically a Harvey’s torpedo attached to a long boom, or pole, about 28 feet long. This was carried at the gunwale of a fast steam launch at night; on nearing the enemy’s ship this boom was pushed forward so as to bring the torpedo ten feet below the surface and well in advance of the boat. The torpedo exploded when it struck the ship, and to prevent the torpedo-boat from being sunk by the huge wave raised by the explosion, it had to be covered in front by a shield.

The experiences of the two wars already mentioned showed the difficulty of dealing with torpedo boats at night, and “search lights” are now installed on all modern warships. These consist of an electric arc lamp of 25,000 candle-power, combined with a reflector, which concentrates the light so that it brilliantly lights up objects at a great distance. Torpedo boats can be readily discovered when a mile or more distant and, at the same distance from the light, the rays are so powerful that a newspaper can be read with the greatest ease.

Torpedo attack, however, has been revolutionised by the invention of “Whitehead’s torpedo,” which can be used from a distance. In shape it is exactly like a huge cigar, 12 to 18 inches in diameter, and 6 to 10 feet long. At the head is the explosive; behind this is a reservoir containing air compressed to an enormous pressure, which drives engines contained in a third compartment, and which in their turn work a screw propeller at the back of the torpedo. There is also mechanism which automatically adjusts the depth at which the torpedo travels below the water, and other mechanism which ensures that it will keep going in the direction in which it was fired. Such a torpedo is now effective up to two miles, and it will traverse this distance in about six minutes.

Torpedoes are discharged from what are called “torpedo tubes” by means of compressed air. These tubes are to all intents and purposes, guns made of thin steel, the torpedo being put in at the breech. Those used on board torpedo boats or similar light fast craft are mounted on a swivel on the deck; in larger vessels they are usually placed below the waterline so as to be free from the serious consequences that would ensue if the tube were struck by the enemy’s shot, while a torpedo was in it. Torpedoes have also been invented which are steered by electricity.

The problem of protecting ships against torpedoes is a difficult one, and no satisfactory solution has yet been arrived at. All large warships, however, are provided with “torpedo nets” of thick iron wire, which are hung round her at the end of long poles, which, when not in use, are tied up alongside. But mechanism has been invented by which the torpedo will cut through the netting, if it encounters it, so that at present the torpedo is master of the situation, within its range. In fairly shallow water a torpedo will throw a column of water nearly 200 feet into the air, by the impulse of the gases generated by the explosion, and no ship yet built would be able to withstand its enormous shock.

Reference has already been made to the huge guns of the Inflexible, and to the improvements in both powder and guns made later on. The modern gun is what is called a “wire gun,” from its method of construction. Round a central tube of steel, several layers of immensely strong steel wire is tightly wound; a second steel tube is then slipped on above the wire, and as this tube is hot when first put on, when it cools it contracts and binds the layers of wire tightly together, forming a gun of very great strength—as, indeed, it would need to be, seeing that it has to withstand a pressure of over 16 tons to the square inch.

The projectiles fired from naval guns are of three kinds, solid shot for piercing the thickest armour,—as on the conning-tower, or barbettes; “armour piercing shell,” with very thick walls and small bursting charge, which can only penetrate armour, two-thirds of that piercible by solid shot; lastly, “common shell,” in which the shell walls are much thinner, and can thus only be used with effect against the lighter structures of the enemy. By placing a small “cap” of iron on the points of ordinary shot, “capped shot” are produced; and thus provided, they will pierce a much greater thickness of hard-faced armour than the ordinary ones. Against soft armour, however, they are not so efficient.

The armour of modern ships has also been greatly improved in resisting power. The Inflexible of 1881 was protected by wrought-iron plates 24 inches thick, which weighed 2,400 tons, or a fifth of her total weight, yet only a third of her length was protected. Soon after her completion, “compound” armour plates,—with a hard steel face on a backing of wrought-iron—were introduced, which enabled a third of the weight of the armour to be saved, yet leaving the amount of penetrability unchanged. Later on, “Harvey” armour, made of steel alloyed with nickel, still further reduced the weight, and recent improvements now make the best armour equal in resisting power to three times its thickness of wrought-iron. It may be mentioned also that the coal bunkers are now arranged so as to further protect the engines, being reckoned equivalent to about three inches of wrought-iron.

Facing page 464 are two “sections” of warships, which will, no doubt, interest the reader. The first is of an old steam battleship, such as the Marlborough, the other, that of a modern second-class cruiser, like the Minerva, which could blow the Marlborough to pieces before the latter could get her within the range of her guns. Notice the enormous difference in the space devoted to the engines and boilers. The modern vessel gives a general idea of the arrangement in all classes of modern warships. The conning-tower will be seen below the bridge, in front of the foremast. The magazines are at the bottom, right below the forward and aft guns, which in this type of vessel, are protected by a shield only, with armoured ammunition hoists going down from it; the barbettes of the more powerful vessels would simply be iron breast-works, extending all round these guns. The curved protective deck is also seen, about the waterline, and the projecting ram, while at the stern is the curiously shaped rudder, made in this form, because it takes less power to work, than that of the ordinary type.

Chapter Twenty Two.

The British Navy of to-day.

In giving a brief outline of the general features of the battleships and cruisers composing the present British navy, it must be remembered that the navy is made up of ships built during a period of fifteen or twenty years; the newest being a great advance upon the older ones, yet differing but little from those launched a few years before.

The indications at present are for fast ships of very large size, the battleships—intended to act in squadrons—possessing the maximum of offensive and defensive power; the cruisers—intended for scouting and similar purposes—possessing a high rate of speed, heavy armament, and a certain amount of protection; and, as the travelling speed of a fleet is limited to that of the slowest vessel in the group, the aim of British naval architects is to design all the battleships to go at approximately the same speed, and similarly for the cruisers. A special feature of all British warships is the large coal supply carried, in view of the fact that they may be required to operate in any part of the world. For this reason the armour in our ships is sometimes not so thick as in some foreign ships, which sacrifice coal supply and radius of action to obtain better protection. In other respects our ships are second to none.

The British battleship of to-day varies from 12,000 up to 15,000 tons in displacement, and has a maximum speed of fully 18 knots, or about twenty-one miles an hour. They are armoured from end to end, and are provided with two protective decks; the lower one, about the level of the water-line, being to protect the “vitals”; the upper one, to prevent the fragments of shells from above penetrating to the batteries below. Forward and aft are the two barbettes, each carrying a pair of long 12-inch 50-ton guns, firing 850-pound shot, capable of penetrating 28 inches of wrought iron at a range of two miles. The secondary armament of 6-inch or 7.5-inch guns is mounted in “casemates,” or armoured chambers, so disposed that two of them can also fire straight ahead, and the other two straight astern. The most recent ships have these ahead or astern guns mounted in turrets, and in the largest ships of all, some of which are of 18,000 tons, these guns are 9.2-inch 380-pounders.

After the battleships come the cruisers, corresponding to the frigates of olden days,—ships whose functions correspond to that of the cavalry of land forces, having to act as scouts, carry messages, intercept the enemy’s ships, and capture his mercantile ships, or protect their own merchant convoys. To perform these varied functions, one of the chief requirements is speed, rather than heavy armament, so that it can run, if need be, if it should happen to encounter a ship of greater power. Accordingly the best cruisers are given the high maximum speed of 23 to 25 knots.

Cruisers are divided into two classes: armoured and unarmoured. The former are really modified battleships, with thin armour and somewhat lighter armament, to enable the necessary engine power and coal supply to be provided. Armoured cruisers of this description could, at a pinch, take part in fleet actions—even against ironclads, as shown at the battle of the Yalu, between the Chinese and Japanese, when the latter, with protected cruisers and one or two armoured cruisers, defeated a fleet in which there were several ironclads much larger and better protected than themselves.

The most recent armoured cruisers are ships of 13,000 to 14,000 tons displacement, and are protected by a belt of 6-inch armour, in addition to protective decks. They are armed with two or four 9.2-inch 380-pounder guns, mounted in barbettes of thick armour, and with a number of 6-inch 100-pounders; a number of 12-pounders and 3-pounders are also carried. Some ships of this description can spurt up to 25 knots—not so long ago considered a high speed even for a torpedo boat destroyer.

The unarmoured cruisers are intended chiefly for scouting purposes, or for capturing or protecting commerce. As they are only intended to fight with ships similar to themselves, which may attempt to make havoc among our merchantmen, their only protection is a protective deck which covers the vitals. The first-class unarmoured cruisers have an armament and speed similar to those of the armoured type, and may have casements for their broadside guns, and barbettes for the heavy ones; the second-class cruisers are armed with 6-inch and 4.7-inch guns, protected by simple shields only, and they have a speed of from 19 to 20 knots.

In a previous chapter, the torpedo boats used in the American Civil War were mentioned as being simply fast launches, and little progress was made in their construction, until the Russo-Turkish war taught that their value was much greater than had been supposed. From that time onwards, larger and faster boats began to be built, and even a certain amount of protection began to be given them, consisting of 1-inch iron plates round the boilers and engines, which was proof against small-arms, and even against the heavier Nordenfelt machine guns, except at the closest quarters. Boats of this type were from 130 to 170 feet long, and went at a speed of 22 knots. As speeds increased, there was less risk for the torpedo boat, and greater risk for her enemy, and it became plain, that some means of averting torpedo boat attack must be devised, else it would be absolutely impossible for a fleet to blockade an enemy’s coast without grave risk to itself. Torpedo boats were essentially for coast defence, as they could only venture out in calm weather. It was therefore seen that a new type of boat was required, capable of keeping the sea in all weathers. Accordingly, the “torpedo boat destroyer” was designed with this object, and which, possessing superior speed, and an armament sufficiently powerful, could run down and destroy existing torpedo boats, would safeguard the fleet, and enable it to keep comparatively near the blockaded coast. These boats were also furnished with a torpedo equipment, so that they could be used as torpedo boats in connection with a fleet.

In these “destroyers,” as they are called for short, everything must be sacrificed to save weight; the hull must be a mere shell, and the engines and boilers reduced to the very minimum of weight that can be expected to stand the strain of the power developed. When we know that the sides of a destroyer are only 0.3-inch thick, and that her engines and boilers only weigh 50 pounds for each horse-power they give out, while those of a mail steamer weigh 280 pounds, and those of a cargo steamer 440 pounds, per horse-power developed, we can hardly wonder that these boats have frequent breakdowns.

Present day destroyers are boats of 200 to 300 tons displacement, and are about 227 feet long. They attain a maximum speed of about 33 knots, or 37 miles an hour, which is produced by engines of 6,000 to 8,000 horse-power. They carry two swivel torpedo tubes on deck, and an armament of one 12-pounder gun and six 3-pounders. They are also fitted with search lights. To prevent the sea from breaking over the bows, it is raised somewhat higher than the rest of the deck, and is curved at the sides, so that waves breaking over it are diverted to the side, instead of sweeping aft over the deck. The bridge is placed at the rear of this hood, and carries the 12-pounder gun. These boats carry 80 tons of coal, and have a crew of 60 men. The accomodation for the crew, however, is very cramped, and those who work them have to put up with a good deal of discomfort.

Like the torpedo boats, destroyers are low in the water; with their short dumpy funnels, short mast, and inky hue, they have a peculiarly “wicked” appearance.

A new departure in these boats has been made by the introduction of “turbine” engines, which are much lighter and take up less room than engines of the ordinary type. These engines go at such a high rate of speed that four screw-propellers have to be provided to transmit the power efficiently. Turbine destroyers have attained a speed of 35 and a half knots, or nearly 41 miles per hour. One more type of vessel remains to be mentioned, which is receiving a good deal of attention at present. These are the “submarines,” or boats designed to navigate under water. Their use, however, is largely discounted by the fact that it is impossible to see to any distance under water—in fact, a well-known submarine expert has said that the navigation of a submarine, even under the best conditions, presents exactly the same difficulties as that of an ordinary ship sailing in a fog. Hence a submarine must frequently rise to the surface to ascertain the distance traversed, and see that the proper course has been kept, and until some satisfactory means of avoiding this has been discovered, submarines will probably remain of comparatively little value for purposes of war.

The submarines made for the Navy are, 63 feet long, by 11 and 3 quarters feet broad. When running “awash”—that is, with a small part of their upper works above water, they are driven by a gasoline engine at a speed of over 10 miles an hour. Sufficient gasoline is carried to take them over 400 miles at this speed. When submerged, the speed is naturally glower; the gasoline engines are stopped, all openings are closed, and electric storage batteries are put in operation. These drive the boat at the rate of eight miles an hour, but for a run of four hours only, after which the batteries require recharging. For this reason submarines always require to act in concert with what has been called a “mother ship.”

The most important types of vessels composing the British Navy have now been described. There are many others—sloops, gunboats, transports, despatch-boats, coal ships, hospital-ships, etcetera, which need not be more than mentioned. What warships will be like in the future it is impossible to forecast, as will be seen from what has been already said. Improvements in armour and guns, as well in machinery, are ever being made, which may alter the present type of ship altogether. Sad it is to think of the enormous expenditure of money and ingenuity in providing means of destroying our fellow-men with the greatest facility, and what a relief it would be to everybody if only the nations could agree to disarm—and keep disarmed! But as this may not be, for the present at any rate, we must be content to bear the burden of our national insurance policy, and, however much we may grudge its necessity, see that our naval power is sufficient to keep the command of the sea, on which our very existence as a nation depends. Of one thing we may rest certain, that the same spirit, the same indomitable courage and readiness to sacrifice their lives in defence of their country, exists among our officers and men in not less proportion than it did before England was engaged in that glorious struggle, with the world in arms against her, for her liberties and independence, the successful termination of which secured for her that peace which has now endured, with few interruptions, for well-nigh a century. That peace it will be our wise policy to maintain while we can do so with honour; at the same time guarding ourselves by every means in our power against the assaults of envious foes who may venture to attack us.

William H G Kingston

"The Gilpins and their Fortunes"

Chapter One.

Arthur Gilpin and Mark Withers walked down the High Street, arm-in-arm, on their return to their respective homes from the well-managed school of Wallington.

They were among the head boys, and were on the point of leaving it to enter on the work of active life, and make their way in the world. They had often of late discussed the important question—all-important, as it seemed to them— “How are we to make our way—to gain wealth, influence, our hearts’ desires?”

“For my part, I cannot stand a plodding style of doing things,” said Mark. “It is all very well for those without brains, but a fellow who has a grain of sense in his head requires a more rapid way of making a fortune. Life is too short to be wasted in getting money. I want to have it to spend while I am young and can enjoy it.”

Arthur was silent for some time. At length he remarked, “It strikes me, Mark, that the object of making money is that we may support ourselves and families, and help those who are in distress. My father often says to James, and to me, and to the rest of us, ‘I don’t want you, when you enter business, to be thinking only how you can make money. Do your duty, and act liberally towards all men, and you will have a sufficiency at all events, if not wealth.’”

“Oh! your father’s old-fashioned notions won’t do in the world, and certainly won’t suit me, that I can tell you,” answered Mark, in a scornful tone.

“My father is considered a sensible man. What he preaches he practises; and though he has a very large family, no one calls him a poor man,” argued Arthur. “He says that, considering how short life is, it cannot be wise to spend the time, as many men do, in gathering up riches and setting so high a value on them. But here comes James! Let us hear what he has to say on the subject.”

“Oh! of course, James has got the same notions from your father that you have, and I am not going to be influenced by him,” answered Withers.

James, however, was appealed to, and answered, “Even if we were to live for ever in this world, I should agree with Arthur; for, from all I see and hear, I am convinced that wealth cannot secure happiness; but as this world is only a place of preparation for another, it is evident folly to set one’s heart upon what must be so soon parted with.”

Withers made a gesture of impatience, exclaiming, “Come, come, I won’t stand any preaching, you know that; but we are old friends, and so I don’t want to quarrel about trifles, when we are so soon to separate! You stick to your opinion, I will stick to mine, and we’ll see who is right at last.”

“If this matter were a trifle I would not press it, but, because I am sure that it is one of great importance, I do press it upon you most earnestly, though, believe me, I am sorry to annoy you,” said Arthur Gilpin.

“Oh! I dare say you mean well,” answered Withers, in a contemptuous tone. “But don’t bother me again on the subject, there’s a good fellow. You, James, are so above me, that I don’t pretend to understand what you mean.” Saying this with a condescending air, he shook hands with the two brothers, and entered the house of his father, who was the principal solicitor of the town.

The two Gilpins walked on towards their home. Their father possessed a small landed property, which he farmed himself. He had a very numerous family, and though hitherto he had been able to keep them together with advantage, the time had arrived when some of them must go forth to provide for themselves in the world. James and Arthur had long turned their thoughts towards Australia, for which part of the British possessions they were preparing to take their departure. Mr Gilpin, or the squire, as he was called, was looked upon as an upright, kind-hearted man. He was sensible, well educated, and a true Christian; and he brought up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord.

A year passed by: a long sea voyage was over, and James and Arthur Gilpin stood on the shores of Australia. Two other brothers, with their sisters, remained to help their father in his farm at home. James and Arthur had left England, stout of heart, and resolved to do their duty, hoping to establish a comfortable home for themselves and for those who might come after them. Their ship lay close to the broad quay of the magnificent capital of New South Wales. They had scarcely been prepared for the scene of beauty and grandeur which met their sight as they entered Port Jackson, the harbour of Sydney, with its lofty and picturesque shores, every available spot occupied by some ornamental villa or building of greater pretension, numerous romantic inlets and indentations running up towards the north; while the city itself appeared extending far away inland with its broad, well-built streets, its numberless churches, colleges, public schools, hospitals, banks, government buildings, and other public and private edifices, too numerous to be mentioned.

The Gilpins, as they were put on shore with their luggage, felt themselves almost lost in that great city. They were dressed in their rough, every-day suits, and looked simple, hardworking country lads, and younger than they really were.

Large as Sydney then was, it was still diminutive compared to what it has since become. Founded by criminals, it was unhappily as far advanced in crime and wickedness as the oldest cities of the old world, though efforts were being then made, as they have ever since continued to be made, and, happily, not without some degree of success, to wipe out the stain. The two brothers stood for some time watching the bustling scene before them. Huge drays laden with bales of wool were slowly moving along the quay towards the ships taking in cargo, while porters, and carts, with ever-moving cranes overhead, were rapidly unloading other vessels of miscellaneous commodities. Irish, Negro, Chinese, and Malay porters were running here and there; cabs and carts were driving about, and other persons on foot and on horseback, mostly in a hurry, evidently with business on their hands. There were, however, a few saunterers, and they were either almost naked black aborigines, with lank hair, hideous countenances, and thin legs, or men with their hands in their pockets, in threadbare coats and uncleaned shoes, their countenances pale and dejected, and mostly marked by intemperance. Many of them were young, but there were some of all ages—broken-down gentlemen, unprepared for colonial life, without energy or perseverance, unable and still oftener unwilling to work. The brothers had not to inquire who they were. Their history was written on their foreheads.

“What shall we do next?” asked Arthur.

“I should like to get out of this place as soon as possible.”

“So should I, indeed,” said James; “but we must go to an inn for the night, ascertain where labour is most wanted in the interior, and how best to find our way there.”

“You and I can scarcely carry our traps any way up those streets; perhaps one or two of those poor fellows there would like to earn a shilling by helping us,” said Arthur, beckoning to some of the above-mentioned idlers.

The first summoned walked away without noticing them, another stared, a third exclaimed, “Egregious snob! what can he want?” and a fourth walked up with his fists doubled, crying out in a furious tone, “How do you dare to make faces at me, you young scoundrel?”

“Pardon me, sir,” said James, quietly; “my brother made no faces at you. We merely thought that you might be willing to assist in carrying our luggage.”

“I assist you in carrying your luggage! A good joke! But I see you are not quite what I took you for; and if you’ll stand a nobbler or two, I don’t mind calling a porter for you, and showing you to a slap-up inn to suit you,” said the man, his manner completely changing. “You’ll have to pay the porter pretty handsomely, my new chums! People don’t work for nothing in this country.”

While they were hesitating about accepting the man’s offer to get a porter, thinking that there could be no harm in that, a country lad, Sam Green by name, who had come out as a steerage passenger with them, approached. As soon as he saw them he ran up exclaiming—

“Oh, Master Gilpins, there’s a chap been and run off wi’ all my traps, and I’ve not a rag left, but just what I stand in!”

Sam was, of course, glad enough to assist in carrying their luggage. James apologised to the stranger, saying he would not trouble him.

“Not so fast, young chum!” exclaimed the man. “You promised me a couple of nobblers, and engaged me to call a porter. I’m not going to let you off so easily! Down with the tin, or come and stand the treat!”

The Gilpins were rather more inclined to laugh at the man than to be angry; certainly they had no intention of paying him. Perhaps their looks expressed this. He was becoming more and more blustering, when a cry from several people was heard; and looking up the street, an open carriage with a pair of horses was seen dashing down towards the water at a furious rate. There was no coachman on the box, but that there was some one in the carriage James discovered by seeing a shawl fluttering from the side, and by hearing a piercing shriek, uttered apparently as if then, for the first time, the lady had discovered the imminence of her danger. In a few seconds the carriage would have been dragged over the quay and into water many fathoms deep.

“Stop the horses! Fifty—a hundred—five hundred pounds to whoever will do it!” shouted a man’s voice from within.

Right and left the people were flying out of the way of the infuriated steeds. There was not manhood enough left apparently in the idle, dissipated-looking loiterers who were standing near. Two or three took their hands out of their pockets and ran forward, but quickly returned as the horses came galloping by them. The young Gilpins heard the gentleman’s offer.

“We don’t want that!” cried James. “Come on, Arthur!”

They sprang towards the carriage, one on each side; and then turning, ran in the direction it was going, grasping the head-stalls of the animals as they passed, but allowing themselves to be carried on some way, their weight however telling instantly on the galloping steeds.

Sam Green had remained standing by the luggage, having made up his mind that the suspicious-looking stranger would decamp with it, if left unguarded. When, however, he saw that the horses, in spite of his young friends’ efforts, would drag the carriage over, unless stopped, he started up, with his hands outstretched before him, uttering with stentorian voice a true English “Woh! woho!” and then, with an arm from which an ox would dislike to receive a blow, he seized the heads of the horses, already trying to stop themselves, and forced them back from the edge stones of the quay, which they had almost reached. Undoubtedly the horses had been broken in by a trainer from the old country: Sam Green’s “Woh! woho!” acted like magic; and the pacified though trembling animals allowed themselves to be turned round, with their heads away from the water. While the elder Gilpin and Sam held them, Arthur ran to open the door, that the lady and gentleman might alight. The one was of middle age, the other very young—father and daughter, Arthur surmised.

“My brave lads, you have nobly won the reward I promised,” said the gentleman, as he lifted out his daughter, who, pale and agitated, still, by the expression of her countenance, showed the gratitude she felt.

“I am sure that my brother and I require no reward for doing our duty,” answered Arthur, blushing as he spoke. “Besides, without the aid of that other lad, our fellow-passenger, we should probably have failed.”

“What! I took you for labouring youths, I beg your pardon,” said the gentleman, giving a glance of surprise at him.

“Our intention is to labour,” said Arthur, unaffectedly.

“Ah! you have the stuff in you to command success,” said the gentleman. “But I must request you to accompany me for a short distance, as my daughter prefers walking; and if I once lose sight of you in this straggling city, I may not easily find you again.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Arthur; “we have our luggage with us, and must go to an inn; but if you will favour me with your address, we will call on you before we leave Sydney.”

While they were speaking, the coachman, in consequence of whose carelessness in letting go their heads the horses had run away, came up, and released James and Sam. Not a word of scolding was uttered—the gentleman thought a moment.

“Here, Sykes, lift that luggage into the carriage, and drive these young gentleman home; leave them there, and come back for Miss Fanny and me to the club.”

In vain the young Gilpins expostulated.

“I am a determined person, and will have it so,” said the gentleman.

Before they looked round, Sam had stowed away their luggage in the carriage, greatly to the disappointment of the bully, who had, it seemed, been watching for an opportunity to make off with a portion. The stranger then, almost against their will, forced them into it; and writing a few lines on the leaf of a pocket-book, gave it to the coachman. “Come, my friend, you must go in also,” he added, taking Sam by the arm.

Sam drew back, and, touching his hat, exclaimed, “Noa, sir—noa, thank ye. It ’ud ne’er do for me to ride wi’ the young squires; I know my place better nor that.”

A mob such as Sydney, of all British ports, perhaps, can alone produce, had by this time collected round the carriage. Sam’s remark produced a loud guffaw laugh from among them, and a variety of observations came rattling down on him, such as “Go it, young Touch-my-hat; the nob will pay you—he’s a nigger with a white face. I wonder where he was raised? His mother was a dancing mistress—little doubt of that.”

Sam’s temper had been irritated from the loss of his property, which he very naturally concluded had been stolen by some of his tormentors. He now looked as if he were going to give way to his temper. Instead of so doing, however, he turned calmly round with his double fist, and said slowly, “I’ll tell you what, young chaps, a man who respects himself keeps his own place, and when he meets a gentleman he’d think himself without manners nor character if he didn’t touch his hat to him. Did any on ye ever see two gentlemen take off their hats to each other? Well, then, I have; and I should just like to know which was the worst man of the two? I’ll say another thing—I have mostly found that when I have took my hat off to a gentleman he took his off to me; and I wonder if his friends laughed at him. But I suppose some of you are great nobs yourselves, and know all about what nobs do.”

Having thus delivered himself, Sam, giving a contemptuous glance at his opponents, slowly mounted the box by the side of the coachman. The gentleman, who had walked on with his daughter, bowed to the Gilpins as they passed.

“I am afraid that, from taking us to be ploughboys, he now believes we are young noblemen in disguise,” observed Arthur. “This is a very different style to that in which we could have expected to have entered Sydney half an hour ago.”

“Perhaps he thinks more of the service we have rendered him than we should,” answered his brother; “however, it’s a curious adventure, certainly.”

“Well, muster, there be rum jokes in this town o’ yours,” observed Sam to the coachman, after keeping silence for some time.

“There be, young man,” was the laconic answer; “and rum things done.”

In this Sam agreed, informing Mr Sykes—for this, he ascertained, was the coachman’s name—how he had lost his property.

“Be thou the young man who stopped the ’osses?” inquired Sykes.

“The young squires did it, and I helped ’em,” said Sam.

“And saved my bacon,” observed Sykes.

“I say, Muster Sykes, what’s the gen’l’man’s name?” asked Sam, discovering, perhaps, by the tone of the coachman’s voice, rather than by any perceptible change in his mask-like features, that he was not ill disposed towards him, and preparing therefore to be confidential.

Sykes informed him that his master’s name was Prentiss, that he was a large squatter, that there were other brothers all well off, and an old father; and that, take him all in all as masters went, he was not a bad one. Sam, in return, told him all about himself, and all he knew about the Gilpins, by which time the carriage had reached the door of Mr Prentiss’s residence, in one of the best parts of Sydney. It was a handsome house; and a respectable-looking servant-woman, after a few words from the coachman, showed the Gilpins into a well-furnished dining-room, their luggage being placed in the hall.

“You’ll go with me, young man,” observed Mr Sykes to Sam; “you’ll be more comfortable than with the gentry.”

To this Sam agreed; and drove round to the back of the house, where he was introduced to Mrs Sykes, who lived over the coach-house, and numerous Masters and Misses Sykes, thin, sallow, and remarkably precocious young people, the eldest not being more than ten. Among this hopeful family Sam in a few minutes made himself a great favourite.

The young immigrants waited the arrival of their host with no little curiosity, for they knew less of him than Sam had contrived to learn. In a short time, however, the servant, placing a tray with meat, bread, fruit, and light wine, begged them to refresh themselves. This occupied their time till the arrival of Mr Prentiss. Perhaps James was disappointed at not seeing the young lady when her father entered the room. Mr Prentiss put out his hand, cordially welcoming them to Australia and to his house; and, begging them to make it their home during their stay, he quickly drew out from them a statement of their plans and wishes. “You can make a fair start,” he observed. “You have the five hundred pounds I promised, very nobly won, too; and I may give you a few hints besides as to the purchase of stock. You will, of course, become squatters—by far the best business for young men of enterprise and activity. What do you say to it?”

“We should like nothing better, sir,” answered James. “But—I speak again for my brother as well as for myself—we cannot accept payment for performing a mere act of duty; your advice and assistance may be of the greatest value to us, and of that we will gladly avail ourselves. The young man who helped us to stop the horses must, of course, speak for himself.”

“Well, well, I admire your independence and high feeling,” answered Mr Prentiss. “I doubt, however, that you will find many in this country to consider that you are right; but perhaps I may be of service to you in the way you desire. You, of course, will make my house your home while you remain in Sydney; when you wish to commence your life in the bush, I will send you up the country to my father and some brothers of mine, who will put you in the way of a fair start. Your young shipmate fairly earned a portion of the reward; he also deserves my gratitude. He looks as if there was work in him, and to such a person I can be permanently of use. Unhappily, numbers of men come out here—they may be counted by hundreds or thousands—who will not work, or who cannot work; nothing suits them. They come with pockets full of letters, expecting first-rate situations with nothing to do. How can such people be assisted to any advantage? Give them money, and they squander it; place them in situations of trust, and they are dismissed as incompetent, or they throw them up as uncongenial to their tastes. All we want in this magnificent country are people who will try to work, and if they do not succeed in one thing, will turn their hands to something else. There is ample room, I say, for persons of every possible description, provided always that they belong to the ‘try’ school.”

Mr Prentiss insisted on taking his guests round the town to visit its lions; and greatly surprised they were to see the wonderful progress it had already made. “Wool has done it all! Well may the golden fleece be our emblem!” he observed.

At the late dinner hour they were introduced to Mrs Prentiss and two daughters—the young lady they had before seen and a younger sister. All awkwardness soon wore off, and they felt themselves perfectly at home. Mr Prentiss had a conversation with Sam, the result of which made him supremely happy; his satisfaction was not decreased either when, two days afterwards, Sykes brought him his bag of clothes.

“Don’t ask questions, young man,” he observed, as he handed them; “there are few of the old hands I don’t know, and I guessed who had your property.”

Pleasant as the two young Gilpins found their stay in Sydney, they did not disguise their anxiety to be off into the country; and their new friend accordingly made arrangements for their journey.

Chapter Two.

A dray, similar in construction to that used by brewers in England, but drawn by oxen, and laden with all sorts of stores, such as are required on an Australian farm—tea, carpenters’ tools and agricultural implements, groceries and casks of liquor, clothing and furniture—was making its way towards the north-east from Sydney. There was the bullock-driver in charge, with his chum, a newly hired hand, and Sam Green, who walked or sat on the dray; while the two Gilpins rode alongside on horses, provided by Mr Prentiss. They were dressed more in the Australian style than when they landed, and in a way much better suited to the climate. The road had been excellent for a hundred miles or more, with numerous villages near it, and a large proportion of houses of entertainment, so that they had no want of accommodation when they halted. They had now for some time left the high-road, and though there were inns, and occasionally villages, and farms, and stock stations, they had sometimes to depend on their own resources, and to bivouac in the bush. This the young immigrants found by far the pleasantest part of their journey. The oxen were turned loose to graze at leisure; sticks were collected, and a fire lighted for boiling the tea-kettle and cooking the damper. The old hands troubled themselves very little about their night’s lodging; they, like Sam Green, were satisfied with the bare ground under the dray if it threatened rain, or anywhere near it if the weather was fine. A small tent had been provided by Mr Prentiss, which, with some ticking filled with dry grass, gave the Gilpins a luxurious lodging for the night. They could scarcely go to sleep on turning in for their first real night in the bush, from the novelty of the scene and the prospects opening up to them. Before dawn they both started up, awoke by the strangest and most discordant sounds.

“What can it be?” cried James.

“An attack of the blacks,” said Arthur, rubbing his eyes. “But no! Listen! They are birds, I verily believe; but the strangest birds I ever heard.”

He was right: there was the hideous, unearthly cry of the laughing-jackass, called often the bushman’s clock; the screaming cry of thousands of parrots flying here and there through the forest; there was the cackle of the wattle-bird, the clear notes of the magpie, and the confused chattering of thousands of leather-heads; while many other birds added their notes to the discordant chorus, and speedily banished sleep from the eyes of their hearers. The stockmen started to their feet, and hurried off to bring in the oxen and horses; a fire was lighted, tea boiled, breakfast discussed with considerable rapidity; and, before the sun was up, the party had recommenced their journey along the dusty dray-track—for as yet it deserved that name rather than a road. The scenery was varied, and often very beautiful when viewed under a clear blue sky and bright sun. The beds of streams were frequently passed, but they were either dry altogether, or occasional holes only with water in them could be seen here and there along the course, or, if nowhere dry, they were easily forded. The Irish bullock-driver, Larry Killock, told Sam that, in the rainy season, these were often foaming torrents, rushing on with terrific noise, and sweeping away everything they meet.

“Many a poor fellow has been drowned in trying to cross on horseback where, perhaps, he went over with dry feet a few days before,” said Larry.

“That’s after the snow melts,” observed Sam.

“Snow! man alive! It’s a small matter of snow comes down from the sky in this beautiful country, except, now and then, on the top of the Blue Mountains out there; though, as for frosts, it’s cold enough on the high ground in July and August, when the south wind blows, to make a fellow blow his fingers to keep them warm, and to think a blazing fire and a blanket pleasant companions.”

Sam thought that Larry was quizzing him, but still he did not like to accuse him directly. “It’s a strange country this, then, muster, I’m thinking,” he remarked cautiously.

“Strange! It is a strange country, faith!” answered Larry. “It is summer here when, by all dacent rules, it should be winter; the south wind is cold, and the north blazing hot. There are creatures with four legs which have ducks’ heads; and birds, with long legs and no wings, as tall as horses; while some of the animals stow their young away in a bag in front of them, instead of letting them follow properly at their heels, as pigs and ducks and hens do in the old country. The trees shed their bark instead of their leaves; and it’s only just surprising to me that the people walk on their feet instead of their heads, and that the sun thinks fit to rise in the east instead of the west; and it’s often when I wake in the mornin’ that I look out expecting to see that he’s grown tired of his old ways, and changed to suit the other things in the land.”

Sam, who could appreciate an English style of joke, was unable to make out whether or not the Irishman was in earnest; but he thought it wise to wait till he could learn the truth from his young friends, when they camped in the evening.

“It’s only just come out, ye are?” asked Larry.

Sam told him all about himself, as he had told Sykes, expecting an equal amount of communicativeness in return. “You’ve been some time in the country, master, I’m thinking? How did you come out?”

Larry looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Faith, that’s just a sacret between myself and them who knows all about it,” he answered, with a laugh. “It’s my belief that the big-wigs across the fish-pond had just an idea of the mighty great value I’d be to the country, and sent me out free of all charge to myself and family intirely.”

The scenery improved as the travellers advanced, and contrasted favourably with the dusty, stony, and worn-out region through which they had passed nearer the capital.

“Horrible farming!” observed James; “if such were practised in England universally, the whole country would become a desert in a few years.”

Sometimes they passed through scenery like that of a park in England, with open green pastures sprinkled with clumps of trees; some deserving the names of woods, others consisting but of a few trees. The greater number were Eucalypti the evergreen gum, and stringy-bark trees; but on the banks of streams and on the hillsides, and sometimes in rich, alluvial valleys, such as are found in the northern hemisphere and in less sunny climes, were to be seen flowers, of great size and beauty, such as flourish only in greenhouses in England; while a great variety of the orchis tribe, and geraniums, both large and small, were found in great profusion. The trees, the names of many of which were given by Larry, bore little or no resemblance to those of the same name at home. Among the most common were the box, wattle, and cherry; but undoubtedly the most prominent everywhere in the landscape were the old gum trees, and the huge iron stringy-bark trees, which, now with shattered and weird appearance, had braved the fierce storms of winter and the hot blasts of summer for centuries. Many strange birds flew by overhead, and still stranger wild animals started up from beneath some sheltering bush, and ran off along the fresh glades, all reminding the new-comers how far distant they were from the home of their childhood.

The old settled district had been left far behind before the animal they most wished to see started up near them. He was a large creature, full five feet in height as he sat upright under the scant shade of a venerable gum tree, contemplating apparently the scene before him. His long tail was stretched out on the ground behind him—an important support, and his little fore-paws tucked up in front. James and Arthur were ahead of their party, and so quietly had their horses trod over the soft ground that he did not appear to have heard them. They possessed guns, parting gifts from Mr Prentiss; but, not being required as a means of defence or offence, they had been left in the dray. The kangaroo (“an old man” Larry called him) at length, hearing a sound, turned his mild, intelligent countenance towards them, and as he did so instantly gave a spring forward, startling them by its suddenness and the extent of ground it cleared. Away he went, moving with similar springs, at a rate fleet as that of the deer. In vain Larry and the men with the dray shouted and ran after him with their guns. He was out of range before they could lift them to their shoulders. Larry said that possibly a mob might be come upon before long. In another hour or so, as they were travelling along a somewhat stony ridge, a large number of creatures were seen in the fertile valley below them. Some were lying stretched at length on their sides, some were frisking about, round and over each other, and others were sitting up, sedately watching the rest.

“Hurra, now! There’s the mob I told you of!” shouted Larry. “If we had but the dogs and the master’s rifle, we’d have more kangaroo steaks for supper than we’d eat in a week.”

He could scarcely restrain himself from leaving his bullocks and giving chase; he made a start indeed, but checked himself in time, seeing that the probable result would have been the upsetting of his dray and the destruction of most of its cargo. The young Gilpins with Sam found their way down the hill, hoping to ride down one of them; but the quick scent and keen eyes of the animals discovered their approach, and in an instant all were up on their feet and tails ready for a start—the mothers picking up the young joeys and putting them into their pouches—and off went the entire herd down the valley, springing along in the most curious fashion, till they were out of sight.

Sam Green’s open eyes of astonishment were very amusing. “Well! I always did think that animals had four legs, and there they go just two and a tail, a-skipping like grasshoppers over the ground. Well, well, well!” he continued ejaculating till they disappeared. “There they go; there they go! There’s nothing I won’t believe after that!”

Their adventures as they travelled on were to be singularly few, they thought. Now a dingo or wild dog, now a toombat or opossum, made its appearance, and created matter of interest and inquiry. One evening, after they had camped on the borders of a wide plain, containing fine sheep-runs, which they were to cross the next day, the brothers led on their horses to find better feed than appeared near at hand; and, having tethered them, they sat down to talk over the future, and to commune with themselves. Their heads had been resting on their hands for some time, when Arthur, looking up, saw a creature approaching from a distance. That it was an emu they guessed at once. They sat still, afraid of frightening it away. It stalked leisurely on towards their horses, not noticing them. Its head seemed fully six feet from the ground, at the end of a long neck; its legs were thick, to support its fat, tub-shaped body, of a brownish-black colour. Reaching the horses, it stopped, made a curious noise, which sounded like “Boo!” in their faces, and which caused them to start back. James and Arthur, thinking that their steeds would have broken their tethers, jumped up, when the emu, having satisfied his curiosity, turned round and trotted off, at a pace which showed that he had no fear of being pursued.

Towards the close of the day the travellers, after crossing an elevated down, saw before them a silvery stream running through a wide valley towards the east, its banks fringed by a variety of trees; while not far from them, amid a grove of fruit trees, appeared a pretty dwelling-house, with a verandah running round it, and near at hand, barns, sheds, stables, and other outhouses. A closer inspection showed them that there were carpenters’ and blacksmiths shops; indeed, it was a complete farm establishment on a large scale.

As riding on, in advance of the dray, they reached the door, a stout, hearty-looking old gentleman came out to meet them, and welcomed them in the most cordial manner. Their horses were quickly unsaddled and turned into a paddock, and they themselves conducted into the house, and introduced to the members of the family as late arrivals from the old country. All welcomed them; and they were soon seated at a well-covered supper-table, surrounded by the various inmates of the house. The young strangers were surprised to find that the letter of introduction they brought had not been read, and that the kindness they were receiving was quite independent of anything that might be said in their favour. It was not till the next day that the old Mr Prentiss alluded to it. “We received you, young gentlemen, as strangers,” he remarked; “but I little thought how much I owed you for saving from injury, if not death, those so dear to me.”

James and Arthur Gilpin agreed that their “lines had fallen to them in pleasant places.” They were treated as members of the family, and, what was of the greatest consequence to them as intending settlers, they were shown all the operations taking place on the farm. As they gave diligent attention to everything they saw, they rapidly acquired a sufficient knowledge of agriculture and of the management of sheep and cattle, as practised in Australia, to enable them, with their previous experience as farmers in England, to commence farming on their own account.

While, however, they were in search of a station to suit them, Mr Prentiss received an application to find a gentleman capable of taking the management of a sheep and cattle farm, about a hundred and fifty miles off. “Quite in our neighbourhood, as we measure distances in this country,” he remarked. He proposed to the young Gilpins that they should accept the post. “You will be allowed to keep a proportion of sheep and cattle on your own account, and receive wages for looking after those of your employer, so that you will gain in both ways. You will find also an established system by which, if it prove a good one, time and labour may be saved. I would gladly find you employment, but this will be far more to your advantage. It was hoped, I believe, that one of my own sons would take it.”

The brothers at once agreed to accept the offer.

Chapter Three.

The Gilpins no longer felt like newly arrived immigrants when they found themselves on their way to Warragong, the station of which they had undertaken charge. They were far, however, from being over-confident of success, or of pleasing their employers; but they had resolved to make up by diligence and perseverance for their want of experience, and Mr Prentiss assured them that he had no doubt of their doing well. Sam Green had thrown in his lot with them, and though receiving good wages from Mr Prentiss, he begged that he might be allowed to accompany them on the chance of their being able to give him permanent employment. Knowing by this time the value of a thoroughly trustworthy servant in Australia, they were very glad to accept his offer. They, as well as Sam, had been furnished with excellent horses; and, much to his own satisfaction as well as theirs, Larry Killock was sent with a light cart to convey their luggage and various luxuries, which had been provided through the kindness of Mrs Prentiss. A native black, partly civilised, and able to speak broken English, accompanied them as guide, and formed the fifth person of this party. He either travelled in the cart or ran on foot beside it.

“I should think that very few settlers begin a life in the bush with so many advantages as we possess,” observed Arthur, as he rode on with his brother, a little ahead of the cart; “we appear to have jumped over all difficulties, and to have arrived at a point which many only reach after years of toil.”

“I am not quite certain that it will prove to our permanent advantage,” answered James. “I would rather have begun as we proposed, and worked our way upward; we should the better be able to encounter difficulties or mishaps which may occur.”

“Well, I vote we do not grumble with our good fortune,” said Arthur, laughing; “we shall have plenty to do, depend on that.”

There was no great variety of scenery in that part of the country over which they travelled, but for the want of it the beauty of the climate, and the sense of present freedom which they enjoyed, made ample amends. Without luggage they might have performed the journey in three days, but with the cart, twenty or, at the most, thirty miles could not be got over in the day. Even supposing that they could have found their way alone, it would not have been altogether safe to leave the cart without protection. Bushrangers were occasionally, though rarely, heard of, and would probably, if they fell in with the cart, make no scruple of running off with it, and perhaps murder the driver. Any wandering blacks from the interior might also pillage the cart, and most probably kill poor Larry.

Larry had been entertaining Sam Green with an account of the depredations committed by such gentry in the bygone days of the colony, when the Dick Turpins, who had obtained a short-lived celebrity on the highway of Old England, laid the settlers in this new land under contribution; and the white stockmen shot down the black natives with as little compunction as they would kangaroos; the blacks, in retaliation, murdering them or any white men they could meet with. Larry, observing the wide-mouthed interest created by his narratives, went on till poor Sam began to wish himself safe out of the country again. They were crossing a wide plain, with a light soil thickly covered with grass. A cloud of dust was seen to the right of the direction in which they were travelling; it increased in extent, and rose higher and higher.

“Be them the niggers coming to murder us?” asked Sam, in a fright.

“If them are niggers, they’re big ones, my boy, anyhow,” answered Larry, evasively.

A dull, regular, pounding sound was heard, and at length dark forms were seen issuing from the cloud of dust—a few first, and then more and more, resolving themselves into bullocks, black, white, and dun, galloping on and bellowing with might and main. Horsemen appeared on either side, like officers on a parade, and with their long whips, which they kept on cracking like pistol-shots, they kept order among their unruly charge. Shouting and shrieking, they galloped round from the rear to the side to bring back any beast which showed an intention of straying away, their dogs sagaciously rendering them assistance by barking at the heels of the animals, and turning them back into the herd. What with the thunder-like bellowing of the cattle and the tramp of their feet, the shouting of the drivers, the cracking of their whips, the barking of the dogs, the dust from the ground, and the steam from the creatures’ backs, as, lashing their long tails, they tore onwards, jostling each other in their course, their sharp horns lowered for the charge, the approaching herd appeared like some vast army of savage monsters, rushing on to meet their foes in battle. To draw up out of their way was impossible, and the travellers soon found themselves surrounded by the herd; the creatures, however, turned their horns aside, while the shape of their own heads and the width of their backs prevented them from running them into their companions in front or on either side, in spite of the seemingly confused way in which they were hurrying on. The herd had passed, when two of the principal drivers, who, in spite of their rough dress and hair-covered countenances, appeared to be gentlemen, drew up and saluted the Gilpins with “Good day, friends; whither bound?”

“To Warragong, to take charge of the station,” said James.

“I wish you joy,” remarked one of the strangers; “you will have no easy task, I take it. A sad scoundrel has had the management of it for some time, as we know to our cost, having once employed him. I am afraid, also, from the sort of men he always gets about him, that you will have no small trouble with them.” The strangers informed them that they were bound south to the Port Philip district, where there was a great demand for cattle.

As the evening was approaching, the parties agreed to camp together. Fires were lighted, the triangles erected, and the pots were soon boiling, while the quickly made damper was placed under the ashes to bake for the coming meal. None of the party, however, could keep their seats by the fire long, without being often summoned to their feet, and sometimes to their saddles, to drive in the straying bullocks. It seemed as hard work to keep them together when resting as to drive them forward, but neither master nor men were disconcerted; they rushed here and there with shout and song and laughter, till they had brought back the straying cattle, and then they sat down by the fire, or rolled themselves up in their blankets, as if nothing had happened. The Gilpins were sorry to part from their new friends, whose frank, hearty manners had won their regard. The morning meal of tea, damper, and pork having been discussed, they rode off in opposite directions.

“Not pleasant information this, our friends gave us last night,” said Arthur. “What can we do?”

“Wait events,” answered his brother; “forewarned is forearmed. We will keep our knowledge to ourselves, though it will be necessary to advise Green not to trust to any of the men, so as to be led into mischief by them. Perhaps the accounts of their misconduct may have been exaggerated.”

Travelling in Australia has its disagreeables as well as its agreeables: there are heavy rains and fogs and sharp winds in winter; and in summer, scorching blasts and stifling heat, and biting or stinging insects, flying, and crawling, and hopping, and dust and smoke from bush fires and the burning trees, and want, at times, of water; but, notwithstanding these occasional drawbacks, so delightful is the perfect freedom to be enjoyed, the pure, bright atmosphere, and the general healthfulness of the climate, that in the opinion of most people the advantages very greatly preponderate.

The brothers had expected to reach the station in the afternoon, but an accident to the cart caused some delay, and the sun set before it appeared in sight. Their black guide, however, assured them that the intervening country was tolerably level and easy, and that as there were certain woods he knew well, and a river on the other side, they could not miss their way. Accordingly they pushed on, though it became so dark that they began to wish that they had camped at the usual hour. Suddenly, as they reached the confines of a wood, their horses snorted and started, and refused to proceed—those in the cart very nearly upsetting it by turning rapidly round; and, had not Sam caught their heads, they would have galloped off in an opposite direction. Directly afterwards, a bright light burst forth from the wood and a spectacle appeared sufficient to make even a stout heart, with any tendency to superstitious feelings, tremble. From among the trees, just beyond the light, appeared, flitting in and out, some twenty or thirty blanched skeletons, throwing their bony arms and legs with the greatest rapidity into every conceivable attitude. Now they disappeared in the darkness, now again they darted into light; round and round they went, now seeming to sink into the ground, now leaping into the air, and often turning head over heels. All the time not a sound proceeded from the phantom-looking dancers. The Gilpins could scarcely help fancying themselves under some delusion. They rubbed their eyes.

“What is it?” exclaimed Arthur. “Horrible! most horrible! Do you see the skeletons?”

“Indeed I do,” answered his brother; “but such things cannot be—are not—at all events.”

Sam Green had hitherto been engaged with the horses; he now came up to the point where the hideous spectacle was visible, and no sooner did his eyes rest on it than he exclaimed, “Run, squires, run! If it was mortal foes I’d stick by ye; but that’s more than any mortal man can dare to face. Oh! this is a terrible country, where the people cannot lie quiet in graves, but must needs go skipping about without any flesh on their bones.”

“The hoighth of ondacency!” cried out Larry, in a voice which showed very little, if any, alarm. “Murra, go and tell your ugly countrymen that they are frightening the horses, and that they must turn their other sides to us till we have passed.”

This order was given to the guide, who ran fearlessly up to the spot where the skeleton dance was proceeding, and no sooner did he reach it than the whole vanished like magic.

“It’s only some black fellows dancing a Corroborry,” said the Irishman, laughing; “you needn’t be in such a mighty tremble, Sam. We haven’t the shred of a ghost out here; there may be some in the old country, but they’re not fond of the salt sea, and couldn’t cross it, not if they were paid for it, except they came out at the expense of the Government, like some other honest gintlemen I’ve heard spake of.”

The horses, however, were still very unwilling to proceed, and it was some time before they could be coaxed past the suspicious spot; they then set off at increased speed to get away from the object of their dread. The party pulled up for the black, who came running up. “No good people,” he said, in a low voice; “come here, do bad.”

The Gilpins, hearing his remarks, endeavoured to discover the reason of his supposing that the party of natives they had just passed were badly disposed, but could elicit no further information from him. It was more than an hour after this that a glimmering light appeared ahead, which Murra, the guide, assured them must proceed from the station. It appeared to be somewhat above them on the hillside, and they soon afterwards found themselves ascending slightly towards it. They had not got far, however, before several large dogs flew out, barking furiously, towards them. They and Larry shouted loudly to the hut-keeper to call the animals off, but no one appeared, and, the dogs contenting themselves with barking, they proceeded on to the hut, from the window of which the light gleamed out. The dogs, still loudly barking, at length roused up a couple of rough-looking men, who staggered out of the door, and, one of them holding a lamp, stared stupidly at the travellers, at the same time that, with loud oaths, he shouted to the dogs to be quiet.

“Oh! you are strangers,” said the least tipsy; “well, you shall have a stranger’s welcome in the bush; and so you may just go and turn out your horses, and then come and get what you can inside.”

“We’ve come to take charge of the station,” said James, rather nettled; “so, my men, I rather think that it is your duty to see and make yourselves useful to us.”

“Ho! ho! Pretty sort of masters you’d make over us!” cried the man, holding up the light in their faces. “To my mind, you’d better go back to them that sent you.”

This was even a worse reception than they had expected; but, perceiving that the man was very drunk, they saw that it would not be wise to irritate him.

“Well, my man,” said James, calmly, “we have pushed on here in the hopes of being welcomed, but all we will ask now is a supper and a night’s rest.”

“As you speak us fair, we’ll treat you fair, whoever you may be,” said the man. “Come in; the kettle is boiling, and there’s a damper or two ready under the ashes.”

The cart having been placed close to the hut, the horses were unharnessed and unsaddled and turned out to pick up their supper, and the whole party were soon collected in the hut. The interior showed evident signs of a late debauch. There was a rough table in the centre covered with tobacco-ashes, a broken black cutty, or pipe, some battered tin mugs, and a couple of empty spirit bottles on their sides, while under it lay a couple of men fast asleep, and another in the corner. Some kicks from the shoe of their more sober companion, who had brought the newly arrived party in, roused them up; and he then proceeded to eject them, telling them to go to Bateman’s hut, where they would find shelter. Grumbling, they staggered out, except two, who were too far gone to move. The hut was, as might have been expected, in a very dirty and untidy condition—so dirty, indeed, that the Gilpins were contemplating camping outside, when Larry, going out, reported that a storm was brewing, and proceeded forthwith to bring the contents of the cart inside. A plentiful though roughly cooked supper was soon on the table to which all hands did ample justice. The hut was a long, narrow building, with the entrance door towards one end, where the mud-built fireplace was formed and the table stood. In the further end were some bunks, or standing bed-places, and the stores were piled up. Larry placed the articles he had brought in the cart across the hut, so as more effectually to screen off the inner end. He and the hut-keeper, whom he addressed as Jonas Knoll, appeared to be old acquaintances, but very few words passed between them. For the first time since they had landed, the Gilpins lay down to rest with a feeling that they were not as safe as they would have been in their own home in England.

Before Larry lay down, after the hut-keeper had gone to sleep, they observed that he put fresh grease into the lamp and trimmed the wick. More than once James awoke and looked around; everybody in the hut appeared to be sleeping soundly. The two stockmen and the hut-keeper especially were snoring loudly, and not a sound from the outside was heard. “It is wrong to be giving way to fear,” he said to himself. “These coarse fellows have been indulging, according to their tastes, in a debauch, and were annoyed at being interrupted. They would scarcely dare to harm us even if they wished it. We must keep a tight rein on them and a careful watch on their proceedings, without allowing them to discover that they are especially observed, and we shall do well.”

The next morning the hut-keepers and stockmen belonging to the headquarters of the station made their appearance, sobered, and tolerably respectful in their manner; though there was an expression in their eyes and a tone in their voices which made the young managers believe that it would take but little to make them break out into open mutiny. They were, however, surprised at Larry’s changed manner. There was an impudent swagger in all he did, and when ordered to perform any duty, he invariably replied in a way which made his companions laugh, though he executed the order with promptness. He seemed to be on familiar terms with all the people on the station, and to be a favourite among them. The brothers at once saw that there was much to do, and many alterations to be made in every direction about the station. The huts were in a dilapidated condition—the one intended for their residence was so dirty as to be scarcely habitable; the stock-yards required repair; and, worse than all, the books were so badly kept that it was almost impossible to ascertain the number and state of the stock, either of cattle, sheep, or horses, or of the stores. The overseer was absent—gone to a distant run—so they took possession of the books, which had been left carelessly out, with the intention of verifying them with the actual state of things. Having made the necessary extracts, they locked them up and started on horseback, accompanied by Sam, whose practised eye was likely to prove of great assistance in numbering the flocks of sheep and herds of cattle which were to be inspected. They had not made their intention known, and, just as they were starting, they summoned the most civil-looking of the stockmen, and ordered him to mount his horse and accompany them as a guide. As every flock is named, they had no difficulty in indicating the flock they wished to visit; but they did not tell him till they had got some way from the station, so that he would have no opportunity of communicating with his companions should he suspect their designs. Arrived at a run, they immediately called the shepherd, and ordered him to make his flock pass before them, when they took careful note of their numbers, appearance, and general condition. Having done so, they put spurs to their horses and galloped off to the next run. As they had a pocket compass and had been furnished with a rough map of the country, they had no difficulty in assuring themselves that their guide was conducting them aright. The shepherds and stock-keepers looked puzzled, and as not a single remark of approval or disapproval was uttered, they could not make up their minds how to proceed. Several of them would have given much to peep into the notebook which those quiet-looking young men held in their hands. Refreshing themselves and their steeds at a stock-keeper’s hut, they returned home late in the evening, satisfied that a large amount of rascality had been going forward, and that it would require great judgment and determination on their part to put matters to right. The next day and the following were employed in the same manner. Each day confirmed them more and more in their opinion. For the present, however, they could only watch the proceedings of the men under them. They could not dismiss the whole of them, nor could they ascertain who were the most guilty. That the overseer was a great scoundrel they had no doubt, and they therefore agreed that he must at once be got rid of. James had written an account of the state of things to Mr Prentiss, but doubted whether to entrust it to Larry Killock, who had so completely identified himself with the other men, that they thought it probable he might give it to them to read, and so put them on their guard. They were still in this state of doubt when the time arrived for Larry to take his departure. They were sitting in the hut at supper, the work of the day over, no one but Sam being near, when the Irishman put his head in at the door. Looking round, and assuring himself that they were the only occupants of the building, he approached them with his former civil manner.

“It’s all pretence, yer honours,” he whispered, with his hand to his nose. “They’re big rascals, every mother’s son of them; and I’d give my right hand to be allowed to stop, if I thought that they’d be doing you any mischief; but I don’t think they’ll dare to work you harm. The worst of them hasn’t come yet, and when he does, he’ll try to make you believe that he’s the most honest man alive. But, whist, there’s some one coming. If you’d have the goodness to kick me out of the hut, and call me an impudent thief of the world, it would keep up appearances.”

The brothers heartily thanked the Irishman; but were not obliged to fulfil his last request, as he managed to run out of the hut before any one appeared. The following evening, while they were sitting as before, at supper, a horse’s hoofs were heard approaching, and soon afterwards a man of middle age, dressed in the usual rough costume of the bush, unceremoniously entered the hut, and, eyeing them with a scrutinising glance, drew up a stool and seated himself at the table.

“The new managers, I presume, Mr — I beg your pardon—I forget your name,” he began, in a supercilious tone. “You have stolen a march on me, and I conclude that I am to be superseded.”

“That probably will not rest with us,” said James. “I suppose that if the trustees of the property find that we can manage it to their satisfaction without help, they will not consider themselves justified in retaining your services.”

The overseer, Mr Basham, as he was called, was very unlike the person they expected to see. The shape of his features was remarkably good, though the expression was unsatisfactory; his figure was light and wiry, and capable of enduring considerable fatigue; and his manners were those of a gentleman, marred somewhat by rough companions and the hard life he had led. He saw at once that the young men with whom he had to deal, though inferior to him in knowledge of the world, possessed an uprightness and firmness of character with which he could not trifle. He would much have liked to have entrapped them by offering them a share of his profits, but that plan, it was evident, would not answer with them. Still he trusted that some way might be found of securing what he had obtained, if not for making more.

“Well, well, gentlemen, I have always been an unfortunate person, and so we’ll drop the subject, and discuss what is taking place in the great world.”

Without more ado he did turn the subject, and showed that he was a man of considerable information, and had received a superior education. This only made him the more difficult to deal with. Though he was now free, they suspected strongly that he had been a convict. They could scarcely believe that with his abilities he would not otherwise have been employed in some higher position. After their inspection of the runs, they had been engaged for a day in turning everything out of the hut, and in having it thoroughly cleansed. They then re-arranged the furniture and contents, according to their own taste. For several days after Mr Basham’s return they saw him hunting about the hut in search of something, and at last he asked them if they had seen his books. James at once replied that he had, according to the direction of the trustees, taken possession of them, and should keep them till he received directions to the contrary. He shrugged his shoulders as he observed, “My hard fate again! And so, I suppose, if anything goes wrong, those books are to be brought as evidence against me, though I may be as innocent as the babe unborn.” There was a sinister expression in his countenance as he spoke, of which he was probably unaware, but which convinced the young managers that they must be careful how they dealt with him till they could receive authority from Sydney to dismiss him.

In spite of all their vigilance and activity, things continued to go on wrong. Sheep disappeared, carried off by dingoes, or by the native blacks; the shepherds asserted that cattle strayed, and could not be recovered; and two valuable horses, intended to be sent to Sydney, for shipment to India, were missing. More than once the brothers were inclined to wish that they had commenced as squatters on their own account in a small way, with only a few honest men around them; yet, having undertaken their present task, they were not the men to shrink from it. They came to the determination, however, not to embark any of their own small capital till they had got everything to rights, and men under them in whom they could place confidence. At length the looked-for authority arrived to dismiss, not only Mr Basham, but any of the men who might behave ill, or be suspected of malpractices; it being suggested that, as trustworthy men were difficult to procure, it would be injudicious to proceed on light grounds, at the same time, as proof positive would in many cases be impossible, it would not be necessary to wait till it was found. This was throwing a large amount of responsibility on their shoulders, but they determined to do their duty. Mr Basham received his dismissal with great coolness; but again his features assumed the expression the Gilpins had before observed. He claimed as his own a couple of fine horses, and, placing his personal property on one of these and bestriding the other, early the next morning he rode off, the last glance of his cold, grey eye leaving an impression which for many a day remained fixed on the minds of the brothers.

Chapter Four.

The Gilpins found that the superintendence of a large station did not afford a bed of roses. All day long they were in the saddle, overlooking twenty stockmen and shepherds, examining the herds and flocks, and often themselves doctoring any which were found diseased or injured. This they were obliged to do, in consequence of the ignorance or carelessness of the people in charge of them. These, with few exceptions, had been convicts. Of those who had been convicts, some were still working out their sentences with tickets-of-leave, while others, who were free to go where they liked, were too old and destitute of energy to venture on a change of occupation, and remained as before, hut-keepers or shepherds. At each inferior station there was a hut with a hut-keeper, whose duty was to look after the hut, to cook the provisions, and to tend the sheep or cattle brought for any special purpose into the fold or pen. The office was usually held by some old convict or other person unfit for hard labour. Though occasionally there is enough to do, it is considered an idle, lazy life.

The brothers often rode together to the stations, to assist each other; but they had lately, for the sake of covering more ground in the course of the day, taken separate districts, that the stockmen might be kept constantly on the alert, not knowing any moment when the active young managers might pay them a visit. Notwithstanding this, cattle and sheep continued to disappear as before, and they came to the resolution of making every man responsible who lost an animal, and stopping his wages till it was replaced. One day, after a hard morning’s work, Arthur Gilpin found himself approaching the rear of a hut, on an out station, at the extreme end of the territory over which the cattle ranged—the whole being considerably larger than many a German principality. The ground was soft, and his horse’s hoofs making no noise, it was not till he got in front of the hut that the dog, ever found as its guardian (either well-bred deer-hound or cur of low degree), came bounding up towards him, barking loudly. In this case the animal was a remarkably handsome deer-hound, of a size and strength sufficient to drag him from his horse. The hut-keeper was seated in a rough sort of easy-chair, and was apparently fast asleep.

“Hillo, my man, call off your dog, or he and I may do each other an injury,” shouted Arthur; “he is a noble brute, and I should not like to hurt him, if I could help it!”

The man started up, a book dropping from his hand. “Come back, good Brian; come back, sir!” he cried out. “I must apologise, Mr Gilpin, for not hearing you; but I was overcome, I believe, by the heat,” he added, as he took the horse from which Arthur had just dismounted.

As the stock-keeper unsaddled the animal, Arthur’s eye fell on the open page of the book from which he had been reading. It was a superior edition of Horace, well used.

Roughly clad and unshorn and haggard in his looks as the man was, Arthur could not but conclude that he had once moved among the educated classes of society. The ever-ready damper and pot of tea were produced; and Arthur, having satisfied his appetite, made the usual inquiries about the station. Everything seemed to be satisfactory.

“You appear to be fond of reading,” said Arthur, glancing at the Horace, which had been placed on a shelf among a few other books.

“Ah! a friend of my early days. He serves to beguile many a weary hour,” answered the hut-keeper, with a sigh.

Arthur did not like to ask questions. “We brought a few books with us into the bush; I shall be glad to lend them to you,” he said.

“They will be most acceptable, sir,” said the hut-keeper, his countenance brightening; “my own stock is small, and I have read each volume over and over again till I know them by heart. I believe that if a chest of new books were to reach me, like the half-starved wretch who suddenly finds himself in the midst of plenty, I could sit down and read till my eyesight or my wits had left me.”

“I can enter into your feelings,” said Arthur kindly. “The life you lead must indeed be dull.”

“Ah! it might be far worse, though,” answered the hut-keeper; “poverty out here can scarcely be said to pinch. I often ask myself what might it have been, or what certainly would it have been, had I remained in London till my last shilling was gone. To rot in a poorhouse or to sweep a crossing would have been my lot, or there might have been a worse alternative. I had enough left to pay my passage out here. It was a wise move—the only wise thing I ever did in my life. My expectations on landing were foolish, and before I could realise them I had the chance of going to gaol or becoming a hut-keeper.” The last remarks were made as he stood holding the rein of Arthur’s horse.

Arthur rode round the run, inspected the flock, and had to pass near the hut again on his return homeward. The hut-keeper, Charles Craven he called himself, was on the watch for him.

“I must have a word with you, Mr Gilpin,” he said. “You are the first man I have met since I landed on these shores who has sympathised with me. I would do something to serve you. First, I must warn you never to be unarmed, either in your hut or out of it; and especially advise you and your brother, when you ride out, always to keep together. Many of the hands on the station are exasperated with you for your style of proceeding, and they think that if they could get rid of you they would have things their own way.”

Thanking Craven for his advice, Arthur pushed on towards home as rapidly as his grey would carry him. He was relieved on finding that James had just before arrived. He told his brother of the warning Craven had given him.

James was at first inclined to laugh at it. “The scoundrels dare not injure us!” he exclaimed. Then he remembered Basham’s revengeful looks, and the surly manner of several of the hands, and finally agreed with his brother that it would be wiser to go armed, and keep together.

They had removed the hut-keeper to another post, and placed Green in charge of their abode. This would have been necessary, if for no other reason, for the purpose of having it kept clean and habitable, which the dirty habits of the former occupant rendered impracticable. The exact situation of the hut has not been described. It stood on a hillside, the ground immediately round it cleared, but with bush both above it and on either side, extending to a considerable distance. In some places the trees were fine and lofty, in others only stringy-bark or low bushes. A river passed in front at the distance of less than a quarter of a mile, full and flowing in winter, but after the heats of summer consisting of a succession of water-holes connected by a trickling rill. During the shearing season the river was a scene of the greatest animation, as all the flocks from far and near were driven up to it, that the sheep might be washed before being deprived of their fleeces. After a sudden downfall of rain, the quiet stream became a roaring, boiling torrent, sweeping onward with terrific force, now forming a wide lake, and, once more confined by high and narrow banks, whirling along with rapid eddies; and at spots, where a few hours before a person could pass on foot, the current would test the strength of the strongest swimmer or most powerful horse to cross; at other times it relapsed into a state of silence, not without much picturesque beauty of a tranquil character. The hut commanded a view of the river, but it, as well as the sheds, sheep-folds, and stock-yards, were placed far too high above it to be reached by the widest inundation it could cause.

Arthur did not forget his promise to Craven, and, as soon as he was able, he rode toward his hut with several books in his pockets. The hut-keeper was very grateful, and expressed himself in a way which showed that he was really a gentleman and a man of feeling. The brothers, as they rode away, agreed that it would be but an act of common kindness to ask him to visit them, and that they might send another man to take his place.

Craven considered a moment. “No; I had better not,” he answered; “the men about here look upon me as one of themselves, and if I were seen with you, I should no longer be trusted by them. They are mischievously inclined; and if I can turn them from their purposes, or give you warning of their intentions, and help, if needs be, it will afford me the satisfaction of believing that I have been of some little use in the world.”

They could not but agree with him, and expressed a hope that an employment more suited to a person of his education might be found for him.

Craven gave a sickly smile. “You are young, and think change is easy,” he said. “The sapling is quickly bent, but when an old tree has long grown in the same direction, it cannot be straightened again. Supply me with books and tobacco, and, a few years hence, perhaps, a pair of spectacles, and I shall have no desire to quit these wilds.”

“Perhaps you will change your mind,” said James, putting out his hand, which the broken-down gentleman shook warmly.

Many years had passed since his palm had pressed that of an equal in intellect and education. It seemed to raise him out of the state of hopeless apathy into which he had fallen.

The hut at headquarters had greatly improved in appearance since it had become the residence of the Gilpins. There were three glazed windows, and it was partitioned off into a bedroom, a sitting-room—where books and papers could be arranged on shelves and kept clean—and a kitchen, which served as dining-room and hall. A good-sized storeroom had been built at the back, with a door opening into the kitchen. They and Sam Green were the only inmates of the building.

It was late at night, the Bible had been read, and family prayers had been offered up—when two or three were gathered together that custom was never departed from in that rude hut in the wilds of Australia—thanksgivings for past, petitions for future protection. Sam had thrown himself on his bed in a corner of the hall, and his loud snoring told that he was fast asleep. The brothers had been reading in their sitting-room, and were on the point of retiring to bed, when a slight tap was heard at the window. They thought it was some night bird attracted by the light, and took no notice. A louder tap was heard; Arthur opened the window.

“Wisht! mister, dear; just let me in, for I’ve something to say to ye,” said a voice, which he recognised to be Larry Killock’s.

“I will let you in by the door, Larry, unless you like to jump through the window,” said Arthur.

“The quickest way’s the best,” was the answer, as Larry leaped through the opening, adding, “shut the shutters, lest any one’s eyes should be looking this way.” Larry was out of breath, and looked faint and weary, as if he had come a long distance.

“What brings you here, Larry?” said Arthur, in a tone of anxiety, which it was natural he should feel.

“It’s bad news I’ve to tell yer honours; but if I’d had to lose my life, I’d have come to tell it,” he answered. “No matter how I found it out, but I did find it out, that the people on the station, just because you have put a stop to their robberies and rogueries, have determined to do away with you. As villains is mostly cowards, there’s none of them dares to bell the cat themselves, and so they’ve engaged some of them black fellows—the thieves of the world—to do the job for them. It was to be done quickly, and I came along, ignorant entirely if I’d be in time or not to save yer honours’ lives; but they’ve not killed you yet, and we’ll see if we can’t be a match for them.” The Irishman went on to say that the plan proposed was to set fire to the surrounding bush, and that while they ran out, as they naturally would, to stop the flames from approaching their dwelling, by cutting down the surrounding grass and bushes, they were to be knocked down with boomerangs by the blacks, and their bodies dragged into the fire.

The brothers immediately decided what to do. Waking up Sam and telling him what they had heard, they bade Larry take care of the house and make a good supper; and, reaping-hooks and axes in hand, they sailed out to clear the ground of all fuel capable of bringing the flames up to the hut. Beginning at the back of the building, they worked away energetically, gradually extending their circle till they had cut down and raked away all fuel, almost up to the woods, when they heard Sam’s voice calling them—

“Come back, come back! the black fellows are close upon us! I wasn’t comfortable in my mind, and went out to listen. I heard them calling to each other, and their dogs barking.”

Although they believed that the bullock-driver’s anxiety or fears might somewhat exaggerate the danger, they felt that it was, at all events, prudent to retreat to their hut. All remained quiet: they were beginning to hope that the alarm might be a false one. Arthur again went out, and as, rifle in hand, he was pacing as sentry round the hut, he saw a bright light burst forth above the trees, half a mile or so off to the south-west. He watched it for some minutes; it increased, extending on either hand, the forked points of the flames appearing high above the intervening trees. There could be no doubt that the wood was on fire. Thus far the information obtained by the bullock-driver was correct. There was too much reason, therefore, to fear that their destruction would be attempted by the savages. He hurried into the hut to consult what was best to be done. Their horses were at hand; they might mount them and ride away from the danger; but such a proceeding was not to be thought of. If, however, they were not secured, they would be carried off by the blacks. Arthur and Sam accordingly went out and brought them up to the hut; there was just room for them to stand in the kitchen by removing the table; the door was then closed and barred. None of the party, however, felt inclined to wait inactive till the conflagration reached their neighbourhood without knowing what progress it was making. There was no window at the back of the hut.

“We will make holes in the roof,” said Arthur; “we shall be able to see through them what is going on, and if we are besieged in our fortress by the savages, we shall be the better able to defend ourselves and annoy them.”

A stool, placed on the top of the table, enabled them to reach the roof, and by stringing some boards to the rafters, they found convenient standing places. The square holes cut in the shingles forming the roof gave them a look-out. There was enough in the spectacle they beheld to try the courage of the stoutest hearted. In front of them, that is to say, at the back of the hut, was a narrow neck of forest, which was as yet intact, but above the branches—between the stems which stood out in bold relief—the flames were seen raging furiously, devouring, as they advanced, everything in their course, both to the right and to the left. Strange sounds, too, were heard: there was the roaring, hissing, and crackling of the fire, and ever and anon a report like that of heavy guns, as some tall tree was riven in two by the intense heat which surrounded it; the air also came like a blast from a furnace, laden with smoke, ashes, and often sparks, which threatened to ignite the dry roof of the building. The danger was increasing, for the flames were advancing towards the confines of the wood nearest them. Now the fire, snake-like, would be seen creeping along the grass, then catching hold of some bush, which would speedily be wrapped in its deadly embrace; next the lower boughs of the trees would catch, or the dry wood and twigs round the stumps, and upward it would mount triumphant, roaring and crackling—the slighter trees falling prostrate before it; the older and thicker still withstanding its fierce assault, though left branchless and blackened, with all vitality destroyed.

As yet the hut remained uninjured, though a semicircle of fire raged furiously close to it, and here and there, where a bush still stood, or some tufts of grass had not been closely cropped, the flames made advances, and, winding along the ground, rose up, flickered, and died. From the first outbreak of the conflagration various animals had been seen crossing the open ground, as they escaped from the burning forest. Birds innumerable, of varied plumage, aroused from their roosting places, flew by, some uttering discordant screams of terror, many, with scorched wings, falling dead before they reached the hut. As yet no human beings had been seen.

“I trust that the savages will not venture to attack us,” said James; “only in the last extremity could I feel justified in firing at them.”

“Arrah! it’s but little of that sort of treatment they have received since the white man first put his foot on their shores,” observed Larry. “I’ve heard tell of their being shot down by scores at a time, like vermin. Many and many’s the black fellow I’ve seen killed, and no notice taken of it, and no thought by the man who did the deed, any more than if he had fired at a wild beast.”

Arthur interrupted Larry’s remarks by exclaiming, “There they are, though, and in no small numbers too, just coming round the edge of the burning wood to the south-east!”

The rest of the party looked in the direction indicated, and there, seen clearly by the light of the flames thrown on their dark bodies, armed with spears, clubs, and boomerangs, was a numerous body of savages. They appeared to be looking cautiously about, as if expecting to find their intended victims engaged in extinguishing the flames round the hut.

“The black chaps are no cowards, Mr Gilpin. We shall have a fierce fight of it, and our three firearms won’t do much against all them, I’m thinking,” observed Larry.

“There are still more of them coming!” exclaimed Arthur; “and see! there’s a fellow has just joined them who looks like a chief. They are pointing this way. We may look out to be attacked in a few minutes. We may fire surely, James, if they come on? A few shots will probably send them scampering off. They have no firearms among them.”

“Not so sure of that, yer honour,” said Larry. “Look, the fellow you called the chief has a gun of some sort, and he is showing it to the rest to encourage them. He handles it like a man who knows the use of it, too.”

In spite of the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, the little garrison resolved to maintain their position. Little could be gained by flight, and all their property would inevitably be destroyed should they desert the hut. The risk they ran in either case was very great. They might pick off some of the savages, but there were so many that they might easily surround the hut and burn it to the ground.

“If we had two or three more fellows with us, we might bid defiance to the whole mob,” said Arthur.

“To my mind, if we was to shoot down that chap with the gun in his hand, the rest would show us their heels,” observed Sam Green, who had not before spoken since the appearance of the savages; “they none on ’em shows much stomach for the fight.”

Sam’s remark was correct. The savages were evidently aware that the defenders of the hut possessed firearms, and even the chief showed no inclination to expose himself. From their movements, however, it appeared that they were about to make a rush towards the hut. At that instant the tramp of horses’ hoofs was heard approaching, and a voice cried out—

“Open the door! Be quick! Let us in!”

James and his brother, who had been watching the savages from the roof, jumped down at the moment that a rifle-ball whistled by.

“That bullet was never fired by a black chap,” said Larry to Sam, as they also descended from their perches to receive the new-comers. The Gilpins, without hesitation, opened the door, and Craven with a stranger appeared, just dismounting from their horses, whose foam-covered bits and reeking backs showed that they had ridden at no slow rate.

“No time for words. If you have room for our poor brutes, take them in; if not, they must run their chance outside,” he said. “Here, we have brought arms and ammunition. We knew that you would be hard pressed, and have come to share your fate.”

“Come in, come in,” said James, leading in the horses, who, trembling with fatigue, were quiet enough.

The new-comers had brought a rifle, a musket, and two fowling-pieces, with powder-flasks and bullets. This reinforcement raised the confidence of the little party in the hut. The blacks, discovering Craven and his companion, made a rush to intercept them. They sprang in after the horses; but before the door was closed, a shower of darts and boomerangs rattled against it, and again a shot was heard, and a bullet flew by among them. Those inside hurriedly closed the door; but, almost before the bar could be replaced, the blacks were thundering with their clubs against it. James had been strongly averse to shed blood, even the blood of savages endeavouring to destroy him and his companions, yet there was no longer any other alternative; the blacks must be driven off, or they would burn down the hut. It became James’s duty to take the command, and to give the word. Loop-holes were speedily cut in the walls.

“Be ready, friends; pick off the leaders, each of us those more immediately in front as we stand. Do not throw a shot away. Fire!”

Three of the blacks were seen to fall to the ground, the rest ran back in disorder, two of them wounded. This gave the defenders of the hut time to reload and to make some fresh loop-holes. The blacks were again met by the chief, who was seen urging them to return, though he showed no inclination to place himself in danger. Craven, seeing the look-out places in the roof, proposed getting up there.

“I think that I might bring down that fellow if I could get a steady shot at him,” he said, taking up his rifle. “The fellow has disappeared!” he exclaimed. “I cannot make it out, yet the rest obey him, for they are coming on again, and with fire-brands, too. We must beat them, or they will roast us.”

The spectacle was indeed appalling. There were from fifty to sixty blacks, each with a burning brand in his left hand and a spear or club in the other, all leaping and shrieking in concert, as they sprang on towards the hut. The defenders waited till they got within thirty paces, and then all together fired. The result was the same as before. Several fell, others ran howling back wounded, the rest, throwing down their brands, followed. Another volley was sent after them, in the hope that it might induce them to abandon the attack. Craven reloaded, and sat watching at his post. The crack of his rifle was again heard.

“I have hit the scoundrel!” he exclaimed. “He is no black man; he is ordering them to lift him up; they are carrying him off. I have not the heart to send another bullet through him, but he deserves it.”

“We may capture him, though,” cried Arthur. “Let us jump on our horses; we shall soon overtake them.”

The proposal was instantly adopted; no one was more eager and full of animation than Craven. The horses were led out, and, Larry remaining with the spare firearms in the hut, the party urged on the animals in the direction the blacks had gone. The flames of the burning forest lighted up the country, and enabled them to ride at full speed, though it was with difficulty they could make the horses keep near the fire, edging along which the blacks had gone, hoping probably, if they could get round the furthest end, to place it between themselves and those they had so ruthlessly attacked. Mounting to the top of a ridge, the horsemen caught sight of a party of natives on a hill before them, with a valley intervening. The blacks got to the top, on some open ground, when it was seen that they were carrying a burden among them. The white men dashed down into the valley, and, making their way across it, urged their horses up the opposite height. The blacks saw them coming; in vain the man they were carrying ordered them to remain by him. Oaths, entreaties, promises were of no avail. Putting him down, they ran off as fast as their legs would carry them.

The last exclamations he uttered showed his pursuers that he was no native. They were in English, and too horrible to be repeated. The Gilpins reached him. He glared fiercely at them as they dismounted, and seemed to be feeling for a pistol in his belt. They grasped his hands to prevent his using it. The oath he uttered betrayed him. Though his face and arms and the upper part of his body was blackened, they at once recognised him as Basham, the late overseer. The wretched blacks had already suffered so severely that the settlers had no desire to overtake them. Dismounting, therefore, one of the party led the horses, and the rest, lifting up the wounded man, bore him back towards the hut. They frequently looked behind to ascertain if the blacks were following for the purpose of recovering him, but no attempt of the sort was made. It was hard work carrying him, for he was a heavy man. Some deep groans which burst from him showed that he was suffering much pain. From a feeling of mercy they stopped, and found that the bullet had entered his leg, and had probably grazed, if it had not broken, the bone. Craven had a knowledge of surgery, especially valuable to a bushman; and while all were stooping down round the injured man, he probed the wound, and extracted some of the black cloth which had been carried into it. Had Basham been a friend who had been fighting for them, he could not have been treated more tenderly. He, however, scarcely spoke, and displayed no sign of gratitude. At length they reached the hut in safety. The horses were tethered outside, ready for instant service. The wounded man was placed on Sam’s bed, and such restoratives as the brothers possessed administered to him. These arrangements concluded, the whole party thankfully sat down to a meal, which was rather breakfast than supper. The Gilpins now learned from Craven that he had heard a rumour of the proposed attack of the savages, instigated by the stockmen, though he did not understand that Basham was the prime mover; that there was only one man whom he could trust, and that, having invited him, they had both set forward to their assistance. His companion was evidently, like himself, a man of superior education and fallen fortunes. In Craven the necessity for unusual exertion had worked a marked change, and he no longer appeared the spirit-broken man he had seemed when Arthur first met him.

The fire continued raging, but made no further progress, and, in spite of its dangerous neighbourhood, all the party except James, who insisted on remaining on watch, were fast asleep. The hours of darkness passed by slowly and anxiously. He kept his ears ever ready to catch any sound outside, and he occasionally looked forth, thinking it possible that the blacks might return, or that some of the white companions of their prisoner might come to look for him. The nearest police-station was about thirty miles off. It was necessary to convey their prisoner there; but then it was very possible that they might be attacked on the road, and that he might be rescued. Knowing the bad feeling of the people around them, it would be imprudent to weaken the strength of their party at the hut. James therefore resolved, if Larry was sufficiently rested, to send him off, as soon as it was daylight, for a sufficient force to escort the late overseer to prison. Scarcely had he formed this plan when Larry jumped up, and exclaimed—

“Now, yer honour, you have had watching enough, and I’ll just take my spell. I’m as fresh as a daisy with the dew on the grass.”

James declined doing this, and told him of his proposed plan.

“Nothing like taking time by the forelock!” exclaimed the Irishman. “I’ve my raisons, and I’ll be off—as soon as I can stow some food in my inside and catch the horse—before it is daylight, so that it will be a hard job for any of them fellows to find me, even if they have a fancy for that same.”

As there was no time to be lost, James went out and brought in Larry’s horse, to which he gave a sop of damper and spirits and water, while Larry was refreshing himself.

“It’s good luck I’ll have on a good errand, I hope,” he exclaimed, as he leaped into the saddle; “for though the police and I weren’t over friendly once on a time, I can now face them like an honest man, thanks to yer honour.”

Larry was soon lost to sight in the gloom which prevailed at a distance from the yet burning wood. Daylight came. All hands were on foot. The wounded man appeared to be no worse. A sad change had taken place in the once picturesque appearance of the surrounding scenery. In the place of the green wood, with many noble trees, a few blackened stems, gaunt and branchless, with still smouldering ashes at their base, were the only objects to be seen on the hillside. The Gilpins scarcely liked to keep Craven and his companion from their posts, though at the same time they felt the importance of having a sufficient guard over their prisoner. They were surprised that none of the stockmen or hut-keepers from the neighbourhood had made their appearance. It proved but too plainly that all were disaffected; and it made them resolve not to quit the vicinity of the hut till the arrival of the police. They could not, however, come for some hours. Breakfast was just over, when Green, who had gone down to fetch some water from the river, came hurrying back, and reported that he had seen several men collecting, with arms in their hands, on the opposite side. “Who could they be? What could be their object?” was the question.

It was decided that while every precaution should be taken to prevent surprise, they should be treated as if they could only have come on a friendly errand, and that every attempt should be made to conciliate them before resorting to force. Scarcely five minutes had passed before several men were seen approaching, from the direction of the river, in single file. They were all disguised, either with blackened faces or masks, while they wore either kangaroo or sheep skins over their shoulders, or were covered with the thick-leaved branches of shrubs, so as completely to conceal their figures. It was evident that they intended mischief. They halted at about twenty paces from the hut, seemingly surprised at finding the windows barricaded and the door closed, with the muzzles of firearms protruding from the walls. Seeing their hesitation, James instantly went out, and, with his rifle in his hand, confronted them—

“Men, you have amused yourselves seemingly with what might be a harmless mummery, were it not for the weapons in your hands,” he began, in a firm tone; “put them down, and let me hear what you have got to say.”

The leading man, after consulting with his companions, replied, “You have got shut up there a friend of ours, and you must give him up to us, or take the consequences.”

“I am not at all likely to yield to demands made by strangers in the tone you make them, or to tell you whether or not we have any one shut up inside this hut,” said James; “you will risk your own lives, and gain nothing by persisting in such folly.”

“Yours is the folly, master, in refusing our demands!” exclaimed the man. “You can gain no good by keeping the man a prisoner, but will do him and us harm!”

While the man was speaking, he and his companions advanced still closer to the hut.

“Stand back!” cried James, endeavouring to bring his piece to his shoulder; but before he had done so, the men, stooping low, sprang forward, keeping him between themselves and the hut. Those inside opened the door to admit him, but instead of retreating he stood fast, till the leader of the ruffians had struck up his rifle, and, grasping him by the throat, bore him backwards. Arthur, rushing out to his rescue, was seized likewise, and the whole party dashed together into the hut, overthrowing Green, who came out to help his young masters. Fortunately their eyes first fell on the wounded man as he lay on a bed in the outer room. The stretcher of boughs, on which he had been brought to the hut, still remained outside. A few words passed between them. They lifted him on the litter, neither the Gilpins nor Green being able to prevent them, and, with a shout of triumph, they carried him off towards the river. The Gilpins and Green were quickly on their feet. For an instant they stood irresolute whether to follow.

“Do not attempt it,” cried a voice from within; “the villains will not scruple to fire if you do.”

It was Craven who spoke. James was inclined to accuse him of cowardice till he reflected at what risk he had come voluntarily to their assistance. Craven himself, too, explained that being assured the outlaws would murder him and his companion had they seen them, they had retreated into the storeroom, where they lay hid among casks and cases. It was provoking to have lost their prisoner, but at the same time they had reason to be thankful that no life had been sacrificed.

“If they find out from Basham that we are here, they will to a certainty return,” observed Craven; “and we must be prepared.”

“The police will be here by that time,” was Arthur’s remark. “If they come, we may follow, and we should have our horses ready.”

“None of them said a word about the police,” observed James; “I don’t think that they were aware that we expected them.”

“Then, depend on it, when they find out that Richards and I are away from our posts, they will return to punish us. Basham will not say anything, however, till he thinks that they have placed him in safety, and then, of course, he will tell them of our being here.”

In consequence of Craven’s very just apprehensions, the party set to work to fortify the hut more completely, by putting stronger bars to the windows and doors, and by placing a stockade outside at the weaker parts, so as to make it more difficult for any assailants to reach the roof.

These preparations were scarcely completed, when Green, who happened to be on the roof, cried out—

“There come the chaps again, and twice as many as before!”

This was serious news; for it was not likely that the ruffian band would have returned, unless with the intention of destroying those who had offended them. It is very probable that they hoped to make it appear that the blacks, having set the wood on fire, had afterwards killed them. The whole party in the hut felt, therefore, that they must fight to the last extremity. A line was drawn round the building, and it was agreed that if an enemy passed it they would fire; but they would refrain as long as possible from shedding blood. They had scarcely time to barricade the door and windows before the outlaws appeared, mounting the hill from the river, not as before, in single file, but scattered over the ground, so as to take advantage of the shelter any inequalities might afford. Some were disguised, but there were several blacks who were in their usual unclothed state, and were evidently not masqueraders. It might have been difficult to identify even those, as their faces and bodies were bedaubed with pigments in strange and hideous devices.

This time James took care not to show himself. “Stand back, men!” he shouted in a loud voice. “If any one advances across the line we have marked out, we must fire. We do not wish to shed blood, but the consequence be on your own heads. Back, black men! you get killed.”

The outlaws hesitated, and even the natives seemed to understand what was said. Whereabouts the magic line was drawn, at which some of them would be certain to lose their lives, they could not tell. Soldiers in battle will dare any danger, but villains engaged in a criminal act are always cowards, unless driven to desperation. Such was not the case at present. A white handkerchief was shown on a stick, and a voice cried out—

“We don’t want to hurt you, Mr Gilpin, or your brother, or man, but there are two fellows there, and we must have them; give them up to us, and we will go away.”

“I ask you, would you give up people who had put confidence in you?” said James.

“We have nothing to say to that; give up the men, or we will burn down the hut and you in it,” was the answer.

“Remember the warning I have given you,” said James; “however, we will just talk the matter over, and let you know what we decide.”

“Be sharp about it, then,” said the first speaker; “we did not come here to shilly-shally, and we shall advance directly the time is up. We give you five minutes to settle the matter.”

“We must take ten; and recollect that our rifles will be kept ready for use,” added James, firmly.

“I am afraid the fellows will put their threat into execution,” said Craven. “Now, you see, our lives are of no use to any one, and so, when the ten minutes are up, tell them that we will go with them, if they will take their departure quietly, and not injure you.”

“On no account would we do so!” exclaimed the brothers in the same breath. “I would not trust them, even if we should be base enough to give you up.”

“Noa, sur; I’d sooner cut out my tongue than give ye up to them arrant knaves!” exclaimed Green, doubling his fist, and shaking it in the direction he supposed that the outlaws were collected.

The minutes passed slowly by. They were doubtful whether the outlaws would begin the attack at the end of the five minutes, or wait till the termination of the ten. The dread of the fatal line, however, seemed to keep them back. The muzzles of the firearms were kept protruding from the walls, and, as there were several pistols as well as rifles, they made a good display of force, rather damping the courage of those who came expecting, probably, an easy victory.

The ten minutes came to an end, and fully another five had passed by, and the outlaws did not advance. It was very clear, therefore, that they had not intercepted Larry, nor were aware that he had gone for the police. How long it might be before they could arrive it was impossible to say; perhaps when Larry reached their quarters the larger number had been sent in an opposite direction, and considerable time might be lost. However, the importance of gaining as much time as possible was very great; for though the little garrison did not despair of beating off the enemy, they earnestly desired to avoid the bloodshed which must ensue if fighting once began.

James therefore waited with a sad and beating heart to give the fatal order, should the outlaws overstep the prescribed boundary.

“Well, what are you going to do?” shouted one of the men; “are you going to give up those fellows?”

“Who is it you are looking for?” asked James, glad of any means to spin out the time.

“Gentleman Jim and Sulking Sam,” was the answer. “Come, turn them out; you’ve got them.”

“I know no men by those names,” said James.

“The rogues are right enough, though. I have the honour of being designated as ‘Gentleman Jim,’” said Craven, with a smile.

“I say, what are the right names of the chaps?” asked one of the outlaws of a comrade.

“I never knowed ’em by any other,” was the answer.

“Come, come, master, you hand them out, and be done with it!” cried several of the men together.

“Supposing they were with us, and that we were to deliver them into your hands, what would you do with them?” asked James.

“Hang them up on the nearest tree, as we will you also, if you don’t come to terms pretty quickly!” shouted the first ruffian who had spoken.

“I won’t help you to be guilty of so great a crime,” said James; “think better of it, and go away.”

“No more of this; time’s up!” cried a loud voice. “Charge, lads!”

The whole body sprang forward towards the hut. The whites instantly began firing their muskets or fowling-pieces, the blacks at the same moment casting their spears.

“Hurra! Here come the police! Look out for yourselves!” cried Sam Green, who had been keeping watch at a hole near the roof, looking eastward.

The words, uttered before any one had time to reload, had a magic effect. One of the outlaws, springing on one side to ascertain whether the announcement was true, shouted out the fact to his comrades. Down the hill they rushed, as fast as their legs could carry them. Their bullets had either passed over the hut or had lodged in the thick planking which formed the sides, without injuring any of those within. The sound of the shots, however, made the police put spurs to their horses’ sides, and they came galloping up as the last of the outlaws disappeared across the river. Their steeds were pretty well knocked up with their long and rapid journey, but Lieutenant Graham, the officer in command, was most anxious to catch some of the men. “We will join you!” cried Craven, running out. Their horses were found in a grassy nook to the left. Craven, with his friend Richards, and Arthur Gilpin, and ten of the police, led by their officer, joined in the pursuit. Before long they came in sight of the outlaws, scattered far and wide over the country, each man endeavouring to make his escape by himself. Most of them had thrown away the boughs and the skins with which they had been covered. Three men kept closer together than did the rest. Craven, who thought he recognised them by their figures as stockmen belonging to the station, recommended that they should be followed. The men soon discovered that they especially were pursued. When they saw that all chance of escape was gone, they turned round and stood at bay; but as the troopers advanced with drawn sabres, they threw down their arms and cried out for quarter. Their lives were of course spared, but their hands being lashed behind them, they were conducted back to the hut. Another man was caught, but the rest were allowed to escape. “We can always get any we require,” observed one of the police. The prisoners were the men Craven supposed. He himself was the chief cause of their being taken. Except that his dress was rough, as usual, his whole manner was changed as he galloped across the field. Graham looked at him more than once with astonishment.

They were all once more collected in the hut, doing justice to the fare Sam and Larry had provided.

“I am nearly certain that I know you!” said the police officer, addressing Craven. “My name is Graham, and yours is—”

“All right, old fellow!” cried Craven, jumping up and grasping his hand; “it is pleasant, indeed, to meet a near relation out here. I never heard of your coming.”

“Nor did I know of your being here. However, we will not lose sight of each other again,” said the lieutenant.

As scarcely any of the stockmen or hut-keepers could be trusted, the Gilpins begged that some of the police might remain, while they went round to drive in and concentrate the herds of cattle and the flocks of sheep, now probably without keepers, and subject to the depredations of the outlaws. It was very hard work; but, with the help of Craven, a few of the better-disposed men, who were found at their huts (having probably returned there after the ill-success of their expedition), were selected, and the task was accomplished. Fresh hands were sent for. Craven was appointed overseer, with his friend under him. Graham set off with his prisoners for headquarters, Norfolk Island being, without doubt, their ultimate destination. No tidings could be gained of Basham. He was probably hid away in the mountains, but it was not likely that he would make any further attempts on the station. The disorderly servants were dismissed, fresh ones arrived, and for some time the affairs entrusted to the young settlers went on quietly and prosperously.

Chapter Five.

The Gilpins found Craven a great addition to their social circle in their remote station. They, more than ever, required support and assistance, for depressing news began to reach them from Sydney. The financial affairs of the colony had for some time past been in an unsatisfactory state. Money for paying the men was often considerably in arrear; and stores and provisions were sent up only in small quantities and of an inferior quality. At length, a letter arrived from the agent, directing them to send produce to Sydney, to meet certain heavy liabilities. As wool was not forthcoming, they were to boil down both cattle and sheep, to dismiss a large number of the men, and to practise the most rigid economy. The requisite boilers and casks for the tallow soon afterwards arrived. It was most disagreeable and painful work. Flock after flock of sheep were driven in and slaughtered; the carcases were put into the cauldrons, the fat was packed in the casks, and the hides roughly dried; while the meat, which might have fed thousands of the starving poor in the old country, was allowed, of necessity, to rot uselessly on the ground. Theirs was no solitary instance of the consequence of want of capital to carry on business, for such was the condition to which the greater number of squatters throughout the colony were reduced. Fortunately, tallow and hides were in demand, and realised high prices, and thus many of the settlers were soon able to get out of their difficulties, though left with sadly diminished flocks and herds. The Gilpins and their overseer, Craven, spared no exertion to save, as far as possible, the loss of property. One day Arthur had gone in search of some cattle, which had strayed among the range of mountains to the west. After looking for them in vain, he was returning, annoyed and out of spirits, when he observed a stream issuing from the side of a hill, with the banks on either side encrusted with a glittering white substance. He tasted it, and found it perfectly salt. Collecting a pocketful, he returned home with his spirits completely revived. All the party were of opinion that it was a salt spring; that others would be found in the neighbourhood; and that salt could be manufactured with which the meat, which was now lost, might be preserved either for sale or for future consumption. The next morning they eagerly set out for the spot. They were not disappointed. Other springs were found. By evaporation alone, a small supply could be procured; and with some simple apparatus they hoped to produce as much as they would require. A cauldron and some pans were sent up, and after a few experiments they succeeded to their satisfaction; and they were able to send into Sydney, with the next dray-load of tallow, a cask of salted hams and tongues.

About this time, they received a letter from their first friend in the colony, Mr Prentiss, saying that the losses of his family had been so great, and that his father had so taken it to heart, that he was completely prostrate, and not likely to survive. He had, therefore, himself come up to take the management of affairs, accompanied by his children. He requested James to come and pay him a visit without delay. Leaving Arthur and Craven in charge, he at once set off. He rode alone, though he would probably have to camp out one or two nights. There were stations on the road, but they were at inconvenient distances; and unless compelled by bad weather, he did not purpose stopping at them. He had a gun as a protection; but he had no fear of bushrangers. They were now seldom heard of in the colony. From wild beasts to be dreaded by a traveller, Australia is, happily, free. He was not likely to meet any blacks inclined to be unfriendly. Occasionally the natives murdered hut-keepers and stockmen, but in most instances they had been provoked to do so by ill-treatment. With saddle-bags and holsters well filled, a blanket, a tin kettle and pot, strapped to the saddle before him, he set forth on his journey. There is an elasticity in the atmosphere and a freedom from restraint which makes travelling on horseback in Australia most delightful. James Gilpin enjoyed it to the full. He also found it good to be alone occasionally, to commune with his heart; and this journey gave him ample opportunity of being so. The first day passed over pleasantly. He had arranged to spend the evening with an acquaintance on the road. As his own shadow and that of his steed were lengthened out on the grass, the smoke of his friend’s hut, curling up among the gum trees, appeared before him. He called out as he rode up to the door, but no voice answered; the distant sound, however, of tinkling sheep bells told him that the flock of the station was being driven into a pen for the night, where the new-born lambs could be better protected from the dingoes and hawks, their chief enemies, than if left on the open. Unsaddling and turning his horse into a paddock near at hand, he entered the hut. The kettle was hissing on the fire, and the damper was baking under it. There were signs that the hut was the residence of a gentleman (though all was in the rough), and evidently that of a bachelor. Every spot on the walls was covered with shooting and fishing gear, sporting prints, and some of a better description; and there was a book-case, with thoroughly used volumes, and coats and hats hung up, and shelves loaded with all sorts of articles, and chests below, and casks, one with flour ready open; the corners also were crowded. There was a bed-chamber boarded off for the owner, a refinement not very often indulged in, and a bunk at one end of the general room, for the hut-keeper. The cheery voice of the proprietor addressing his dogs announced his return. He warmly greeted his neighbour (their abodes were only forty miles apart); and tea, damper, cold beef, and pork were speedily on the table.

The two settlers were merry and contented, in spite of misfortunes. Johnstone had also been compelled to boil down.

“Now is the time for a fellow with five or six hundred pounds to lay the foundation of a fortune,” he observed; “both cattle and sheep can be bought at a mere nominal price. I must sell or boil down still more of mine; but I see my way clearly out of my difficulties, and keep up my spirits.”

The hint was not lost upon James. He had been unwilling to take any of his employers’ cattle, lest it might throw him open to suspicion; but he now resolved to offer to purchase some, and, at all events, to take all that Mr Johnstone might wish to sell. Local subjects were of course discussed.

“By-the-by,” observed Mr Johnstone, “we were surprised some days ago at seeing a white man lurking about here, dressed in skins and rags. The people thought he must be mad; for whenever they approached him, he ran off howling into the bush. I ordered some food to be placed for him at a spot where we could watch him. He saw us, and would not approach; but after watching for some time we went away, and he then must have darted out from his concealment and carried off the food, for when we returned it was gone. From that day he disappeared, and whether he has been drowned in some river or water-hole, or has been starved in the bush, I cannot say.”

James Gilpin started at an early hour the next morning, intending to make a long day’s journey, and to camp out, as he must in that case do. His horse, a peculiarly fine and strong one, bore him well through the early part of the day. In the afternoon he entered a forest, extending on either side to a considerable distance. The track through it was less defined than usual, still, by constant reference to his compass, when he had any doubts, he had no fear about making a mistake.

He had ridden on for some distance, when he observed that the sky was overcast, and the wind began to moan among the trees. Suddenly, with a spring which would have thrown a worse rider, his horse started at a vivid flash of lightning which darted from the sky, struck a huge tree near him, tearing off a large limb, and then ran hissing along the ground. A crash of thunder, such as he had really heard, followed, and he found it impossible to prevent his affrighted steed from setting off at full gallop among the trees. It was with the greatest difficulty that he could guide the animal, so as to save his legs from being dashed against the trunks and his head against the branches. Crash succeeded crash in rapid succession, and at times so vivid was the lightning that the forest seemed one blaze of fire. In vain he searched for an open space where he might, at all events, be free from the danger of being crushed by falling branches. Now he thought he saw an opening on one side, now on the other; but each time he was disappointed. He discovered, however, that he had got out of the track, and when he began to consider in which direction he should go, he was under the somewhat painful feeling that he had lost his way. He put his hand in his pocket to examine his compass; it was not there. Again and again he searched for it; nowhere was it to be found. It had undoubtedly been jerked out of his pocket during some of the violent springs his steed had made when frightened by the lightning. He had not the remotest hope of finding it on the ground, and would therefore not waste time in looking for it. Just as he had made this disagreeable discovery, the fury of the storm abated, and he was in hopes that it was about to cease altogether. He rode forward, he believed, towards the east. If he could get out of the wood he might still reach a station before dark, considerably short of the distance he hoped to have made good that day. On he went, his horse starting and trembling, not having yet recovered from its fright. The rain was falling in torrents, and he was already wet through—no uncommon occurrence, however, for a squatter, who is in the saddle many hours every day of the year. Down it came, harder than ever. Another vivid flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder, made his horse again start forward. He galloped on till an open space was reached; here, at all events, he might be secure from falling branches, though not from the lightning, which was darting in every direction.

He had almost lost hope of getting out of the wood that night. Wet as he was, he must camp out on the bare ground. He was searching for a spot where he might dismount and tether his horse, when again the animal started; this time, however, it was not at a flash of lightning. James looked round, when, about a dozen yards from him, he saw, as if endeavouring to conceal himself behind the gnarled stem of an aged gum tree of gigantic proportions, the very figure Johnstone had described to him the previous evening. At first he thought that his imagination must have deceived him; the light was uncertain, and his eyes had been dazzled by the lightning. Still, he could not be mistaken: there was the human face, the glaring eyeballs, the matted hair and beard, and the dress of skins and rags. The figure moved its arms and made threatening gestures at him. “I must know whether this is reality or imagination,” he said to himself, again urging on his horse towards the tree under which the seeming figure stood. As he did so, the threatening gestures became more vehement, and, as he continued to advance, a loud, unearthly shriek rang through the forest, and the unhappy maniac, for such without doubt he was, fled away into its depths, his cries echoing amidst the trees till they grew faint in the distance. This incident did not contribute to make the prospect of camping out in that wild spot pleasant. Still, James Gilpin had no choice, and his mind was too well trained to allow him to be made anxious by unnecessary apprehensions. The only thing he dreaded was the possibility of the maniac returning, and, perhaps, should he drop asleep, committing some violence on him. Both rain and lightning had ceased, and having tethered his horse in a grassy spot, where the animal might find food, he bethought him of the possibility of lighting a fire. Under the trees there was no lack of fuel, and with the last remnant of daylight he collected enough to serve him till the morning. Under the lee side of the trees, also, he scraped together enough dry leaves and small twigs and bark to raise a blaze and dry the wet wood. He looked up very frequently, as was natural, to ascertain that the maniac was not near him. With flint, steel, and gunpowder he quickly raised a blaze; his kettle was boiling, his meat toasting, and his damper warming up, while his blanket and clothes were drying; and had it not been for the spectre he had seen, he would have been well content with his lot,—not that he much feared what the poor creature could do to him, but it was the feeling that at any moment he might rush out on him which was so painful. By the look of the sky he saw that the weather was still unsettled, and the state of the atmosphere, judging by his sensations, told him that there might still be more thunder and lightning. He consequently considered it imprudent to seek for greater shelter under the trees. His clothes and blankets were now tolerably dry, and having shifted the tether of his horse, that the animal might have fresh food, he wrapped himself up, with his feet to the fire and his head on his saddle-bags to seek that rest of which he stood so much in need.

He, of course, intended to keep his eyes open, and turned in the direction where the poor maniac had disappeared. As might, however, have been expected, he closed them and fell fast asleep. Weariness made him sleep, but anxiety prevented him from sleeping soundly. He was dreaming, it seemed, all the time; and his dreams were painful and confused in the extreme. The strange figure of the maniac was constantly before him, while his unearthly cries resounded in his ears. His chief idea was that he was engaged in a desperate struggle to get out of some fearful difficulty—now swimming in a roaring torrent, now climbing a precipice with savage animals raging below, now flying for his life across a boundless plain; the maniac was mocking him on the banks of the stream, or present among the wild beasts, or following him with a troop of savages across the plain. A loud noise sounded in his ear. It was a peal of thunder. The storm was again raging with redoubled fury. He started up to secure his horse, lest the frightened animal should break loose and escape into the depths of the forest. He must have slept long, for a few glowing ashes only remained of his fire, which the rain would soon quench, unless a supply of fresh wood were added. He felt for some he had placed in readiness, and threw it on the ashes. As he did so, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the forest opening, and by its light he saw, with a gleaming axe uplifted in his hand, the wretched maniac stealthily approaching him. He sprang to his feet, seizing his rifle, when again all was darkness.

“Stand back, whoever you are, or I must fire!” he shouted, at the same time leaping on one side, away from the spot where he had been lying.

There was the sound of feet, as if a person was springing over the ground, a shriek, and the crash of a weapon descending. Yes, he was certain it had struck his saddle-bags. The next instant, the wood igniting on the fire, a flame burst forth, revealing the figure of the maniac retreating across the glade in the direction of the old tree, where he had at first appeared. He must have just reached it when another flash of lightning came down in a zigzag course from the very clouds overhead. It struck the huge tree, which was riven into several portions, and its knotted limbs scattered around. The thunder at the same moment crashed and rattled with almost terrific sound. He seized the tether rope of his horse, as the animal, having torn the pin from the ground, was about to dash off through the forest. The poor creature stood as his hand stroked its head, but trembled violently. He brought it up to the fire, looking round as he did so for his late assailant, but the maniac was nowhere to be seen. He had the greatest difficulty in keeping his horse quiet; for the storm continued raging as before, the rain came down in torrents, the wind howled and whistled, and the lightning flashed; the thunder roared and rattled, and the rending of boughs, and the crashing of falling trees was heard on every side, warning him of the danger of attempting to pass among them. As may be supposed, he did not again lie down: having saddled his horse and thrown his blanket over his shoulders, he employed the time in quieting the animal, throwing wood on his fire, and keeping a vigilant watch for the approach of the maniac. The most weary night must have an end. The storm ceased completely; the dawn came at last. He looked around. The sight which most attracted his attention was the blackened stump of that huge tree which had stood there the previous evening—the monarch of the forest glade. He approached it. Under one of the limbs lay a human form—it was the maniac’s body; life was extinct. He examined the features. There could be no mistake; though haggard by starvation and exposure, and distorted by his violent death, he recognised them as those of the former overseer of Warragong, the outlaw Basham. A small black mark on one side of his head showed that he had been struck by the electric fluid, and that his death must have been instantaneous, and must have immediately followed the attempt on his life. To bury the body of the wretched man was impossible. All he could do was to drag the heavier boughs of the trees torn off by the storm over it and leave it thus entombed, and then to escape from the scene. The rising sun showed him the direction he should pursue, and in half an hour he was out of the wood, and had regained the track with which he was acquainted. He reached a station in time for breakfast, when he narrated to the occupant what had occurred, and learned from him that Basham had more than once been there asking for food.

A rest of a few hours restored James’s strength; but instead of camping out as he had intended, he was glad to take shelter that night in another squatter’s hut. It was thus that the traveller in those days was able to traverse the province from one end to the other, with the certainty of finding food and shelter, and a welcome at any hut where he might call. He was most cordially received at Prentiss Town, where he arrived late in the evening; but he went to a house of mourning. Old Mr Prentiss, under the belief that his losses were far greater than was the case, and that the whole country was about to be ruined, had sunk broken-hearted into the grave. He had trusted in riches, and they had failed him. An apathetic indifference to everything around him had seized his eldest son, who had the same belief in the ruin impending over the colony.

Notwithstanding this, there was sunlight in the dwelling: there could not fail to be so, James thought, where Fanny and Emily Prentiss were to be found. They received him as an old and valued friend, and expressed their sorrow that his brother could not have accompanied him. He naturally expected that they would complain of the dulness of the life they must now lead in the country, and regret all the gaieties and amusements they had left behind in Sydney; but, on the contrary, they seemed much pleased at having escaped from its unsatisfactory frivolities. Everything in the country delighted them, and they had no fear of no having ample occupation. They proposed to study the natural history of the district—the trees and flowers, the birds and insects, and the wild animals, of which there were not a few; then the farm would of itself afford ample occupation, along with the improvements in the house, into which they were about to move, on another part of the estate, where a garden was also to be formed. And there were also several settlers with wives and grown-up daughters, who lived somewhat far off, to be sure; but the young ladies were good horse-women, and thought little of a ride of thirty miles or so. There were likewise numerous families of the lower orders, who had no means of obtaining religious or secular instruction. Among these they circulated books and tracts, and would often stop and read the Word of God to those who were unable to read themselves. Thus every moment of each day was fully occupied. James Gilpin could not fail to admire the manner in which his young hostesses spent their time, or to discover how many objects of interest they had in common. Even under ordinary circumstances he would have been interested in them. As it was, the interest he felt increased the longer he remained in their society. He was of much use to Mr Henry Prentiss in arranging the affairs connected with the property; and at length, with new hopes and aspirations, he returned to Warragong. The arrangements for the purchase of the cattle and sheep were soon complete. The brothers did not even now lay out all their capital, but allowed a portion to remain in the bank to meet any unexpected demands. They had from the first been allowed a percentage on the increase of the stock under their charge; but this, owing to the mismanagement of the persons employed, and the depredations of Basham and his associates, had hitherto been small. The boiling-down process at length being no longer necessary, and the management in every department being greatly improved, the increase was so much more rapid than at first, that they found themselves, a few years after landing in Australia, the owners of very considerable flocks and herds, while no men in the district were more respected. Their visits to Prentiss Town became more and more frequent; sometimes one brother went, sometimes the other—as they were unwilling to leave the station together—and they both met with a reception which made them wish to return. The Prentiss Town property was now divided, and the house inhabited by Mr Henry Prentiss was considerably nearer to them than that of his elder brother. They also had secured some runs lower down the Warragong river; and having fixed on a site for a house in that direction, somewhat similar, but far more picturesque than the spot where the old hut stood, they built a hut which they could inhabit till their new residence could be erected, leaving Craven in charge of that up the stream. This change enabled them to leave their own abode early in the morning, and to reach that of Mr Prentiss before sunset. There was the house of a new settler about half-way, and several huts where refreshment could be obtained, so that their visits became still more frequent and expected. Even in the bush gossip is not impossible, and it became pretty generally reported that the two Mr Gilpins were about to marry the two daughters of Mr Henry Prentiss.

Chapter Six.

The Gilpins had not attained to the prosperous condition they enjoyed without persevering toil and constant exertion both of mind and body. Some stirring incidents had occurred; but, at the same time months passed by in a comparatively monotonous manner. Every day they were in the saddle, sometimes from morning till night; but however delightful that style of life may be—and that it has its attractions to most men there can be no doubt—men of educated minds must at times feel an almost insupportable weariness, and earnestly long for a change. There can be but little social intercourse; some suffer materially from the want of public worship and religious instruction, and all must feel its absence. Still, those who are fitted for a life in the bush, and have led it for any length of time, quit it generally with regret, and return to it with satisfaction.

Never had the Gilpins been more busy. Their house was nearly finished. It was rather large for two bachelors, to be sure; but their ideas must have expanded of late. They had much more assistance than formerly rendered by Craven, their most efficient and active overseer, and his assistant, Larry. No one would have recognised the dispirited, almost broken-hearted hut-keeper in the fine, active, intelligent man he had now become. Gentlemanly even in his poverty, he had always been. He now looked more fit to set a squadron in order, and lead them against the foe, than to keep sheep; yet to superintend the keeping of sheep he was well content. He had greatly enlarged and improved the old hut, having converted it indeed into a comfortable house, with a flower-garden in front and one for vegetables in the rear.

One of the greatest matters of interest to the bushman, who has loved relations in the old country, is the arrival of the post. Often with trembling, always with eager, hands the packets are opened; sometimes they give satisfaction, and afford subjects for pleasant conversation for many a day; but at others, and too often, they bring news to grieve the hearts of their readers. Such had been the case with the Gilpins, some time back, when a letter with a broad black border arrived, and told them of the death of a father they had so much reason to reverence and love. Several changes had taken place in their family circle. Their eldest brother had married; and their two sisters seemed doubtful, when they last heard from home, whether or not they should continue to reside with him.

The two brothers were sitting together in their nicely furnished dining-room. The dark wainscoting and the proportions of the apartment reminded them of the one they had loved so well in their far-off home in the old country. A dray had just arrived from the west, and Green made his appearance with the letter-bag in hand. Eagerly the contents were glanced over.

“Arthur, they are coming—both the dear girls, Jane and Susan—and Willie as an escort!” exclaimed James, in a tone of great satisfaction.

“Oh! it will be delightful. How pleased Fanny and Emily will be!” cried Arthur.

Indeed, no event could by possibility have caused the brothers more true pleasure; and, as may be supposed, it formed the subject for conversation for the remainder of the evening and for many evenings afterwards. Of course it was necessary for James to ride over to Prentiss Town to announce the event.

“As soon after they arrive as it can be arranged,” was the reply made by Fanny to a question put to her during his visit. It seemed highly satisfactory, and was received with strong marks of gratitude.

When James returned home, Arthur was not happy till he could set off to Prentiss Town. He must have put a question to Emily, not unlike that which James put to Fanny.

“Perhaps the same day that my sister is,” was her reply.

Not long after, James set off for Sydney. Arthur would gladly have gone also, but what with their own flocks and herds, and the numerous ones over which they had charge, it was, they thought, scarcely fair to Craven to leave him so long alone. Of late, too, there had been reports of wonderful discoveries of gold—nuggets to rival those of California; and some of the shepherds and stockmen had already gone off to the region where the gold was reported to have been found, and it was feared that others might follow. James had not been in Sydney since his first arrival in the country. The whole city was in a ferment. There was no doubt of the truth of the reports of the discovery of gold, not only in one, but in several directions. Nuggets of all sizes and heaps of gold-dust had already been brought in. The gold fever had commenced, and men of all ages, ranks, and professions were fitting themselves out with knapsacks, spades, washers, and other apparatus for the gold-fields. People were surprised that James took matters so calmly. “I prefer that others should dig for me—an occupation for which I never had a fancy, except for an hour or two in my garden in a morning,” he answered. “If people rush out of the colony, as it is expected they will, the price of stock will rise very greatly, and I shall have ample fortune for all my wishes.” It did rise, far higher than he expected, and he was not disappointed. His heart throbbed with anxiety as he went down to the harbour to visit the ship on board which his sisters had taken their passage. He singled them out among a large number of passengers, though they did not recognise the strongly built, bearded, and well-browned man as their brother, who had left them a fair, slight youth a few years before. News of the gold discoveries had reached England some time before the ship sailed, and a great number of her passengers were intended gold-diggers—a mixed and ill-matched assemblage, all inspired, however, with the one ruling passion, an eager to grow rich suddenly. There were young men—still mere lads—who had time before them to make themselves independent by steady industry; and old men who, it might be supposed, had little else to do than to prepare for another world. There were nominal representatives of all religious faiths, but drawn together to worship one god—Mammon, yet not as brethren, for each seemed eager to supplant the other. The Miss Gilpins told their brother that the universal subject of conversation during the voyage was gold, gold-digging, gold-washing, gold-scraping.

“Like the old man in the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ with his muck-rake, always scraping with downcast looks, never gazing upwards,” remarked James. “Ah! it is sad work; and yet, when a person gets down in the world, and feels the want of the wealth he once possessed, it must be a severe trial to him to prevent his mind from continually dwelling on the means by which he may regain it.”

The greater number of the passengers were eager to set off immediately for the diggings; and every vehicle to be found was secured at a high price, many giving promises of breaking down before half the journey was performed. Many talked of trudging it on foot; and of these, several of them never reached their destination, having either lost their way and died from fatigue and starvation in the bush, or being drowned when crossing some river, by being carried down by the current. The lions of Sydney were soon visited; and James, with his two sisters and young brother, set off in high spirits for Warragong. He had a lightly-built covered waggon, with strong springs—the best style of vehicle for travelling in the bush. The journey was performed, if not rapidly, yet with great ease and comfort; and there were so many objects of interest, all new to the strangers—the birds, beasts, reptiles, and scenery, the very look of the people, and the characters they met—that no one was weary. As may be supposed, they called at Prentiss Town on their way, and, of course, spent a few days there; and, naturally, Arthur arrived to escort them home. The daughters of the English farmer had been more practically brought up than the Australian young ladies, educated in a school in Sydney. They could teach them much connected with the dairy and numerous household duties, of which they had never heard. Not that the Miss Gilpins were, in the slightest degree, less refined or less educated than their new friends. Of course, the visit was to be returned; there was some joking, however, on that subject, which a stranger might not very clearly have understood. On the road, the party were met by Craven, well mounted, and dressed in the most approved fashion. He came, as in duty bound, to escort his friends’ sisters to their new abode.

“And is this the hut you spoke of, dear brothers?” exclaimed the sisters, in the same voice. “What a delightful house! And this room, the very model of the dear old parlour. We are sure you intended it.”

And Jane and Susan kissed their brothers, who were more than amply repaid by the happiness they felt for the years of toil they had endured, and all the exertions they had made to get the house ready. They had an idea that those sisters would not remain long under their roof, sorry though they would be to lose them; that is to say, not if their bachelor neighbours had a particle of good taste or judgment. Willie was delighted with everything. His great ambition was to become a first-rate stockman. He was rather young to begin active life; but he had made good use of his time at school, and he promised, when he left England, that he would not give up reading and study. The Gilpins had found the time pass quickly before the arrival of their sisters, they now found it pass still more quickly; and it was only by managing it with the greatest care that they could accomplish what they had to do. The Miss Gilpins entered warmly into all Fanny’s and Emily’s plans—which had, indeed, now become their brothers’—for giving religious instruction to the surrounding population, which had of late years considerably increased. Though many of the men went off to the diggings, the women remained, hoping to see them return, loaded with wealth. Not a hut nor a residence of any sort remained unvisited by these six active young missionaries, who left tracts or books wherever they went. They procured some Bibles from Sydney, and many a cottage, where the Word of God had never been heard, was supplied by them. They had great reason to believe that a blessing attended their efforts. They had often made application in Sydney for an appointed minister of the Gospel. One at length came, but he had a wide circuit, so that he could not come to any spot within the Sunday morning’s journey more than six or eight times in the year. He went his rounds, preaching on weekdays, from station to station, and holding a service every evening where he rested. Such is the only human agency by which spiritual life can be maintained in the wide-scattered sheep and stock stations in Australia, and it behoves all those connected with that magnificent land, who love the Lord Jesus Christ, to aid in sending missionaries of the Gospel through its length and breadth. There are many who have scarcely ever heard the glad tidings of salvation; many have passed away, sunk almost in heathen darkness. At length, a regular place of worship was built, to the satisfaction of many, which satisfaction was by no means decreased by an interesting event which took place there shortly afterwards, namely, the marriages of Jane and Arthur Gilpin. It would be difficult to find a more united, contented, and happy family than that now dwelling at Warragong, and certainly, if steady, persevering, industry and uprightness of conduct should be rewarded, the Gilpins richly deserved their success. Sam Green, too, had followed his young master’s example, and had taken to himself as a wife the eldest daughter of his old acquaintance, Sykes, the former coachman of Mr Henry Prentiss, who had followed his master into the country, and settled near him. Larry Killock won the heart of another daughter; but, although Mr Sykes had himself come out at the Government expense, he objected to the alliance, because Larry was not yet entirely a free man. Larry was, however, able to prove that his crime was having joined some popular outbreak; and being at length freed completely from bondage, his wishes were no longer opposed, and he settled down near the friends to whom he had, with good reason, become so warmly attached.

Chapter Seven.

Some time had passed since the events just mentioned. It was winter, not Christmas, however, but the period which in England is considered the warmest and sunniest in the year. Frost and snow are not looked for, but the wind blows from the cold south, and rain comes down in plentiful showers, filling the water-holes, and turning the sluggish streams into roaring torrents.

One evening, as Arthur and Willie were riding homewards from a distant station, their course not far from the Warragong river, a cry reached their ears.

“It is some one shouting for help!” exclaimed Arthur. “From what direction does it come? Listen!”

“From up the stream!” cried Willie, spurring on his horse.

“Stay! there’s a man in the river,” said Arthur; “he is floating down. We may pass him if we don’t take care.”

They rode directly down to the bank of the now rapid river. Every stockman rides with a rope attached to his saddle. They looked out anxiously as they now rode up the stream. Again the cry was heard, but fainter though near; and through the thickening gloom of evening a man was seen clinging to a log, which was borne swiftly down the current. He had lost all power of guiding it, and from the way his head hung down, it was evident that his strength was exhausted, and that he must soon drop off and sink. To leap from their horses and to secure them to a tree was the work of a moment.

“Here, hold one end, Willie! I think I can reach him!” cried Arthur, binding the two ropes together, and fastening one end round his own waist.

Throwing off his coat, and without waiting for any expostulation from Willie, he plunged into the stream, and swam boldly out towards the drowning man. The whirling eddies of the torrent bore the log along, now carrying it towards one side of the river, now towards the other. This much increased the difficulty of reaching it. The man clinging to it had still sufficient consciousness to be aware of the effort made to save him, but had no strength to help himself. Arthur had swum out very nearly to the extent of which the rope would allow, and yet he feared that he should not reach the man. He doubted whether he should be strong enough to return to the shore without the aid of the rope.

“Stretch out your arms, Willie; give me all the rope you can, but don’t fall in. In mercy take care!” he shouted.

Willie stood on the very edge of the bank uncoiling the whole of the rope, and keeping only the end in his hands. He dreaded lest, his feet slipping, he should be dragged in himself; and though he did not fear for himself, he knew that, if he was dragged in, Arthur would in all probability be lost. He found that he could not stand still either, but had to move down the stream, as his brother was swept on by the current. “If it is difficult to hold him now, what will it be when he grasps the drowning man?” he thought. He would have shouted for help had he believed that any one was near to afford it. Arthur, meantime, saw the drowning man approaching. An eddy seemed to be carrying him off towards the opposite bank. Should he venture to swim across without the rope? Had he a right to run so great a risk of losing his life, and bring grief and sorrow to the heart of his young wife? He prayed for strength and aid. He was about to loose himself from the rope, when again the log was whirled near him. The moment for the greatest exertion had arrived. He sprang forward. His right hand grasped the drowning man, but the log on which he floated escaped from his hold, and was borne onwards by the current. As he caught the man, the spring he made and the additional weight almost overbalanced Willie, who was on the point of falling into the water, when he found himself close to a young tree, of the willow tribe, bending over the stream. He grasped it with his left hand, hauling with all his might till he drew in a sufficient length of the rope to pass it round the stem. His dread was lest his brother should sink before he could reach the shore. He then feared that the man for whom Arthur had risked so much might be torn from his grasp before he could get him in. The fact of the willow growing there showed that there was a permanent water-hole at the spot, and that, therefore, the depth must be considerable. He dragged in the rope slowly, for Arthur seemed scarcely able to support his burden. “Keep—keep up, brother!” he cried out, considering whether he should not make the rope fast and jump in to help him. Just then he discovered that the current itself was doing what he wished; scarcely had he secured the rope than Arthur was swept close up to the bank. He sprang on to help him. The bank, happily, shelved, and together they dragged the nearly drowned man to the shore. He was dressed as a labourer, and his rough hands showed that he was accustomed to hard work. It was too dark to distinguish his features. After they had rubbed him for some time, he gave signs of life; and on his further recovering they placed him on Willie’s horse, and, supporting him on either side, led him up to the house, which was about half a mile distant. The stranger scarcely spoke all the way; indeed, he was but partially recovered from the effects of his immersion. The ladies of the family, who had been expecting them at an earlier hour, ran out as they reached the house. Emily hurried off her husband to change his wet clothes; while Willie, briefly describing how bravely his brother had behaved, conducted the stranger to his room, that he might go to bed, while dry garments were got for him and some hot potation was prepared. Had he been of the highest instead, apparently, of the lowest rank, he could not have been more kindly treated. Willie was delighted to be of use, and having collected some clothes from his brother’s wardrobe, brought them to the stranger, who, having taken the remedies prescribed for him, insisted on getting up.

“Why, whose house am I in?” exclaimed the stranger, his eye falling on the mark of some of the linen brought for him.

His young attendant told him.

“Then you surely must be little Willie Gilpin!” cried the stranger; “and that fine fellow who jumped into the river and pulled me out is Arthur, and those are your sisters. I thought I knew their faces.”

“And who are you?” asked Willie.

“An old friend, though I think it likely a forgotten one,” answered the stranger. “Do not say that I know your people. If they recollect me, well and good; if not, it matters little: I am not worth recollecting.”

It was evident that the stranger did not belong to the rank of life his appearance had at first betokened. James, who had been at a distance, now arriving, came to the door, and invited him in to supper. The stranger followed him, and with a bow to the ladies, which was certainly not like that of a mere countryman, was about to take a seat at table, when Arthur entered. The stranger’s colour mounted to his cheeks as he said—

“I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and I am most thankful, as it enables me to enjoy the present society, though I fear my life is not worth the risk you ran to save it.”

Arthur had been earnestly examining the countenance of the stranger while he was speaking. “I thought so,” he exclaimed, coming round to him and taking his hand; “Mark Withers, of Wallington?”

“The same, though somewhat wiser; rather further down the hill than when we parted,” returned the stranger. “But I’ll own it does my heart good to meet so many old friends together.”

Kind and warm greetings saluted the wanderer; his heart softened, and for a time he laid aside his cynical, discontented manner. The well-furnished rooms, the handsome arrangements of the supper-table, and the servants in attendance, all spoke of ample means. A feeling of jealousy might possibly have passed through his heart as he made these observations. He remarked, however, when left alone with the brothers, “Well, you fellows seem to have fallen on your feet; and I’m heartily glad of it, indeed I am.”

“We have been working pretty hard, though,” said James; and, after giving a brief sketch of their career in the colony, he asked, “And you, Withers, I hope that you have got a comfortable home in Australia somewhere.”

“Home!” exclaimed Withers; “I haven’t a wigwam I can call my own, and my whole property consists in the damp duds I had on my back when I pulled them off in Willie’s room.”

“Where have you been, then, Mark, all this time?” asked Arthur.

“Been! why, my dear fellow, all round the world, exemplifying the truth of the saying, that ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss.’ My father did not much fancy my giving up his business; and indeed I had to take French leave at last, and then write and ask his forgiveness. He told me, in reply, that I was a graceless vagabond; but that I might follow my own devices, if I was so minded, without opposition, though without help from him. I fancied that my own devices were full of wisdom, so resolved to follow them. I had fallen in with a man bound for the Cape of Good Hope Colony, and, listening to his representations, agreed to accompany him. Out to the Cape I went, but soon discovered that a farm-life was not to my taste; and so, meeting with some sporting companions, I spent my time in shooting elephants and lions, and other beasts of the forests and mountains of that wonderful land. As my expenses at this sort of work were far greater than my profits, I spent, in time, all the money I possessed, and had at length to engage as a labourer on a property of which, on first landing, I might have become the owner. This was not what I had bargained for; and hearing that fortunes were to be made rapidly in South Australia, I saved enough money to carry me to Cape Town, where I found a ship calling in on her way to that colony. I shipped on board her to work my passage; but finding the work I had to do and the treatment I had received very far from my taste, I resolved never again, if I could help it, to place myself in the same position. I found, on reaching Adelaide, that if fortunes were to be made in a hurry, they were to be lost still more rapidly—not that I had myself any opportunity of making the experiment I tried all sorts of plans which I thought would prove short roads to what I so much desired—to become rich; but, somehow or other, none of them proved satisfactory. At length I had struck out something new which would, I really believe, have been a great success, when the news of the wonderful discoveries of gold in California reached the colony. Wonderful to relate, I had made enough money to pay my passage, which I took on board one of the first vessels sailing for those regions I considered myself wonderfully fortunate to get there, for I had now no longer the slightest doubt of success. San Francisco was already a wonderful place. Everybody on board hastened to the shore as soon as we entered the harbour, and in the course of two or three days the whole of the crew, except the captain and first mate, had deserted the ship. The central part of the city consisted at that time chiefly of lodging-houses, gambling-houses, and houses of entertainment. The lodging-houses, fast as they could be put up, were crowded, and were of the most wretched description. The best to which I could gain admission was a long barn-like edifice, with bunks or berths like those on board a ship, arranged along on either side with straw, hay, or leaves as a mattress, and a horsecloth as a coverlet. The gambling-houses were the most attractive. There was music gratis, and spirits without limitation for all who chose to play. I felt sure that I should make my fortune in that way. How was I to get enough to stake? I must work. I found no difficulty in obtaining employment as a labourer at high wages. In a short time I had saved about twenty dollars. I walked into the largest gambling-house, with my few dollars jingling in my pockets. The hall was brilliantly lighted. It was hung with coloured silk or calico, and adorned with mirrors and pictures. There was a gallery with a band of music, and a bar where all sorts of viands could be obtained. There were small tables for cards on either side, and several larger tables in the centre, at which sat the bankers, the professional gamblers, the owners or renters of the saloon. I walked up to one of these tables and staked five of my hardly gained dollars against a thousand or so, and won. I won again and again, until I found myself the owner of twenty thousand dollars. I had never been so rich in my life, but yet it was not a sum which would allow me to leave off. I played on all night, losing and regaining; and at length, when the saloon was closed, I had but a quarter of my first winning remaining. This would never do. I determined to go the next day, and I persuaded myself that if I could win as much as I had done the first night, I would never bet on a card again. I returned to that hall of horrors—for so it was, in spite of its gilding and mirrors and music. The haggard, pallid countenances of the professional players, almost Satanic in their calmness; the excited, eager looks of those who had come in the hopes, by staking their all, of clearing themselves from difficulties, or, by rapidly acquiring wealth; of being able to return to their far-distant homes! To a considerable number, I believe, the scene was thoroughly distasteful; and yet, infatuated folly led them, as it did me, there. I won at first; but fortune turned against me, and I went on losing rapidly. If I staked high, I lost; if low, it was the same. Every instant I expected to have my first good luck come back, till I discovered that, to the very last dollar, my pocket was cleared out. But I saw a terrible sight that evening—I spare you the particulars—the suicide of a poor young Englishman, who, like me, had lost every shilling he had. I trembled lest I should be tempted to commit a like act; for I found that hardly a week passed by but some wretched victim of gaming thus plunged into a fearful eternity, while numbers took to drinking hard, and brought themselves speedily to the grave. Sickened for the time of gambling, I worked hard again, till I had saved enough to take me up to the diggings. I found one of my shipmates about to start. We agreed to go together. We were bound to each other, not by mutual regard, but that we required companionship, and believed we could trust each other. I do not much like to think of all the hardships we underwent. We had some distance to go up the river, on the crowded deck of a vessel; then, with our packs on our backs, we commenced the toilsome part of our journey, over mountain and valley, across rivers and plains, on the highlands, exposed to sharp winds, which pierced bitterly through our light clothes, while on the plains we were scorched with the fierce rays of the unclouded sun. A large party had collected at the foot of a rugged mountain. Before us lay a plain of vast extent, which must be crossed. We had heard that there was a scarcity of water. Some had filled their water-skins and jars and kegs; others laughed at the notion of not being able to go a few hours without water, even should we not find any; and some carried flasks filled with rum or brandy, boasting that that was the best stuff for quenching thirst I never felt greater heat in the tropics; the air was filled with the finest dust, which got down our throats, stopped our nostrils, and filled up the pores of our already parched skins. The first night we stopped for very weariness—no water was to be found. Those who had some would not part with a drop to their comrades: they might want it themselves. All night the wolves howled round us, as if scenting their prey. There were reports, too, that hostile Indians had been seen; and several times the camp was aroused by an alarm that the redskins were on us. The next day, when the sun rose, the sky was cloudless, and there was not a breath of wind. Greater than ever was the heat, and more intense the thirst of those who had brought no water. I had a small flask full; but though I kept wetting my lips occasionally, I suffered dreadfully. Almost certain destruction would be the lot of those who dropped behind; yet, one by one, several poor wretches sunk down exhausted, in vain imploring the rest to carry them on. Sad were their cries; but our breasts were steeled against their appeals. We had our own safety to consult, and the gold mines were before us. Among those who sunk down were several who carried flasks of spirits. Our guides declared that we should reach water before sunset. This kept up the spirits of the stronger men. They were mistaken, or had purposely deceived us to encourage us to proceed. Again we slept on the burning sand, with our pistols in our hands, and our water-bottles under our heads, ready at a moment’s notice to defend ourselves against either Indians, wolves, or our own companions, who, tempted by thirst, might endeavour to steal the water we found so precious. The howling of the wolves in the distance, and the groans, and often the imprecations of those suffering from thirst, drove away sleep; and I, with others, started up to reach the river, which we were assured was not more than fifteen miles off. In four or five hours it might be reached. We pushed on at a rapid rate, our mules following willingly, instinct telling them that relief was at hand. The green trees appeared in sight, and the water, bright and limpid, was seen between them. We hurried on—men and animals together rushing into the stream, the men lapping the water up like dogs, and dipping their whole bodies in without even stopping to pull off any of their clothes. It is a wonder the sudden change from heat to cold did not kill some of us; but the fact is, that our pores were so completely closed up with dust that the bath, by removing the dirt, allowed the perspiration to escape and saved us from fever. A few turns in the sun soon dried our garments, and then delightful indeed was it to throw ourselves on the grass, in the shade of the tall trees, and to rest after our fatigue. One man proposed that we should load our mules with water and go back for our poor comrades who had dropped in the desert, if the caravan would camp for a couple of days; but the proposal was instantly negatived with derision.

“What! did he forget that we were bound for the diggings? Lose two whole days which might be employed in collecting the gold of which we were so eagerly in search! Scarcely had our companions came up than on we pushed. The diggings were at hand; the nearer we got to them, the more eager we became to commence work. We reached at last the principal diggings. It was a fearfully wild spot—mountains on all sides, almost destitute of trees, with the river running between them; the ground in every direction was full of burrows, as if the habitation of rabbits; but the chief work was going forward by the banks of the river, where hundreds of men were labouring away from morn till night with very varied success. My partner and I set up a hut; it was a wretched affair, but not worse than many others; then we turned to with eager, beating hearts. We dug and washed hour after hour, but, toil as we might, we had not, at the end of the day, obtained more than would pay our expenses; sometimes not so much. We toiled on. We had no choice; we must find gold or starve. With the cold wind descending from the mountains at night, and the chill fogs; the hot sun by day striking down on our heads while we stood up to our knees in water—no wonder that all suffered more or less from ague and fever. Many died from disease, some went mad, some committed suicide. There was no one to care for them, no one to mourn them; bowie-knives were in constant requisition, murders frequent. One day I heard shots fired, and ran to see what was occurring. Some strangers, that is, natives of various countries, had trespassed on the ground claimed by a company of Americans. Without giving any warning, the latter assembled and fired on the new-comers, killing several; then rushing on them with bowie-knives, axes, and revolvers, they desperately wounded or killed several more, putting the rest to flight. ‘There, I guess they’ll not try it on again,’ I heard one of the victors say, as he kicked the dead body of one of the conquered party. I could describe many other similar scenes. At night we always slept with our pistols under our pillows, and our knives at our sides, ready to start up at a moment’s notice. Several successful diggers were murdered for the sake of their wealth, and others were cut off by Indians, while prospecting beyond the chief diggings. Altogether, I don’t think that any place on earth could have been more like Pandemonium than were those Californian diggings at the time I was there, for I have not mentioned half of its horrors and abominations. I resolved to get out of them. An unexpected run of success gave me the means; the news of the discovery of gold in Australia expedited my movements. My partner agreed to share my fortunes. We got back to San Francisco, though not without great hazard of losing our gold and our lives, and got on board a ship bound across the Pacific to this country. The ship, however, being caught in a gale off this coast, drove on shore, when half the crew and passengers lost their lives—my partner among them—while I only saved my life and the clothes on my back. I had learned by this time not to be surprised at any misfortune which might overtake me. I was far better off than in California, for I was among countrymen, I begged my way up to the diggings, or rather I had not to beg it, for I was passed along from station to station. I was much better off, too, at the diggings than I had been in California, for I was now one of the ruling faction; and, though things were bad enough in some respects, people were generally civilised and humane, compared to gold-diggers I had met on the other side of the globe. My luck, however, was much the same. All I could do was to keep body and soul together, till at last I had to come to the conclusion that I was not cut out for a gold-digger. On my way up to the diggings, I had rested at a station owned by an old gentleman, who seemed to take an interest in me. At all events, as I was going away, he promised to receive me when I got tired of gold-digging, if I would come back to him, and to put me in the way of making my fortune. Utterly disgusted with my ill-success as gold-digger, I bethought myself of him, and was on my way to his abode, when, on attempting to cross your river, I was carried off my feet, and should have become food for fish or water-rats had it not been for your courage, Arthur and Willie; and I can say, with sincerity, that you deserve great credit for it. As to thanking you, I do not fancy that thanks from such a wretched vagabond as I am are worth anything, and so I’ll say nothing about that.”

“We are too glad that we have succeeded in saving your life, old friend, to care about thanks,” said Arthur. “And now you are here, we hope that you will stay and try if you cannot follow our occupation. It is the one that succeeds best in Australia in the long run, depend upon it.”

Mark Withers said that he would think about the matter; but the next morning he declared his intention of proceeding to the farm of the old gentleman, a Mr Elton, who had invited him to his house before he went up to the diggings. “The fact is,” observed Mark, “I have an idea that he intended to leave me his property, and that would not be an unpleasant way of making a fortune, you’ll allow.”

“It would be a way of getting one, certainly,” observed James; “though I doubt if your expectations will be realised; and I think that you would enjoy it far more if you make it yourself by honest industry.”

“Every man to his taste,” said Mark, with a careless laugh; “if I fail in my expectations, I can but try on plodding industry at last, you know, and little harm will be done.”

“It is difficult to stop a rolling stone when it has gained an impetus downhill,” said James; “remember that, Mark. However, I can only say that my brothers and I shall be glad to welcome you back, should you find yourself mistaken in your hopes, and to find some employment for you which will put you in the way of becoming independent in the end.”

In so great a hurry was Mark to assure himself that he should obtain the expected fortune from Mr Elton, that he insisted on setting forth on his journey the next day. He did not object, however, to borrow a horse and a few pounds from his old friends. This he did with the air of a man conferring rather than receiving a favour. When Craven, who arrived soon afterwards, heard of this latter circumstance, he predicted that the face of Mr Mark Withers would not be again seen at Warragong, unless he might have the assurance to return and borrow more.

Charles Craven had become a very constant visitor of late at Warragong. By his intelligence, activity, and knowledge of mankind, he had contributed greatly to the prosperity of the Gilpins own property, as well as to that committed to their charge. They had obtained permission to make over a considerable portion of the latter to his management, so that he had now a comfortable, if not a handsome, income. There seemed to be no doubt that he admired Miss Gilpin, though he had not proposed to her. Perhaps he considered that she was indifferent to him, or regarded him merely as a valued friend of her brothers.

Nothing had been heard of Mark Withers since his departure. One evening a horseman was seen approaching the house, dressed in rough bush fashion; and soon afterwards, into the room where the ladies were seated, walked Mark himself. He had assumed a careless independent swagger, peculiarly distasteful to those into whose society he had introduced himself.

“Your brothers were right!” he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair. “Old Elton was a humbug. He has cheated me abominably. Got me to labour for him, and then laughed in my face when I told him why I had done so; telling me that, as I worked for love, I required no wages; and that, as I was not worth my salt, he should give me none. However, here I am, not much the worse for the adventure, with a few months experience of bush life, and ready to become your brothers’ chief stockman, or overseer, or anything they like to put me to, not derogatory to the character of a gentleman.”

The Miss Gilpins and their sisters-in-law would have been inclined to laugh at this speech, had it not been for the impudence of Mark’s looks and tone. On the arrival of the gentlemen he softened his manner; and James and Arthur, ever kind and thoughtful, began at once to consider how they could employ their old companion, so that he might not feel the weight of his obligation to them. He decided that he would be employed as a stockman, without considering his fitness for the occupation, but preferring to ride about on a good horse to walking on foot or sitting in the house with account-books before him. He acquitted himself, however, more to his employers’ satisfaction than they had expected. He learned to ride and manage his horse well; and by the time he had gained a knowledge of the country, he had attained many of the requisites of a good stockman. He showed no inclination, however, to consider himself of the rank of one, but, assuming on his early friendship with the Gilpins, was constantly appearing at the house, and at length it became tolerably evident that he proposed to better his fortunes by marrying one of the Miss Gilpins. Jane had reason to believe that she was honoured by his preference. Suddenly, after this discovery, Craven ceased to pay his visits at the house as usual, or, if he came, went only to the business room, and declined stopping to luncheon or dinner. Whether or not Jane was in any way concerned at this, she let no one discover. Mark came oftener than ever, boasting that he should soon become a stockholder on a large scale, and that he intended to introduce great improvements in the management of cattle in Australia.

Where cattle are so apt to stray, as in the Australian bush, herds of different proprietors may occasionally get mingled, and therefore it is necessary to brand them carefully. When this operation is to be performed, the animals are driven into a pound. Ropes are then cast over the horns and legs of the bullock to be first marked, he is thrown to the ground, and the hot iron is applied. This is often a work of no little danger; for when a young bull, who has been roaming at liberty since his calfhood, finds himself thus treated, he is apt to turn on his tormentors, and to attempt to retaliate. A considerable mob of cattle had to be branded at Warragong, and all the hands who could be collected were employed in driving them into the pound. To get them there was difficult; to hold them quiet while being marked was still more so. One young and very powerful bull had resisted all the attempts made to catch him, when Mark Withers—who at that instant caught sight of the Miss Gilpins riding by—declared that he could manage the animal; and, leaping over the paling, lasso in hand, approached it with unexpected hardihood. The animal’s rage appeared excited to an ungovernable pitch at seeing him, and, lowering his head with a loud roar, he dashed towards him. While attempting to spring on one side, the unfortunate man’s foot slipped, and before he could recover himself, he was transfixed by the animal’s horns. The bull then, lifting up his head, bore his victim as if in triumph round and round the pound. In vain Withers struggled to release himself, and shrieked for help. James and Arthur and Willie, followed by several men, leaped into the pound, regardless of the risk they ran of being set on by other animals.

“Oh! horrible! Save him! save him!” simultaneously cried the Miss Gilpins, who had ridden up.

At that moment Craven, who heard their cry, rode up, and, seeing the state of affairs, ordered the gate to be opened, and dashed in. The next instant he had thrown the lasso over the bull’s head, clearing the man, and while he drew it tight round the creature’s neck, the rest of the party came up and were able to get theirs round his legs and to bring him to the ground. Mark breathed, but had received some severe injuries. Whether they might prove fatal it was difficult to say.

“Oh! Mr Craven, we are indeed grateful for the way in which you released that poor man from his horrible position,” said Jane, in a sweet, yet unfaltering voice, as, on riding out of the pound, Craven bowed stiffly to the sisters.

He looked at Jane’s countenance earnestly, and then rode up alongside her horse.

“I have some slight surgical skill, perhaps I may be of service,” he said quietly.

Withers was being carried at this time towards the house.

“Oh! try what you can do. My brothers will be most thankful. It would be dreadful were he to die in his present, as I fear, unprepared state,” she replied.

Craven drew a deep breath. Susan echoed her sister’s words. They were approaching the house.

Craven’s skill was not very great, but he was gentle and patient, and contributed to relieve the sufferings of the injured man. Many hours passed before the surgeon, who had been sent for, arrived. In the mean time, Craven was as assiduous in his attention as he could have been had Mark been his dearest friend. The surgeon would not pronounce a decided opinion as to the case. Though the injuries were severe, if the man’s constitution was good he might recover, but if not, they would probably prove fatal. James, as a true friend, felt that it was his duty to tell Mark the truth.

The injured man groaned and muttered, “Yes, it was good; but I have done my best to destroy it.”

James spoke to him earnestly, and urged him, without delay, to make his peace with God, through the only means open to sinful man—the blood of His dear Son.

Mark listened, but a veil seemed on his understanding. “The fact is, old fellow, I haven’t thought about the matter, and I would rather not now,” he replied. “I don’t intend to die just yet, if I can help it; and who knows but what I may take up your notions of things, and become as good as you are? You mean me well, I know you do; but just let me alone.”

But a faithful man is faithful in all things. Arthur persevered, and at length a perceptible change took place in Mark’s manner when he spoke of sacred matters. The fear of death in him became great. More than once Arthur heard him muttering to himself those awful words: Hereafter! Eternity! At length the surgeon began to speak more favourably of Mark’s condition. He thought he would recover, he said, but would be a cripple to the end of his life. It was a heavy blow to Mark, and caused him many bitter tears, although it was evident that it was a wonderful relief to his mind to be told that God had given him time for repentance, and not cut him off in the midst of his sins. Arthur was by his bedside continually, and it filled him with deep joy to be able to believe that Mark was a changed man. He spoke penitently, sorrowfully, of the past, but cheerfully and hopefully of the future. One day, as he was lying on a sofa, to which he had been lifted from his bed, he said to Arthur, “I remember long ago, in the old country, Arthur, when you and I were discussing what was the object in life most worthy of our aim, I thought wealth, for the sake of spending it on pleasure—on myself. I could not make out exactly what your aim was; but you and your brothers seem to me to have got all you can desire to make life pleasant, while I have lost all I had, and gained nothing.”

“I held, I believe, that all we should aim at is to do our duty, and that openings for the employment of our energies will always be found for us,” answered Arthur. “We certainly have found this to be true in our own case.”

“Yes, that you have,” said Mark, without, however, any bitterness in his tone. “I should have called it luck once, but I won’t now. I will try, by God’s mercy, poor helpless creature that I am, to find some means of usefulness, that so I may not be a mere cumberer of the earth, but may repay in any way that may offer itself some little portion of the kindness of my benefactors.”

The Gilpins had truly been fruitful fig trees. All they undertook prospered.

Far and wide they were a blessing to their neighbours, for as such they looked upon all those—rich or poor—whom they could reach.

Through their efforts and instrumentality the glad tidings of great joy were carried to all around them, many of whom would never otherwise have heard the Gospel sound.

The contrast between the career of the brothers and their quondam friend was great, but not greater than will usually be found between those who set the Lord always before their eyes, and seek him early while yet He may be found, and those who turn aside from His ways and refuse to follow them.

Craven declared that it was impossible any one could reap more benefit from his friends than he had. It seemed probable, indeed, that, but for them, he would have remained a hut-keeper to the end of his days. As it was, he became not merely an upright man in the eye of his fellow-men, but also a sincere Christian. He married Jane Gilpin, and with this event we close our narrative.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Grateful Indian"

Chapter One.

The Grateful Indian, A Tale of Rupert’s Land. By William H.G. Kingston.

We cannot boast of many fine evenings in old England—dear old England for all that!—and when they do come they are truly lovely and worthy of being prized the more. It was on one of the finest of a fine summer that Mr Frampton, the owner of a beautiful estate in Devonshire, was seated on a rustic bench in his garden, his son Harry, who stood at his knee, looking up inquiringly into his face.

“Father,” said Harry, “I have often heard you speak about the North American Indians—the Red men of the deserts. Do tell me how it is that you know so much about them—have you ever been in their country?”

“Yes, my boy; I passed several of the earlier years of my life in that part of North America which may truly be said to belong as yet to the Red men, though as there are but some fifty thousand scattered over the whole central portion of it, it must be acknowledged that they do not make the best possible use of the territory they inhabit. A glance at the map of North America will show you where the Red River is, with its settlement founded by Lord Selkirk. I was very young when I went there with my father, my elder brother Malcolm, and John Dawes, a faithful servant who had been brought up in the family from childhood. John was a great sportsman, a most kind-hearted fellow, and could turn his hand to anything. We went through Canada to Lake Superior, and from thence it took us, by a chain of lakes and rivers, about twenty-five days to reach the banks of the Red River. I need not describe how we selected our ground, built a cottage, ploughed a field, and stocked our farm; we will suppose all these preliminaries over and our party permanently settled in our new home. I must tell you before I proceed a little about the Indians of this region.”

II.

There are different tribes. Some are called Crees, others Ojibways or Salteaux, and these are constantly at war with the Sioux to the south, chiefly found across the United States boundary. There are also found on the prairies Assiniboines, Blackfeet, Bloodies, and others with scarcely more attractive names. All these people were at that time sunk in the most abject state of heathenism, and were constantly at war with each other. They were clothed chiefly in skins made into leather, ornamented with feathers and stained grass and beads. The tents of the prairie Indians were of skins, and those of the Indians who inhabit the woods of birch bark. Many had rifles, but others were armed only with bows and spears, and the dreadful scalping-knife. Of these people the Sioux bore the worst character, and were the great enemies of the half-bred population of the settlements. These halfbreds, as they are called, are descended from white fathers and Indian mothers. There are some thousands of them in the settlements, and they live chiefly by hunting and fishing, and retain many Indian customs and habits of life. Such was the strangely mixed community among whom we found ourselves.

The autumn was coming on, and the days were shortening, but the weather was very fine—sharp frosts at night, though warm enough, yet bracing, with a bright sky and pure atmosphere during the day. Sometimes a light silvery mist or haze hung over the landscape. Such is the Indian summer, the most delightful period of the year in North America.

The day’s work was over, and while my brother and I were preparing the table, and Sam Dawes was cooking the supper, we were startled by a loud and peculiar shout, or rather shriek. Our father, who had been sitting reading, started up, and taking his rifle from the wall, turned to the door. Sam, quitting his frying-pan, also took down his rifle and followed with us. In the distance was an Indian decked with war paint and feathers bounding over the ground towards us, while further off were five or six more, as if in hot pursuit of the first.

“That first fellow is an Ojibway by his adornments, and a young man by the way he runs,” observed Sam. “He’s seeking protection here, that’s poz.”

“And he shall enjoy it, though we should have to fight for him,” observed my father warmly. “We must teach the Red men that we always protect those in distress.”

The fugitive came on at great speed. He was flying for his life. His pursuers, however, were gaining on him. They had fire-arms in their hands, but did not use them.

“They have exhausted their powder,” observed my father. “That is fortunate.”

The young Indian was within fifty yards of us. We could see the gleam of the scalping knives which his foes had drawn, thirsting for his blood. He bounded on up to the door of the hut and fell exhausted within. Then for the first time his pursuers perceived that we stood armed at the entrance. Guessing truly that we possessed plenty of ammunition, and two or more of their number might fall if they attempted to advance, they paused, casting glances of disappointed vengeance towards their victim, who lay unconscious behind us. Our father told Malcolm and me to take him in and to try and revive him. We did so, and when we had moistened his lips with water he quickly revived. Springing up he seized Malcolm’s gun and hurried to the door. The other Indians had not moved. On seeing him, however, they instantly darted behind some trunks of trees for shelter, and then we saw them darting away till they got beyond range of our fire-arms. The young Indian would have followed, but my father restrained him, and gave him to understand that though he had saved his life he had no intention of allowing him to take the lives of others. Darkness was coming on, and we soon lost sight of the band. Having closed our door with more than usual care, we placed food before our guest, of which he eagerly partook, and then told us that his name was Sigenok; that he with others of his tribe had been out hunting, and had been surprised by a war party of Sioux, who had taken the scalps of all the rest. He had wandered away unarmed from the camp when he saw all his companions killed. To revenge them, which the Indian thought was his first duty, was then impossible, so he took to flight, hoping to retaliate on another occasion. His wary foes, however, discovered his trail and followed. He had caught sight of them when they were not aware of it, and redoubled his speed, making for the settlements. He gave us to understand that he could not have continued his flight many more hours, and that he was very grateful to us for preserving his life. We had brought a dog from England, and we had lately got another, both very sagacious animals, and so we stationed them outside the hut at a little distance to give us due notice should the Sioux return.

Sigenok, as soon as he had satisfied his hunger, proving his confidence in us, laid himself down in a corner of the room and was immediately fast asleep. He spent two days with, us to recover his strength, which had been greatly tried, and then set off to carry to his tribe the sad tidings of the loss of their friends. For an Indian, he was a good-looking young man, and decked with his war paint and feathers he had a picturesquely savage appearance.

III.

The winter came—we did not feel the cold so much as we expected—it passed on and spring approached. We were looking forward to the pleasures of summer and to a buffalo hunt which we had promised ourselves, when, after finding the heat unusually great at night, on rising in the morning, loud cracks in the ice were heard, and we discovered that a thaw had commenced. We were surprised at the rapidity with which the snow melted, and the low shrubs and the green grass appeared, and long dormant Nature seemed to be waking up to life.

“How jolly,” exclaimed Malcolm; “we shall soon be able to paddle about in our canoe; we may as well have look at her to see that she is in order.”

We had a supply of gum with which to cover up the seams as the Indians do, and our canoe was soon fit for launching.

“We must look to the plough and our spades,” remarked our father; “we shall speedily be able to get in our seeds.”

Perhaps Sam Dawes thought more of his fishing lines and nets and guns.

The next day an Indian coming up from the lake told us that there was an extraordinary accumulation of ice at the mouth of the river, which had begun to swell, with an impetuous torrent, carrying vast masses along with it. Speedily it rose higher and higher, the waters came up the bank and then filled the narrow gully which usually discharged water into it after rain, but now carried its waters backward into the plain.

“It will soon subside,” observed our father. “That current will soon carry away the barriers at the month.” So we all went as usual to bed.

The next morning when we looked out we were on an island. The water covered our field and the greater part of the garden round the house. Between us and the house of the nearest settler to the south was one sheet of water, while to the north not an habitation was visible. We made out at the distance of a mile our neighbour and his family crossing in a large boat to the hills on the east. “We may possibly have to follow his example,” observed our father; “but I hope that the waters may decrease before that becomes necessary.”

The sheep and cows were now collecting of their own accord in the garden, and we had to drive up the pigs, whose stye was threatened with submersion. The scene was truly one of desolation as we looked beyond our own homestead; trunks of trees and palings, and now and then a haystack, and barns, and parts of houses, and occasionally whole dwellings came floating by, showing what ravages the flood must have committed above us. Malcolm and I agreed that it was fortunate we had repaired our canoe. As the waters extended, the current in the river was less strong. Our father observed this. “My sons,” he said, “freight your canoe with the tent and some provisions, and take this case of books, and go off to the hills. Should the waters increase return for Sam and me; we must remain to look after the cattle. Mounted on our horses we shall be able to drive them to yonder rising ground on the south-west.”

He pointed to a slight elevation, between which and us he considered that the water was not more than one foot and a-half deep. Accustomed to obey without question, Malcolm and I, having loaded our canoe with as many valuables as she could possibly carry, prepared to cross to the eastern hills, hoping that our father and Sam would start at once with the cattle towards the more remote but seemingly more accessible ground to the west. Just as we were shoving off he remarked—

“The water has not risen lately; we may still avoid a remove. Heaven prosper you, my dear boys.”

We hoped that his words would prove true—the sky was bright, the water smooth, and it was difficult to believe that there was any danger. Malcolm and I were expert with the use of the paddle, but in crossing the river we were swept down some way, and narrowly escaped staving in the canoe against stumps of trees or palings and remnants of buildings. We persevered, however, and at length reached the eastern hills, or the mountains as they were called. Here we found our neighbour and several other families encamped. He told us that he had driven his cattle off on the first day, and wished that we had done the same. The waters did not appear to be rising, though we looked with anxiety towards our home; but it was too small a speck to be visible among the wide expanse of waters at the distance we were from it. We had put up our tent and were intending to occupy it, when we recollected that there were several of the other settlers’ wives and daughters without so good a covering, so we went and begged them to occupy it, while we slept under our canoe.

The night was bright and starlight, but we could not sleep much for thinking of our father and Sam Dawes. We resolved as early as we could see in the morning to go back to them. We were awoke early in the morning by a peculiar murmuring and hollow sound. As soon as it was daylight we looked out over the flooded country. We asked others if they had heard the noise. They replied that they had, and that it was caused by the water rushing over the land. “Then the flood must have increased,” exclaimed Malcolm and I with anxiety.

“No doubt about it, boys,” was the unsatisfactory reply.

We were for starting off immediately, but one of the farmer’s wives, to whom we had given up our tent, insisted on preparing some breakfast for us, and in putting a supply of food into our canoe.

“It is a long voyage, my boys, and you do not know what you may require before you return,” she observed.

We paddled on very anxiously. We had only the line of eastern hills we were leaving and some high land to the south to guide us, but we thought that we could not help hitting upon the spot where our abode stood. For a long way we paddled on easily enough, only taking care not to run against stumps of trees, and as we got nearer the settlement, stakes or ruined buildings were our chief danger. Too many evidences met us on either side that the water had increased considerably since the previous day. In vain our eyes ranged around, in no direction was our cottage visible. We must have mistaken the locality. The current was here very strong, we thought that we might have drifted down further than we had calculated on doing. We went further west, and then steered south, where the current was less strong. After going some way, Malcolm stopped paddling suddenly, and exclaimed—

“Look, Harry! look there! Do you know that tree?”

“Its head is very like one that grows close to the house,” I answered.

We had both mechanically turned the head of the canoe in the direction in which he pointed. We had been engaged in fastening a flag-staff to the tree near our house. A minute would decide whether this was it. Our hearts sank within us, our paddles almost dropped from our hands, when we perceived among the bare branches the rope and the pole which we had been about to erect. Where was our cottage? where our kind father and the faithful Sam? Not a vestige of the cottage remained, it had too evidently been carried away by the flood.

“Had they been able to escape with the cattle?” was the question we asked each other. We hoped they might; but still it was too possible that our father would have persisted in remaining in the house, as a sailor will by his ship, to the last, and Sam, we knew, would never have deserted him. We could just distinguish the heads of some strong palings above the water, marking the position of our cottage. We made fast to the tree for a few minutes to rest and recover ourselves, and to consider what course to pursue. We naturally turned our eyes towards the rising ground in the south-west, to which our father intended to drive the cattle. It seemed a long, long way off, still we determined to attempt to reach it. We felt thankful that the farmer’s wife had supplied us with provisions, though we were too anxious just then to be hungry. We left the tree and paddled on, but it was very hard work, for there was a current against us setting towards Lake Winnipeg; but the canoe was light, and as there was no wind we managed to stem it. Hitherto the sky had been bright, and there had been a perfect calm, but as we paddled on we saw clouds rising above the high ground for which we were steering. They rose, and rose, and then rushed across the sky with fearful rapidity, and the water ahead of us, hitherto bright and clear, seemed turned into a mass of foam, which came sweeping up towards us.

“We cannot face it,” exclaimed Malcolm. “Quick, quick, about with the canoe, we must run before it.”

We were hardly in time. The blast very nearly upset the canoe, and we had to throw our whole weight over on the side the wind struck her, to prevent this, as she spun round like a top, and away we flew before it. All we could do was to keep the canoe before the wind, and to steer her clear of logs of wood or stumps of trees, against which she might have been cast and knocked to pieces.

“But where are we going?” we asked ourselves. “If we continue thus, we may be driven into Lake Winnipeg, and hurled among the masses of ice which are dashing about on its waters.”

We thought still more about our father and Sam. How disappointed they would be, should they have reached the dry land when the storm came on, and they knew that we could not get to them. But our attention, I must own, was soon concentrated on our own situation. The rain fell in torrents, sufficient of itself almost to swamp our light canoe, while the thunder roared and the lightning darted from the sky, filling my heart, at all events, with terror. I felt both awe-struck and alarmed, and could scarcely recover myself sufficiently to help Malcolm. He was far less moved, and continued guiding the canoe with his former calmness. At last I could not help crying out—

“Oh, Malcolm, how is it that you cannot see our danger?”

“I do, Harry, clearly,” he answered gravely; “but we are in the performance of our duty, and God will take care of us.”

His words and tone made an impression on me which I have never forgotten. When dangers have surrounded me, I have asked myself, “Am I engaged in the performance of my duty? then why need I fear, God will protect me. He always has protected me.” The grandest receipt for enabling a person to be truly brave, is that he must ever walk on in the strict line of duty.

We were driving northward at a fearful rate, for the rapidity of the current was greatly increased by the wind. We wished that we could get back to our oak tree, as we might make fast to its branches, but it was nowhere visible. To have paddled against the gale would have only exhausted our strength to no purpose. As Malcolm found that he could guide the canoe without me, he told me to bail out the water. As I turned round to do so, I shouted with joy, for I thought I saw a large boat under full sail coming down towards us. On it came, much faster than we were driving; but as it drew near, it looked less and less like a boat, till to my bitter disappointment I discovered that it was a large haystack which had been floated bodily away. At length just before us appeared a clump of trees, and we, hoped that the ground on which they stood might be out of water. Malcolm steered towards the spot. We might remain there till the storm was over. The trees bent with the wind, and it appeared as if they could not possibly stand. We approached the spot perhaps with less caution than we had before employed. Suddenly the canoe spun round, a large rent appeared in her bows, over she went, and we were thrown struggling into the water. Before we could regain the canoe she had floated far away, and not without a severe struggle did we succeed in reaching the land. We climbed up by some bushes, and found ourselves on the summit of a little knoll rising out of the water, and not comprising more than fifty square yards. Our first impulse was to look out to see what had become of our canoe, and we stood watching it with a bewildered gaze as it floated away half filled with water. It was not till it had disappeared in the distance that we remembered it had contained all our provisions. That was bad enough, but we had never experienced hunger, and did not know how long we might exist without food. What appeared then worse was, that the waters were rising round our island, and we might soon have no dry spot on which to rest our feet. We might climb up into the trees, but we had seen other trees washed away, and such might be the fate of these our last refuge. The day wore on, the storm ceased, and the weather again became calm and beautiful. I now grew excessively hungry, and cried very much, and felt more wretched than I had ever done before. Malcolm, who bore up wonderfully, tried to comfort me, and suggested that we should hunt about foe roots or underground nuts such as we had seen the Indians eat. We fortunately had our pocket knives, and with these we dug in all directions, till we came upon some roots which looked tempting, but then we remembered that we had no means of kindling a fire to cook them, nor could we tell whether they were poisonous or not. The hunt had given us occupation, and prevented us for a time from dwelling on our misfortunes.

We then tried every device we could think of to kindle a fire, for we wished to dry our clothes, if we could not cook our roots. None of our attempts succeeded, and Malcolm suggested that we should run round and round our island to try and warm ourselves before night came on. At last I felt very sleepy, and so did Malcolm, but he said that he would let me sleep first while he watched, lest the waters should rise and carry us away before we had time to climb up a tree.

I lay down and was asleep in a minute, and when I awoke the stars were shining out brightly through the branches of the trees, the young grass blades reflecting them on their shining surfaces, while I saw my good brother still walking up and down keeping guard over me. The noise of the rushing waters sounded in my ears and made me desire to go to sleep again, but I aroused myself, ashamed that I had slept so long, and urged my brother to lie down.

“No, Harry,” he answered, “I wished you to get as much rest as possible; but look there, we shall soon be obliged to climb a tree for refuge.”

Walking a few paces, I found that the water had greatly encroached on our island; a southerly wind had begun to blow, which sent large waves rolling in on us.

“Should the wind increase, they will completely sweep over where we stand,” I exclaimed. “Oh, Malcolm, what shall we do?”

“Trust in God,” he replied calmly. “From how many dangers has He not already preserved us. But remember, our father has often told us that it is our business while praying to God for help, to exert ourselves, and so let us at once try and find a tree we can climb quickly in case of necessity, and whose boughs will afford us a resting-place.”

I loved Malcolm dearly. I admired him now more than ever, and was ready to do whatever he wished. We soon found a tree up which we could help each other. The wind howled and whistled through the trees, the waves lashed the shore furiously, and Malcolm had just time to shove me up the tree, when one larger than the rest swept completely over the ground on which we had been standing, with a force sufficient to have carried us off with it. We had seated ourselves among the branches, which waved to and fro in the wind, and as we looked down, we saw the water foaming round the trunk, and often it seemed as if it must be uprooted and sent drifting down with the current.

Malcolm said that he felt very sleepy, and told me that if I would undertake to hold him on, he would rest for a few minutes. I gladly promised that I would do as he wished, but asked him how he could think of sleeping while the tempest was raging round us.

“Why, Harry, we are as safe up here as on the ground,” he answered, in his usual sweet tone of voice, “God is still watching over us!”

I need scarcely say how tightly I held on to his clothes, trembling lest he should fall. I felt no inclination to go to sleep, indeed I soon found that I must have slept the greater part of the night, for before Malcolm again opened his eyes, I observed the bright streaks of dawn appearing over the distant hills in the east. Daylight quickly came on. It was again perfectly calm, and on looking down, we could see the blades of grass rising above the water. Malcolm woke up, saying that he felt much better. Looking down below us, he said that he thought the water had decreased since he went to sleep. He might have been right, I could not tell. At that moment there was only one thing I thought of, the pain I was suffering from hunger. “I shall die! I shall die!” I exclaimed. Malcolm cheered me up.

“Help will come though we cannot now see how,” he observed; “God will protect us. Trust in Him.”

Still I felt that I should die. It is very difficult to sustain gnawing hunger, such as I then felt for the first time. I have no doubt that Malcolm felt the same, but he was too brave to show it. Hour after hour passed by; the water did not appear to be rising; the blades of grass were still seen below us round the tree. I however felt that I could not endure many more hours of suffering. “I must fall, indeed I must,” I cried out over and over again. I should indeed have let go my hold, had not my brave brother kept me up. Even he at last showed signs of giving way, and spoke less encouragingly than before. He was silent for some time. I saw him looking out eagerly, when he exclaimed—

“Cheer up, Harry, there is a canoe approaching; it will bring us help.”

I gazed in the direction towards which he pointed. At first I could only see a speck on the water. It grew larger and more distinct, till I could see that it was certainly a canoe. Then we discovered that there were two Indians in it. We shouted, but our voices sounded shrill and weak. The Indians heard us, for they waved their paddles and turned the head of the canoe towards the clump of trees. The canoe could not get under the tree, but one of the Indians jumped out, and Malcolm told me to slide down. The Indian caught me and carried me in his arms to the canoe, for I was too weak to walk. Malcolm followed, and the Indian helped him along also. It was not till we had been placed in the canoe that we recognised in our preserver the young Indian, Sigenok, whose life we had saved. We pronounced his name. He gave a well-satisfied smile.

“Ah, you have not forgotten me, nor I you,” he said in his own language. “Favours conferred bind generous hearts together. Sigenok guessed that you were in distress. Your elder brother has long been looking for you.”

It appeared that Sigenok had been at a distance hunting when the flood commenced; that he had hastened back, and soon perceiving from the height the water had attained that our house was in danger, had embarked in his canoe and hastened toward it, but on his nearing the spot found that it had been swept away. Guessing that we had escaped to the eastern hills, he paddled there, when our friends told him that we had proceeded in search of our father and servant. Having ascertained the exact time of our departure, with the wonderful powers of calculation possessed by Red men, he had decided the events which had occurred and the course we had pursued, and was thus able to look for us in the right direction. Had he not found us there, he would have visited other places which he mentioned, where we might have taken refuge. As he was leaving the hills the farmer’s wife had given him a supply of food for us, and on his producing it our hunger was soon satisfied. We now told him of our anxiety about our father and Sam Dawes. He listened attentively, and then shook his head.

“They and the cattle never reached the hills,” he observed. “We will search for them. There are still some hours of daylight. If the house has held together, they will be found much further down than this.”

I fancied by the Indian’s manner that his hopes were slight. We now shoved off from the little island which had afforded us so valuable a refuge, and Sigenok and his companion paddled off at a rapid rate to the north. Anxious as I was, I soon fell asleep, and so I believe did Malcolm for a short time. I was aroused by a shout from Sigenok. I lifted up my head and saw a dark object in the distance rising above the water.

“It is our house!” exclaimed Malcolm, “Sigenok says so. Oh, that our father may be there!”

We kept our eyes anxiously fixed on the distant object. It was growing dusk. Malcolm said that he saw something moving on it.

“Man there, alive!” observed Sigenok.

Our hopes were raised; but he spoke only of one man. How long the time appeared occupied in reaching the spot! Even through the gloom we could now distinguish the outline of our log hut, which had grounded on a bank among some strong fences and brushwood, and was now fixed securely, partly tilted over.

“Who is there? who is there?” we shouted. “Father, father! we are Malcolm and Harry!”

“Woe’s me, young masters, your father is not here,” said a voice which, hollow and husky as it was, we recognised as that of Sam Dawes. We were soon up to our hut, to the roof of which Sam was clinging. The Indians lifted him into the canoe, for he had scarcely strength to help himself.

“But our father, Sam! our father!” we exclaimed. “Where is he? what has happened?”

“He no speak till he eat,” observed Sigenok, after he had secured the canoe to the hut.

We took the hint, and gave him some food. In a short time he revived, and told us that our father, after we went away, would not believe that the water would rise higher, and that they had retired to rest as usual, when they were awoken by the sound of the water rushing round the house; that they both ran out and mounted their horses to drive off the cattle, as had been arranged. Our father took the lead, urging on before him the cows and horses, while he followed with the sheep, when his horse fell and he was thrown into a deep hole. As he scrambled out, the current took him off his legs. He was nearly drowned, but after floundering about for some time, he found himself carried up against the hut. He immediately climbed to the roof and shouted as loud as he could in the hopes of recalling our father, but there was no answer. Again and again he shouted. He tried to pierce the gloom which still hung over the land, though it was nearly morning. He felt a wish to leap off and try and follow his master, but what had become of his horse he could not ascertain. The waters were increasing round the cottage. He felt it shake violently, when, to his horror, it lifted and floated bodily away. The logs had been put together in a peculiar manner, dove-tailed into each other, which accounted for this. He told us how forlorn and miserable he felt, without another human being in sight, believing that his master was lost, uncertain as to our fate, and that he himself was hurrying to destruction. More than once he felt inclined to drop off the roof, but love of life, or rather a sense of the wickedness of so doing, prevailed, and he clung on till the hut grounded where we found it.

We were now in as secure a place as any we could find in the neighbourhood, and so Sigenok proposed seeking some necessary rest before continuing our search. We proposed going into the house to sleep, but we found that our bed-places had been carried away, and so, of course, had every particle of furniture, as the bottom of the hut had literally come out. We therefore returned to the canoe to sleep. At early dawn we once more paddled south. There was little current and a perfect calm. The waters, too, were subsiding, for several slight elevations, before submerged, were now visible. After paddling for many hours, we reached the south-western hills I have before described. Several settlers were there, but no one had seen our father. We crossed back to the eastern hills before nightfall. There were no tidings of him there. The flood subsided, and we, like others, set off to return to the now desolate site of our former abode. Sigenok conveyed us in his canoe, and we pitched our tent on the very spot our hut had occupied. In vain we searched for our father, in vain we made inquiries of other settlers, no one had seen him. Day after day we waited, thinking that he might have been swept downward with the flood clinging to a piece of timber or some other floating body, and that he might as yet be unable to return. Sam Dawes looked more and more sad when we spoke of his return. Sigenok, who had remained by us, shook his head. “He gone, no come back,” he observed. Our hearts sank within us as the sad truth forced itself on our minds that we were orphans.

IV.

Long we continued to hope against hope. Neither was our father’s body, nor were any of the cattle he was driving off ever discovered. The current must have swept them down into Lake Winnipeg.

“I ain’t much of a person for it, young masters,” said Sam Dawes, taking a hand of each of us and looking at us affectionately, “but I loves ye as sons, and I’ll be in the place of a father, that I will.”

Faithfully did Sam Dawes keep his word.

“Grief is right and does us good in the end, depend on’t, or it wouldn’t be sent; but it mustn’t make us forget duty. Now you see it is our duty to live, and we can’t live without food, and we can’t get food without we work, so let’s turn to and plough and sow the ground.”

This proposal may seem like mockery, but among the valuables placed by our father in the canoe was a good supply of seed corn and other seeds, and we had discovered our plough driven deep into the ground. Sigenok disappeared the moment he understood our intentions, and Sam looked very blank, and said that he feared he did not like work and had gone off.

“I think not,” observed Malcolm; and he was right. In a few hours Sigenok returned with two horses and several hides well tanned, and needles, and fibre for thread. I thought Sam would have hugged him, he was so delighted. Without loss of time they set to work and cut out a set of harness, and, lighting a lamp, seated at the entrance to our tent, laboured at it the greater part of the night, Malcolm and I helping as far as we could. Sam made us go to sleep, but as I looked up they were still at work, and when I awoke in the morning it was finished. The horses were a little restive, evidently not being accustomed to ploughing, but they obeyed Sigenok’s voice in a wonderful way, though it was necessary in the first place to teach him what ought to be done. It is said by some that Indians will not labour. I have reason to know that they will when they have a sufficient motive. Sigenok showed this. His motive was gratitude to us, and affection excited by compassion. No white man would have laboured harder. When the wheat and Indian corn was in the ground, he with his horses helped Sam and us to bring in stuff for fencing and to put it up. All this time he slept outside our tent, under shelter of a simple lean-to of birch bark. Another day he disappeared, and we saw him in the evening coming up the river towing some timber. He brought a heavy log up on his shoulders. “There is part of your house,” he observed, “we can get the rest in time.”

So we did; we borrowed a large boat, and taking advantage of a northerly wind, we brought up, piece by piece, the whole of our hut, which had grounded near the banks of the river. Our neighbours, in spite of the value of their time to themselves, came and helped us, and we very soon had our hut over our heads, though, excepting the articles we had saved in the canoe, we had no furniture remaining.

“Sigenok live here with you,” observed our Indian friend.

“Of course; very glad,” we answered, thinking he intended to take up his abode in our hut.

We had arranged that morning to go to the Port (Fort Garry, belonging to the Hudson’s Bay Company.) to obtain flour and other articles. We were not without money, for our father had put his desk in the canoe, and in it we found a sum of money, considerable for our wants. On our return from the Port, we found that Sigenok had erected close to our door an Indian wigwam. It was very simple of construction. It consisted of about a dozen long poles stuck in the ground in a circle, and fastened together at the top so as to make the figure of a cone. Against these poles were placed large slabs of birch bask. It comes off the tree in layers, which, having a tendency to regain their circular form, cling round the cone, and are further secured with bands of fibre. In the centre is the fire, while the smoke escapes through an opening left in the top; some mats on the ground, and some lines stretched across on which clothes or other articles can be hung up, form the chief furniture of these wigwams. To these may be added a bundle of hides or mats, and an iron pot.

We had purchased some bedding at the Fort, and Sam and Malcolm soon knocked up some rough furniture, which served our purpose. We should often have been on short commons had not Sam and Sigenok been expert fishermen, so that we were never without an ample supply of white-fish, or gold-eyes, or sturgeon.

“This very well,” observed Sigenok. “Fish very good, but in winter buffalo better.”

“Will you help us to go and hunt the buffalo, then?” we both exclaimed.

Sigenok nodded; it was what he had proposed to himself that we should do. Although a wood Indian, he had connections among the prairie Indians, and from living with them had become a good rider and expert hunter. Sam did not like our going; he was afraid some accident might happen to us, but he had not the heart to tell us so. He was to remain at home to take care of the farm. Sigenok procured two other horses, one for himself, and another to drag a light cart which we bought, made entirely of wood. It was laden with our tent and provisions, and our rifles and powder and shot. We felt in high spirits when we were ready to start, and wishing Sam an affectionate farewell, set off to join a large band of hunters proceeding to the plains. There were nearly three hundred men, besides their wives and children. The greater number were half-breeds, but there were also a large body of Indians, among whom we found Sigenok’s relatives, who received as in the most cordial manner, and told us that we should be their brothers, that our friends should be their friends, and our foes their foes. The half-breeds had nearly five hundred carts, each with a distinguishing flag; and there must have been even a larger number of hunters, all mounted. Their tents, or lodges, are formed of dressed buffalo-skins. They are pitched in a large circle, with the carts outside; and when in a hostile country, with the animals in the centre, otherwise they feed outside the circle. They have a captain, and regular officers under him; and a flag hoisted on a pole in the centre serves as a signal. When hauled down, it is a sign that the march is to be continued. When the whole body was on the move, it reminded us of a caravan in the East, with the long line of carts winding along over the plain, and the horsemen galloping about on either side. For several days we travelled on without seeing any buffalo, till one day, soon after we had camped, notice was brought by the scouts that a large herd were in the neighbourhood. All was now excitement and preparation in the camp. Sigenok called us early in the morning, and, after a hasty breakfast, in high spirits we mounted our horses, and accompanied the band of hunters. We made a wide circuit, so as to let the wind blow from the buffaloes towards us. I should tell you that the animal denominated the buffalo by the North Americans is what is properly called the bison by naturalists. They roam in vast herds over the interior of North America, from Mexico as far north as the large river Saskatchewan and Lake Winnipeg. We rode on, drawing nearer and nearer, till, as we ascended a slight elevation, we saw over it on the plain on the other side a vast herd of big-headed, dark, hairy monsters, more buffaloes than I supposed existed on the whole continent. They were feeding quietly, as if not aware of the approach of foes. Our captain, an experienced hunter, rode along the ranks commanding silence, directing every man to look to his arms, and exhorting the novices not to shoot each other, a danger which might justly be apprehended. Each hunter now ascertained that his rifle was loaded, and then filled his mouth with bullets—a ready-at-hand pouch, that he might the more quickly drop them into his piece. I was afraid of following this example, for fear of the bullets dropping down my throat or of my gun bursting. Malcolm and I kept close to Sigenok. He told us to do what he did, not to lose sight of him, assuring us that our horses understood hunting perfectly. Our hearts beat with eagerness. We had now got near enough, in the opinion of our leader, to charge. The signal was given, and at headlong speed the band of huntsmen dashed in among the astonished animals. The buffaloes fled in all directions, the horsemen following, firing right and left, and loading again with extraordinary rapidity, seldom missing; and as each animal fell, the hunter who had killed it dropped some article of his dress, or other mark, by which he might distinguish it. It was the most exciting scene in which I was ever engaged—the hunters, so lately a dense and orderly body, were now scattered far and wide over the plain, many miles apart, in pursuit of the buffaloes; some terror-stricken, others infuriated to madness. Sigenok had killed five or six, and Malcolm had also, much to our gratification, killed one, though I had not been so successful, from nervousness, I fancy; when the Indian being at some distance, as we were in full chase of another buffalo, a huge bull started out from behind a knoll, and rushed towards us. My brother’s horse started at the unexpected sight, and putting his foot into a badger hole, stumbled, and threw him over his head. The faithful animal stood stock still, but on came the bull. I shrieked out to Malcolm to leap on his horse and fly, but he was stunned, and did not hear me. The bull was not twenty paces from him; in another instant he would have been gored to death. I felt thankful that I had not before fired. Raising my rifle to my shoulder, I pulled the trigger, the huge animal was within ten paces of him; over it went, then rose on its knees, and struggled forward. I galloped up to Malcolm, who was beginning to recover his senses. With a strength I did not fancy I possessed I dragged him up, and helped him on his horse just before the monster fell over the spot where he had lain, and would have crushed him with his weight. By the time Sigenok returned, the buffalo was dead. He highly praised me when he heard what had occurred, but said that we had had hunting enough that day, and that he would now summon his people to take possession of the animals we had killed. The skins are called robes, and are valued as articles of trade, being taken by the far traders and sent to Canada, England, Russia, and other parts of the world. Parts of the flesh of the slain animals was carried into the camp for immediate consumption, but the larger portion was prepared forthwith in a curious way for keeping. The meat is first cut into thin slices and dried in the sun, and these slices are then pounded between two stones till the fibres separate. This pounded meat is then mixed with melted fat, about fifty pounds of the first to forty pounds of the latter, and while hot is pressed into buffalo-skin bags, when it forms a hard, compact mass. It is now called pemmikon, from pemmi, meat, and kon, fat, in the Cree language. One pound of this mixture is considered as nutritious as two of ordinary meat, and it has the advantage of keeping for years through all temperatures.

V.

Soon after the grand hunting-day I have described, our scout brought word that a party of Sioux were in the neighbourhood. Our fighting-men attacked them and killed several. A scalp-dance took place, and other orgies which I will not describe. I was so horrified with what I saw, that I agreed with Malcolm that we would get back to the settlements as soon as we could. We expressed our wish to Sigenok, and he promised to return with us on the following day. Malcolm’s great wish was to withdraw Sigenok from his savage companions, and to induce him to settle down as a civilised man and a Christian. We talked to him on the subject, but he replied, that he had been all his life accustomed to hunting, and fighting, and that he could not abandon them. The next day we set out, leaving the larger body of Indians still encamped.

We had travelled on for two days, when the belief being entertained that we had no enemies to fear, there was less than the usual caution observed by the natives in our march. We were passing through a sparsely wooded country, I was in advance with Sigenok, while Malcolm and several young Indians, whose interest he wished to excite by descriptions of England and the wonders of the civilised world, brought up the rear, at a considerable distance. Suddenly Sigenok stopped, the crack of a rifle was heard, several others followed. “The Sioux!” he exclaimed, turning round his horse. “Quick! quick! our friends are attacked.” No other order was required; keeping close to him we all galloped back the way we had come, getting our rifles ready for action as we proceeded. A terrible anticipation of misfortune seized me as I thought of Malcolm, and the fate which might have overtaken him. Still he and his companions might be defending themselves, and we should be in time to rescue them. My heart sunk when the firing ceased. I knew that the Sioux would not have attacked the party unless greatly superior in numbers, and I dreaded that all was over, and that having slaughtered their victims they had retired victorious. Sigenok might have thought the same, for he sent out scouts on either side, and advanced with greater caution than before, though still at a rapid pace. We pulled up at an open glade. Sad was the sight which met our eyes. On every side were strewed the bodies of our companions, all denuded of their scalps. I almost fell fainting from my horse. I dreaded to find the body of my dear brother among them; still I eagerly hurried on to ascertain his fate. He was not to be found among the slain. My hopes slightly revived. He might have escaped and be concealed somewhere near, or he might have been carried off as a prisoner. My blood ran cold when I thought of this latter possibility, for I had heard of the horrible mode in which the Red men tortured their prisoners, and I dreaded lest such should be the lot of my poor brother. The rage and fury of the Indians at finding that their friends had thus been cut off was terrific, and their threats of vengeance terrible. I had hitherto, till this expedition, seen the Red men only under more favourable aspects. I now perceived what they could become when excited by passion. Still the loss of my brother made me anxious that they should immediately undertake an expedition which might result in his recovery. I saw the Indians examining the ground round on every side, and they soon pronounced an opinion that the party who had attacked their friends did not equal them in numbers, and would not have succeeded had they not lain in ambush and taken them by surprise. We must have passed close to the Sioux, but in consequence of the superiority of our numbers they were afraid to attack us. A council was immediately held; the principal men spoke, and various plans were suggested. The result of them was, that it was determined to form a camp on the spot, while twenty well-mounted warriors should go in pursuit of the Sioux. I entreated Sigenok to allow me to accompany him. “You are young for warfare, but your heart is strong—you shall go,” he answered. No time was to be lost. It was of great consequence to follow up the foe so rapidly that they might not be prepared for our approach. A hurried meal was taken, and each warrior furnishing himself with a supply of pemmikon for several days, we immediately set off. Three men, on foot, always kept ahead to act as scouts and to feel the way, while their horses were led by the rest, and when the first were tired others took their places. The Sioux must have retreated very rapidly, for two whole days passed, and though my friends assured me we were on the right trail, we had not overtaken them. I was almost in despair, and began to doubt that, even if Malcolm was alive, he could be with them. I had just expressed my fears to Sigenok when one of the scouts came hurrying back and exhibited a tag—the end of a boot-lace, such as my brother had worn. This Sigenok considered a sure sign that Malcolm was with them. My eagerness, therefore, increased to overtake them, but the Indians assured me that great caution was requisite, and that instead of going faster, it might be necessary to go slower. This is often the case I have since found in other affairs of life. More scouts were now sent out and still greater caution used. It was the intention of my companions, if possible, to make the onslaught on the camp of their foes at night. All depended, however, on our approach not being suspected. The Sioux, of course, would have scouts out, and the difficulty was to avoid their meeting ours, or discovering any traces. At last, just before dusk, one of our scouts brought in word that they had encamped, and that we were about two miles from them. It was suspected, from the way in which they had formed their camp, they must have thought that they had distanced us. We had now no longer any doubt about overtaking them, but the question was as to the best means of making the attack. The Indians’ chief thought was of revenging themselves for the loss of their relatives, my only desire was to recover my brother should he still be alive. We continued to advance till we got within about half a mile of the Sioux camp—the hilly nature of the ground and the woods concealing our approach. Beyond that we dared not proceed, as the country was so open that we might easily have been seen had we made the attempt. The band, accordingly, here left their horses under charge of five of their number, and as soon as it was dusk they commenced their stealthy approach to the camp. Sigenok and another young and active Indian undertook to look after me. Not a word was spoken after we set out—not a leaf was moved, scarcely a blade of grass was uselessly pressed down. On they crept slowly, and so gently that I could scarcely hear the footfalls even of my two companions. I imitated their way of walking, and as I had on mocassins I also was able to avoid making the slightest noise. We had got within a thousand yards of the camp when we all stopped to listen. The camp was still astir, and there were sounds of feasting and revelry. The Indians with me ground their teeth—their enemies, fancying themselves secure, were about to indulge in a scalp-dance over the scalps they had taken in the morning. As yet the scouts had not got near enough to ascertain if my brother was with them. I entreated Sigenok to let me go and ascertain. “Not without me,” was his answer. “Bah, we will go.” I eagerly and fearlessly pressed on. We had to crawl along the ground lest our figures might be perceived, by the sharp eyes of the Sioux, against the sky. We reached a small stream. The camp was formed a little way beyond it. We waded across it, and creeping up, looked over the bank. In the centre was a fire which, as it blazed up, threw a strange light on the groups of fierce savages clustering round it. At a little distance was a figure which attracted all my attention—it was that of my brother. He was seated on a log of wood, close to which a stake was driven in, and to this his wrists were tightly secured, though his feet were free. His head was bent down; he sat perfectly quiet, as if resigned to his fate. By the gestures of his captors I thought that they were talking about him, and I feared that they were proposing forthwith to put him to death. I dared not ask Sigenok what he thought; the slightest sound might have betrayed us. Oh how I longed to rush forward and join his fate, whatever that might be. I believe that I should have done so when I saw him lift up his pale countenance, so expressive of grief and pain, had not Sigenok held me back. He was, I was sure, thinking of me, and how miserable I should be when he was taken from me, and I was left alone in the world. Sigenok now made a sign to me to retreat; keeping close to him as before, I unwillingly left the spot. We crawled on till we rejoined our companions. It may seem surprising that the Sioux should have been so completely off their guard; but this arose from their despising their foes, the fact being that the Ojibways are generally very unwarlike, and they, therefore, believed that they would not venture to follow them. My companions’ plans were soon formed. It was arranged that the whole party should creep forward as we had done, and that each man should single out one of the enemy according to his position, and that at a signal from Sigenok, the low croak of a frog, all should fire at the same moment. With the sound of the first shot the men with the horses were to come galloping on, as if a fresh party were approaching the scene of conflict. As, undoubtedly, all the Sioux would not be killed, some might, otherwise, attempt to rush on their concealed foes, but, with the fear of falling into the hands of their enemies, they would now take to flight. My heart beat quick as we now moved on towards the camp of our treacherous foes. The night was very dark, and so noiseless were the movements of the Indians that, till I actually touched Sigenok’s heel, I fancied at one time that I must be alone. The shouting and shrieking of the Sioux as they sang their songs of triumph yet farther assisted us to approach. In another moment the death volley would be given, and most of those fierce savages would be laid low. My only wish all the time was to rush forward and to release my beloved brother. How breathlessly I waited for the signal! The warriors were moving about, and Sigenok was not yet satisfied, apparently, with the positions which they had taken up. Little did they dream of the danger which threatened them. Sigenok’s object was to wait till the Sioux were separated as much as possible, so that there should be no mistake as to whic h of them should be aimed at by the warriors of our party. After sitting down for some time, they all arose with eager and violent gestures; some went in the direction of the temporary wigwams they had formed, and others advanced towards Malcolm. By their looks and gesticulations I had little doubt that it was with the intention of torturing him. Poor Malcolm lifted up his countenance and gazed with calm resignation at his approaching tormentors. My knees trembled for very anxiety. Just then I heard a low “croak! croak!” Though warned, I believed that it was really a frog close to me. It was followed by a click as if caused by the cocking of the rifles. The Sioux one and all started and looked round. Their quick ears had detected the sound. There was another low croak, and at the same instant a rattling volley, and fourteen savages lay stretched on the grass. The rest rushed in all directions seeking for shelter, but in their alarm, scarcely perceiving whence the volley had proceeded, some darted towards the bank of the stream, where my friends still lay concealed rapidly reloading their rifles. Scarcely had the smoke cleared off than I saw through it a savage darting towards Malcolm with uplifted knife, resolved apparently, before he died, to plunge it in his bosom. I shrieked out, and sprang forward to throw myself between them. The savage saw me, and was about to vent his rage on my head, but at the moment his gleaming knife was uplifted to strike, a bullet struck him, fired from Sigenok’s rifle, and he fell within a foot of me, in vain endeavouring to reach me with his weapon. I sprang to my brother’s side, he was unhurt, my knife was busily employed in cutting through the thongs which bound him. More shots were heard as my Ojibway friends caught sight of their Sioux foes endeavouring to escape. A few of the latter had, however, got to some distance and were trying to catch their horses, on which their only hope of safety now depended. The object of the Ojibways was, of course, to prevent them, lest they should carry the news of what had happened to their tribe, who would, in their turn, send off another war party in pursuit of us.

The approach of our horses was now heard. Sigenok with a dozen other men threw themselves on their backs almost without stopping them, and galloped off in hot pursuit of their flying enemies. I stood by the side of my brother, who was too much bewildered to understand what had happened. His first words were, “Harry, dear Harry, tell me is it a dream or a reality. Am I really free?”

“Free, Malcolm, I trust,” I answered; “though I might almost ask you the same question; I can scarcely believe my happiness.”

“Now I take your hand and hear your voice, I know that it is true,” he said eagerly. “And that poor savage who lies so helpless there, I thought he was going to kill me; but I have been mercifully protected; I will tell you all about it by and by. Oh what a dreadful state of existence is this wild life; we will quit it, and return to our quiet home and never leave that. I had often read about savages, and thought them very fine fellows, but little knew what they really are—how bloodthirsty, cruel, murderous. Let us fly, Harry, let us fly at once. Do not stay here.”

I pacified him after a little time, and persuaded him to remain till Sigenok returned. “He, though still a savage, is, at all events, faithful,” I observed; “he will not desert us till he has seen us home and safe again with Sam Dawes. I wish that we could wean him altogether from his mode of life, and induce him to become a civilised man.”

While Malcolm and I were talking, the rest of the Ojibways had collected, with the exception of those who had gone in pursuit of the Sioux. The fire had sunk low, and I was thankful that the darkness prevented us from watching the horrid task in which they were engaged—that of scalping their fallen foes. The exclamations they uttered while thus employed, showed the delight they took in the dreadful work. “Our brothers are avenged! our brothers are avenged!” they kept shouting. “Their mothers, and wives, and children will not mourn alone; there will be grief and wailing also in the lodges of the Sioux. They will no longer be able to boast that they are the great warriors of the plains. We have conquered them; we have slain them; we have their scalps to show.” Nearly an hour thus passed; so greatly excited all the time were the savages that they took little notice of us.

At last we heard shouts in the distance, which became louder and louder, till by the light of the fire, which had been renewed, we saw Sigenok and his companions ride into the camp flourishing at the end of their spears the dreadful trophies of their success. But I should not have described those scenes at all, were it not to afford you a true picture of savage life, not as it is painted by romance writers, but as it really is, debased, and wretched, and hopeless. We soon reached the camp and recommenced our return to the settlements as rapidly as we could push on.

Sigenok told us that the Sioux of whom they had gone in chase, had nearly effected their escape, but that he had come up with them as they were attempting to pass a broad river, and where, from being in the water, not hearing the approach of their foes, he and his companions had shot them all down, so that he believed not one had got off. Still, had one escaped he might prove as dangerous as many, and therefore it might be safer to proceed homeward at once. We urged him to do so, and accordingly without even resting, we at once set out to return to the camp. We reached it in safety; but I will not attempt to describe the scenes which took place, and the savage triumph even of the women; how they shrieked, and shouted, and danced, and clapped their hands till they appeared like so many furies rather than human beings. As a war party of the Sioux would be able to travel much faster than we could, the household goods were at once packed, and we set out on our return homeward. We travelled rapidly, and to guard against surprise we had scouts in the rear constantly on the watch for the approach of a foe. The conversation of the men all the way related to the events of the expedition, and they evidently gloated over the way in which they had put their enemies to death.

As we proceeded I often turned my head when I heard any noise behind me, expecting to see the enemy darting out of a wood, or scouring over the prairie in chase of us, and at night, while we were encamped, I frequently started up under the belief that the Sioux were upon us.

“All our sufferings, and the dangers we have gone through, and the horrors we have witnessed, have been owing to our folly,” observed Malcolm; “had we remained at home, steadily assisting Sam Dawes to cultivate the farm, we should have escaped them all. We will be wiser in future.”

VI.

With great satisfaction, and gratitude for the dangers we had escaped, our eyes once more rested on the silvery waters of the Red River, as it wound its way through the rich plains of the settlement, towards the lengthened expanse of Lake Winnipeg. Malcolm and I, putting our spurs into our mustangs’ flanks, galloped on eager to announce our arrival to Sam Dawes. He was labouring by himself, putting up a fence to a new field. He saw us coming, and, throwing down his axe, hurried forward to meet us. Never was there a more happy meeting. He had a great deal to tell us, as we had to tell him. Gathering up his tools, he walked by our sides to the hut; a hut though it was no longer, for by his persevering industry he had converted it into a very comfortable residence; while he had replaced, though in a somewhat rough fashion, nearly all the furniture we had lost. My brother and I felt ashamed at having deserted him for so long, while he was labouring for our benefit.

“Well, dear masters, I did ofttimes feel sad and lonely like while you were away, but now I’ve got you back safe all that seems as light as a feather,” he exclaimed, pressing our hands and looking into our faces with the affection of a parent. He told us that great changes had taken place in the settlement during our absence, that a clergyman had settled near us, that a church was built and a school established, and that many new colonists had bought land along the banks of the river for many miles towards the south as well as to the north of us. The good clergyman had also induced several families of Indians to settle in the neighbourhood, and that they seemed to have accepted with joy the glad tidings of salvation which he had been the means of offering them.

“I wish that Sigenok would come and join them then,” exclaimed Malcolm warmly; “so brave and energetic a man would bring many others over to the truth.”

The next day Sigenok himself came in to see us. Malcolm opened the subject of which he had been speaking. Sigenok listened attentively, and said that he would go and hear what the missionary had to say. He did so.

The winter set in, and the river and lake were frozen over, and the ground was covered with snow, and sleighs had taken the place of carts, and thick buffalo-skin coats of light dress, and stoves were lighted and windows closed, and the whole face of Nature seemed changed. Sigenok came to us. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “when I knew you first my heart was like the great prairie when the fire has passed over it, all black and foul; now it is white like that field of glittering snow on which we gaze. I am a Christian; I look with horror on my past life, and things which I considered before praiseworthy and noble, I now see to be abominable and vile.”

Day after day, in spite of cold and wind and snow, did Sigenok come up to the missionary’s house to receive instruction in the new faith which had brought such joy to his heart. Many followed in his footsteps, and there now exists a whole village of Christian Indians in the settlement who have put away and for ever their medicine men and their charms, and their false Manitou, and their cruelties and bloodthirstiness, and are worshippers of the true God in sincerity and simplicity of faith. Several of the Indian boys brought up at the school have obtained a considerable amount of learning, and some are ordained ministers of the gospel, and others catechists and schoolmasters at various missionary stations scattered throughout the wide extent of Rupert’s Land.

You may like to hear something more about that wonderful land, that terra ignota of British Central America. At the time of which I have been speaking it was supposed that the only fertile land was to be found on the banks of the Red River, but it is now ascertained that an extremely rich and fertile belt extends from the Red River right across the continent, for eight hundred miles or more, to the base of the Rocky Mountains, where it unites with the new province of Columbia. This fertile belt is capable of supporting innumerable herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, and droves of horses, and of giving employment and happy homes to millions of the human race. It produces wheat and barley, and oats, and Indian corn, or maize, in great perfection, and potatoes and a variety of other roots and vegetables of all sorts, and the finest grass for hay, and hemp and tobacco, and many other plants with difficulty grown in England. The rivers are full of fish, and game of all sorts abound. The climate is very uniform throughout, like that of Upper Canada—warm in summer and very cold in winter, but dry and healthy in the extreme.

When, as I hope the case may be before long, those lakes and rivers along which we travelled on our journey from Lake Superior to the Red River are made navigable for steamers, this country will become the great highway to British Columbia, to China, Japan, and the wide-spreading shores and isles of the Pacific. With a line of settlements established across it, the journey may easily be performed, and some day, Harry, you and I will run over, and we will pay a visit to the very scenes which I have been describing to you; but instead of roving savages, murdering and scalping in every direction, living by hunting and fishing, I hope that we may find the Indians settled down as Christian men, and persevering cultivators of the soil which Providence will compel to yield a rich return for their labour. You will wish to know more of your uncle Malcolm’s and my proceedings. We soon became acquainted with the good clergyman I have mentioned, and after a time he suggested to us that, as our education was far from perfect, it would be wise if we recommenced our studies. This we did, and though we continued to help Sam Dawes in his farm labours even more efficiently than before, so steady was our application when engaged with our books under our kind tutor, that we made considerable progress in our studies. For three years or more we lived on very happily, with nothing to change our course of life, when we received notice from England that a relation of our father’s especially wished us to return. On consulting our friend the clergyman, he strongly recommended us to accept the invitation offered us. As we expected speedily to return we left Sam Dawes in charge of the farm, though he was almost heart-broken at parting from us. He would, indeed, never have consented to remain had he not believed that it was for our interest to do so. On reaching England great was our surprise to find that our relative intended to leave us his property. On ascertaining our attainments in knowledge, he insisted on our both going to the university. Your uncle Malcolm took high honours, and entered into holy orders. I became, as was our relative, a merchant, and without allowing business to absorb me, I have considerably increased the small portion he left me. Your uncle Malcolm and I have constantly talked of going over to visit Sam Dawes, but circumstances have prevented us. We long ago made over the farm to him, and he has greatly increased and improved it. He is, we hear, a hale old man. And now, Harry, I have told you a long story enough for to-day. Some other time I will tell you more about the wonders of Rupert’s Land.

Chapter Two.

The Shepherd Lord, by Julia Corner, Author of the “Historical Library,” etcetera.

It is now about four hundred years since a great feast was held at Skipton Castle, to celebrate the birth of a son and heir to the noble house of De Clifford. The young lord of the domain had just succeeded to the title and vast possessions of his father, Thomas Lord Clifford, who was killed in the battle of Saint Albans, at the beginning of the civil wars between the rival houses of York and Lancaster, and, by his death, his only son John, then not much more than twenty years of age, became lord of the great manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, and of Brougham Castle, with its wide lands, in Westmoreland, besides other castles and estates in different parts of the Northern Counties. A rich and powerful family were the De Cliffords, descended from Richard of Normandy, the uncle of William the Conqueror, and the first Lord Clifford was the father of the lady called Fair Rosamond, who lived in the reign of King Henry the Second, and was so beautiful that it is said in some histories of England that the queen was jealous of her, and obliged her to take poison; but this story is now supposed to be untrue, as there is reason to believe that Fair Rosamond became a nun and died in a convent. The De Cliffords held the Barony of Clifford in Herefordshire, and the extensive manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, when the grandson of Rosamond’s father married a rich heiress, who brought him the Barony of Westmoreland, to which Brougham Castle belonged, and after that other lords of the race acquired estates by their marriages, so that the wealth and grandeur of the family had been continually increasing. The wife of the present Lord Clifford, the beautiful and accomplished Lady Margaret, was the only child, consequently the heiress of Henry Bromflete Lord de Vesci, who was also possessed of large estates, one of which was Londesborough in Yorkshire, so that Henry, the hero of this tale, was born heir to great riches and honours, and in his childhood was surrounded with all the magnificence of a royal prince, for his father lived in kingly state, and his mother had her maids of honour, her squires and pages, just like a queen. It was not long after young Henry’s birth that Lord Clifford removed his family from Skipton to Brougham Castle, where two more children were born, a boy who was named Richard, and a girl named Elizabeth. These children had their separate nurses and attendants, as was befitting their high station, and Henry’s chief nurse, whose name was Maud, was as fond of him as if he had been her own child, for he was a very sweet-tempered, affectionate boy, and he loved her better than any one else in the world, except his parents and his little brother and sister.

Lord Clifford was now very seldom at home, being deeply engaged in the wars, but he came sometimes and stayed for a few days or weeks, as it might be, and on these occasions Henry, as soon as he was old enough, used to dine in the Castle hall, where not less than a hundred knights and gentlemen, besides a great number of pages and domestics of all kinds, sat down to dinner all together every day, for such was the custom of those times in great families. The dinner hour was about noon, or even earlier, when everybody belonging to the establishment assembled in the hall, where they took their places at the board according to their rank. At the upper end was a table raised above the rest on a daïs, for the lord of the castle and his family, with any guests of distinction that might happen to be present, and below this was a long oak table extending from it lengthways down the centre of the hall, in the middle of which stood an enormous salt-cellar, as a sort of boundary between such as were of gentle birth, and those of lower degree; the former sitting above, the latter below the salt. The style of living in those days would appear very uncivilised to us in this more refined age, for the dishes were set on the board without any cloth, and the people ate off wooden or pewter plates, and used their fingers instead of forks, while many of the nobles would have their favourite hounds beside them, and feed them from the table; for, as the floor was always thickly strewed with rushes, they did not mind throwing down pieces of meat to their dogs. However there was always great plenty, and such a banquet was thought very grand then; and the young Henry de Clifford, as being the eldest son, was treated with great homage by all his father’s dependents. Often, too, chiefly for his amusement, mummers, jugglers, and tumblers were allowed to exhibit their performances in the hall, for he took great delight in such entertainments, and no indulgence, however costly, was thought too great for De Clifford’s heir, whose pleasure was studied by every member of the numerous household. It was well for him that his wise and excellent mother taught him not to be too proud of his exalted rank, or haughty in his manners to those of humbler grade, but to be courteous and kind to every one, even to the lowest menial, so as to gain the good-will of all; and, as he was a very docile boy, and moreover believed that nobody in the world was so good or so beautiful as his own dear mother, he did not fail to profit by her gentle precepts, and become all that she could wish. Poor boy! he little dreamed then how greatly he would stand in need of a humble spirit, or what a sad reverse of fortune he was destined soon to experience.

His good nurse Maud had left to go to her own home at Skipton, where she married a shepherd belonging to the estate, and after her departure Henry was much more with his mother, who had begun to instruct him in such branches of learning as were considered essential to the education of the young nobility. She taught him to play on the harp and other stringed instruments, to recite verses, sing many of the songs she had herself learned from the minstrels in her father’s halls, and, what was of still more importance, she was about to teach him to read, which was not a common accomplishment in those days, for there were no printed books in England till some time afterwards. Printing was then a new invention, and only practised in Germany at one or two of the principal towns, so that the only means of learning to read was from manuscripts written by the monks, generally on parchment or vellum, and beautifully illuminated with a border round every page, in brilliant colours intermixed with gold. In every monastery some of the monks were always employed in making copies of the manuscripts their libraries contained, and others in illuminating them; but these written books were so expensive that none but very rich people could afford to buy them. Lady Clifford, however, possessed a few of these valuable works, and was intending that her son, who was now in his seventh year, should begin to study them, when a heavy blow fell upon the house of De Clifford; and the noble youth, who was born to be a great and wealthy lord, was reduced to the humble condition of a shepherd’s boy.

Henry was very desirous to know something about the war that kept his father so much from home, and Lady Margaret took great pains to explain to him how it had been occasioned, and why the English people should all be fighting against each other. She told him it was the opinion of many persons that the king, Henry the Sixth, who was then reigning, had no right to the crown, which belonged properly to the Duke of York, who had come over from Ireland and raised an army for the purpose of dethroning the sovereign, and getting himself made king in his stead. She also told him that King Henry, though a very good man, was neither very brave nor very clever, so that he did not take an active part in the war himself, but trusted everything to his queen, Margaret of Anjou, a Frenchwoman, whose bold and daring spirit enabled her to support her husband’s cause.

“But which do you think is right, mother?” said Henry.

“It is a difficult question to answer, my child; your father takes the part of the king, or rather of the queen, for the king is now a prisoner in the hands of his enemies. But the claim of the Duke of York is not without foundation, and those who take his part of course believe him to be in the right. But it is a sad thing, my Henry, that a dispute between two princes should cause so much misery and bloodshed as has already been occasioned by this unhappy quarrel, and it may be a long time yet before peace is restored.”

“Why do they say my father is for Lancaster and the Red Rose?”

“Because our king’s grandfather, Henry the Fourth, was Duke of Lancaster before he became king. He gained the crown by force from his cousin Richard the Second, and although the people consented to have him for their king, and his son Henry the Fifth after him, and now his grandson Henry the Sixth, it does not prove that he had a right to take the crown from Richard.”

“And who is this Duke of York, mother? Why do they think he ought to be the king?”

“To make you understand that, Henry, I must go back a little further to the reign of Edward the Third. He, you know, was the father of that good and brave prince Edward, whom we call the Black Prince, and who would have been king if he had not died before his father. The Black Prince had four younger brothers, but he had a son also, who succeeded to the throne at the death of his grandfather. He was the Richard the Second whose crown was taken from him by the Duke of Lancaster, his cousin, who is, therefore, considered a usurper. This Duke of Lancaster was also a grandson of Edward the Third, but his father was one of the younger sons of that king; and the Duke of York, who has now come forward to claim the crown, and stirred up all this terrible strife, is a descendant of one of King Edward’s elder sons. Do you understand all this?”

“Yes, I think I do; but I cannot tell which is in the right after all.”

“No, my dear boy, I dare say you cannot, neither can I inform you, for there is much to be said on both sides. I do not pretend to judge between them, I can only be grieved to see how much sorrow is caused by the war, and wish that it was ended.”

“But you have not told me now, mother, why they say my father is for the Red Rose.”

“The Red Rose, Henry, is a badge to distinguish the king’s party. The crimson rosette they all wear is meant to represent a red rose. The friends of the Duke of York wear a white one, and from these party signs the war has come to be called the ‘War of the Roses.’”

One day, soon after this conversation, it was just before Christmas, the Lady Margaret, who often entered into the diversions of her children, was teaching her two boys to shoot at a target in the gallery above the hall, with a miniature bow and arrows. Some of her maidens were present looking on at the sport, and when either of the boys shot near the mark they clapped their hands in applause, and exclaimed, “In good truth, that was well aimed, my Lord Henry!” or “Bravely done, my Lord Richard! It went within a hair’s breadth.” And so they went on laughing and playing for a long while, one or other of the damsels, and sometimes the lady herself, trying their skill, the two boys being highly delighted with the sport, when they were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the warder’s horn, and in another moment the loud, heavy tramp of many horses was heard.

“It is my lord returned!” cried Lady Margaret. “Now, heaven be praised. Come with me, Henry, to the gate to meet your father; and you, Cicely, bring down Richard. He must not say we are slow to bid him welcome.”

The drawbridge had been let down, the castle-gates flung wide open, and in a few minutes the hall was filled with a host of soldiers who had returned with their lord from the wars. The noble chief responded lovingly to the affectionate greetings of his lady and his boys, then left the hall with them, whilst the seneschal collected all the chief domestics and their servitors to make ready a banquet for the unexpected guests. A sumptuous feast was speedily prepared, and Lord Clifford, with the Lady Margaret and his son Henry, dined in state that day—it was for the last time—in Brougham Castle.

The joy occasioned by his return was but short-lived, for it was quickly known that he was to depart again on the morrow, and much news was told to the inmates of the castle by those who had newly arrived. It appeared that the whole country was in a dreadful state. The king had been made prisoner at the last battle, and the queen was now in the northern counties with her son, the young prince Edward, endeavouring to raise fresh forces. These were hard times for the poor country-people, who suffered greatly from famine, as the soldiers were marching about in all directions, pillaging and destroying wherever they came. Almost every nobleman in England had joined either one side or the other, and many men, who would much rather have stayed at home in peace with their families, to work in the fields, or tend their flocks and herds, were compelled to take up arms at the bidding of their lords; but the peasantry in those days were so dependent on the nobles that every man was obliged to obey the commands of the lord of the land whereon he dwelt, for although the lower orders were not vassals and serfs as they used to be in earlier times, still they were not so free as they are now. Lord Clifford had come home chiefly for the purpose of leaving some of his trusty followers to defend the castle in case it should be attacked, which he thought probable, and as he had taken away all the fighting-men, there had latterly been none left in the castle but such as were too old or infirm to do much service. He therefore appointed a sufficient number to remain as a guard, then prepared to bid adieu once more to his wife and children. Lord Clifford was fierce and cruel in the wars, but he was fondly attached to his own family, and it was perhaps in some measure owing to his strong feelings with regard to domestic ties, united with a natural ferocity of disposition, that made him so unsparing towards his enemies as to obtain the name of “the butcher,” by which he is distinguished in history to this very day; for when his father fell at the battle of Saint Albans, he made a vow that he would revenge his death by never showing mercy to a partisan of the house of York, and he kept that vow but too well, as you will presently hear.

The gentle Lady Margaret watched, with a saddened heart and tearful eyes, the hurried preparations for her husband’s departure, while Henry and Richard stood near him, gazing with childish admiration on his stately form arrayed in armour of polished steel, over which he wore a tabard, or short coat of crimson velvet, richly embroidered with gold, and under its wide open sleeves the shining armour looked very splendid. His helmet was adorned with a plume of feathers, and as he was a tall, handsome man, no doubt he looked very magnificent in the eyes of his children. It was the last time they ever saw him.

Brougham Castle stood on the bank of a narrow river, and its principal entrance was an arched gateway opening to the riverside. The drawbridge had been let down, and some of the horsemen had already passed over, and were waiting on the opposite bank for their leader, who still lingered to say a few more parting words to the beloved ones he was leaving behind. The little baby girl was brought to him for a last kiss, then he took Richard in his arms, and kissed him too, and stroking the glossy curls of Henry’s light brown hair, he said—

“I wish you were a few years older, my son, that you might go with me to fight for your king and queen.”

“I thank God that he is not old enough,” returned Lady Margaret; “it is grief enough for me to part with my husband. Oh! that these cruel wars were over, for they bring nothing but sorrow to the land!”

“Thou hast but a faint heart, my Margaret. Our queen is a lioness compared with thee!”

“I would not wish to resemble her then,” said the lady.

“Nor would I desire that thou shouldst,” replied her husband. “But keep up a brave spirit, for thou mayest need it.”

Again he embraced her lovingly, and mounting his gallant charger he rode from the castle-gate, with about fifty knights and esquires in his train, all well armed and mounted.

The first news that reached Brougham, was a cause of the deepest sorrow to Lady Margaret, although it told of a great battle that had been won by her husband’s party at Wakefield, and also of the death of Richard, Duke of York, who had fallen on the field. But it also told of a barbarous deed done by Lord Clifford, which she was sure would turn all hearts against him; and so it did, for it shocked both friends and foes, and has left a blot on his name that will never be effaced.

It was after the battle was over, as he was riding towards the town to rejoin the queen, that he overtook the young Earl of Rutland, second son of the unfortunate Duke of York, a youth about fourteen years of age, who had just heard of his father’s fate, and, overwhelmed with grief, was being hurried away by his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who had been left in charge of him near the field of battle, to seek refuge in a neighbouring convent. Clifford seized the affrighted boy, who fell on his knees and begged for mercy.

“Who is he?” demanded the fierce nobleman in a thundering tone.

“He is the son of a prince who is now beyond thy power,” answered the venerable tutor. “But I pray you to spare him, for he is too young to do hurt to thee or thy cause.”

“He is a son of York, and he shall die!” exclaimed Lord Clifford, plunging his dagger into the heart of the hapless boy, who fell dead at his feet.

It was in consequence of this wanton act of cruelty, and of the numbers he slew at the battle of Wakefield with his own hand, that he was thenceforth called “the butcher,” a terrible distinction, which will cling to his memory for ever.

Lady Clifford lamented sadly over the fate of poor Rutland, for she would have given all the wealth she had in the world, rather than her lord should have been guilty of such a wicked deed; and when she looked at her dear boy Henry, she wondered that the thought of his own son should not have softened a father’s heart, and prevented him from destroying an innocent youth, even though he was the son of an enemy.

One day, soon after this news was brought, there came to the castle one of those wandering minstrels who were in the habit of going about the country with their harps, and were sure to find a welcome at the mansions of the great, where, in return for a night’s lodging and entertainment, they would amuse the company with their songs and music. Lady Clifford never went down to the great hall when her lord was away, but confined herself to her own private apartments with her female attendants and her children, but she readily gave permission for the domestics to admit the minstrel for their own amusement, and right glad they were of this indulgence, as they had spent but a dull Christmas.

“May we not go down, dear mother, to hear the minstrel play and sing?” said Henry.

“Yes, you and Richard may go for awhile if you wish it,” replied Lady Margaret; and, sending for the old seneschal or steward of the castle, she bade him take charge of the boys while they listened to the harper’s songs. There were not many people in the castle now, but all that were there assembled in the hall to make merry with the new comer, except Lady Clifford herself, and the little Lady Elizabeth. The minstrel sang a long ballad all about the warlike achievements of the De Cliffords in former times, filling up the pauses with the animated strains of his harp, and when the song was done, and the servants were preparing to dance, the boys returned to their mother, highly delighted with what they had heard.

The next morning the seneschal came to his mistress and told her that the minstrel begged for a private audience, as he had something of importance to communicate, “And I think, my lady,” said the old man, “it is about our lord that he wishes to speak, for he has just come from Wakefield.”

“Then bring him hither, Hubert,” said the lady, “I will hear what he has to say.”

Hubert bowed respectfully and withdrew, but soon returned with the minstrel, who was instantly recognised by Lady Margaret as a faithful retainer of Lord de Vesci, her father; and seeing by his looks that what he had to communicate was for her ear only; she dismissed all who were present, and remained alone with him.

“What is it, Rolf,” she asked in alarm. “Why do you come here in disguise? what of my father? is he well?”

“He is well, dear lady. It is not of him I came to speak. I am just from Wakefield, and I come to warn you to watch well over your sons, for the friends of York have sworn, one and all, to take revenge for the death of young Rutland; and I fear me the threat points towards Lord Clifford’s children. You must not trust them out of the castle, where for the present they are safe; but if Edward of York should be made king, and he is more likely to succeed than his father was, I am afraid there will be no safety for them even here. I assumed this disguise because if it became known amongst your enemies that one of your father’s people had come from Wakefield here, they would suspect it was to put you on your guard.”

“Now heaven help me!” said the lady, “how am I to ward off this misfortune? I must depend on you, my good and faithful Rolf, to keep watch, and let me know should any immediate danger threaten us; and, in the meanwhile, I will concert some plan for removing my children in case of need.”

“This I will do, lady, and as much more as may lie within my power. In this minstrel’s guise I can visit the camp of the Yorkists from time to time, and bring you intelligence of what is passing there. They will not know that I am one of your house, and I shall pass free.”

Lady Margaret was truly grateful to the trusty Rolf, who departed from the castle that same day; but she confided to none, except the good old seneschal, what had been the purport of their conference. Day after day she waited with ill-concealed dread for further tidings, and at length a messenger came from her lord, from whom she learned that more battles had been fought, that the king was released from prison, but that the young Duke of York had been proclaimed king in London, by the title of Edward the Fourth. Soon afterwards another messenger arrived with news that King Henry and the queen were again in Yorkshire collecting more forces, and that King Edward (for there were now two kings) was advancing northward with a large army to oppose them. The poor women and children from the neighbouring villages now came flocking for refuge to Brougham Castle, which was put into a state of defence, for it was quite certain there would soon be a great battle, and, if King Edward should gain the day, there was but little doubt that the castle would be besieged.

Lord Clifford was now with the king and queen in the city of York. Their army amounted to sixty thousand men; and King Edward was coming with about fifty thousand, so that the conflict was certain to be a very great and terrible one. It took place at Towton, on Palm Sunday, just four months after the battle of Wakefield, and amongst the many thousands slain on that dreadful day was Lord Clifford, who was then scarcely twenty-six years of age. It is needless to dwell on the grief occasioned by these fatal tidings; it was sad to hear and sad to see. The unhappy lady had now to think of providing for the safety of her fatherless children, for although Rolf had promised to bring her word if he saw they were in danger, there was no certainty of his being able to do so, as it was possible he might have been killed himself, for she had not heard of him. At last he came, but it was again in his adopted character of a minstrel, and he would have had some difficulty in gaining admittance, had it not been for the old seneschal, who guessed his errand, and saw that he was allowed to enter, saying that, dismal as the times were, it could be no harm to listen to a minstrel’s lay.

With much caution he conducted him secretly to Lady Clifford’s private apartments, for he thought there might be some hazard in letting it become known who he was or why he came, as among the many who were now within the castle walls, who could say that all were true.

From Rolf’s account it appeared that, after the defeat at Towton, the queen had placed her husband, who was half imbecile, in a monastery at Edinburgh, and fled with her son, Prince Edward, to France; while the new king, Edward the Fourth, had taken full possession of the throne, and was publicly acknowledged as sovereign of England. He had declared his intention of seizing the estates of all those nobles who had fought against him; and it was reported that he had said he would revenge the murder of his brother, young Rutland, on Clifford’s heir. Henry’s life was therefore now in danger, and Rolf had come to assist in saving him.

“Have you devised any plan, lady,” said the faithful servant, “in case of this extremity?”

“Yes, my good Rolf, I have thought of it day and night, ever since that fatal battle. I must part from my boy. I must trust him to you. Do you think you can convey him, without suspicion, to his nurse Maud, at Skipton? I can depend on her to be careful of my child, and on her husband also; but they must not remain there, they must remove to Londesborough, and you must go yourself to my father, who is now there, and tell him from me to provide them with a dwelling, but not to notice the boy as his grandson, for Henry must pass for Maud’s own child. Think you, Rolf, that you can accomplish all this?”

“I will try, my lady; but we must speak of it to Lord Henry, that he may understand his life depends on its not being known that he is Lord Clifford’s son.”

“My Henry is wise beyond his years,” replied the lady, “and I fear me not that he will submit to this necessity without a murmur.”

“No doubt, no doubt, dear lady; and you had better prepare him at once, for we know not how soon the blow may come.”

“My Henry,” said Lady Margaret, “you are going to Skipton, to your good nurse Maud, who will take you to Londesborough, where you must live with her and her husband till there is peace again in the land, which we will both earnestly pray for. And you must remember, my child, that you are to pass for Maud’s own son, and that you are to call her mother, and her husband, Robin, the shepherd, father. I have already explained to you what would be the terrible consequences should you ever forget this.”

“I will not forget, mother; but shall I never see you there? I love Maud very much, but not as I love you, my own dear mother!”

And the noble boy threw himself into his mother’s arms, laid his head upon her bosom, and burst into tears. She kissed him tenderly, and endeavoured to speak cheerfully.

“My darling boy, this separation is only for the present, and I hope I shall be able to see you sometimes, for I intend, after awhile, to live at Londesborough, which is mine, and may some day be yours; but not yet, not till our enemies believe that you and your brother are far away beyond the seas; and even then, when I come to visit you, Henry, no one must know it except ourselves and nurse; for if it came to be known that I felt any interest about the shepherd’s boy, the people might suspect who you are, and that is what we have to guard against.”

“And Richard, mother—is he to go away too?”

“Yes, Henry, I must part with you both—but your little sister I may keep with me; it is not her life they seek. And now, my beloved child, you understand what it is you have to do—keep up a brave heart and endeavour not to repine at your lot, but be thankful you have not fallen into the hands of those who would show you no mercy. But above all, my son, put your trust in God, and pray to him that happier days may come, when we can be together again without fear or concealment.”

The next day after this conversation, Lady Clifford left Brougham Castle, with her three children, her maid Cicely, old Hubert, and a few trusty attendants on whose fidelity she could rely, but not even to them did she reveal her son’s destination, which was only known to her faithful seneschal. The lady, with her maid and the children, travelled in a litter, a sort of light van shut in with curtains, which, at that period, when coaches were unknown, was often used by invalids and those who did not want to travel on horseback. The litter for one person was sometimes slung on poles and carried by men, but a large one, containing more than one traveller, was usually mounted on wheels and drawn by horses. It had been arranged that Rolf should meet Lady Clifford’s party in a forest, between Brougham Castle and York, and that he should bring with him a peasant boy’s coarse woollen dress, to disguise Henry for his flight; and oh, how sad were the hearts of the mother and son when they came in sight of the tall trees of that forest where they were to part for they knew not how long! The path was wide enough to admit of the vehicle, and they had not gone far when Rolf met them. He was not in his minstrel’s dress, so that the people did not know him. He came to the side of the litter, and spoke in a low tone to the lady, who called one of her attendants, and said to him—

“This good man brings me word that it will not be safe for us to go to York, therefore I shall alter my course and proceed at once to the sea-coast, and take ship for the Netherlands. He also thinks that it would be better we should not all travel together, therefore I shall send on my eldest son with him and Hubert. He has a conveyance waiting close by in the forest, and when I have seen them off, I will return here. You can, meanwhile, rest and refresh yourselves, for we have a long day’s journey yet before us.”

The men, who were glad of this respite, dismounted, and began to unpack the provisions with which they were plentifully provided, whilst the sorrowful lady, leading her son by the hand, accompanied by Hubert, followed Rolf, who led them to a spot quite hidden from the view of the rest of the party, where a small cart, such as was used by the villagers in their rural occupations, was really in waiting.

This was indeed a trying moment. The young lord was now to be transformed into the peasant boy—his long bright curls were cut off, his face and hands were stained with a brown liquid to make him look sunburnt, as if he was used to work in the fields, and his rich velvet apparel was changed for coarse homespun woollen cloth. But he cared not what they put him on—his only thought was that he was going away from his beloved mother, perhaps never to see her more. He clasped his arms round her neck and clung to her sobbing, as if his heart would break, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks too, as she fell on her knees and murmured a prayer that heaven would watch over and protect her fatherless boy.

“My lady—my dear lady,” said old Hubert; “you must not stay here longer—the sooner this parting is over the better it will be for you both. Come, my Lord Henry, it is time we were moving.”

So saying he gently disengaged the boy from his mother’s encircling arms and lifted him into the cart, making a private signal to Rolf to drive away as fast as he could. He then respectfully entreated his unhappy lady to return to her party, and she, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, suffered him to lead her back, and as soon as he had seen her safely placed in the litter with Cicely and the two children, he mounted his horse and galloped off as if to join Rolf and his young charge, but in reality to take quite another route, for Henry was to pass, during this journey, for a poor boy whom Rolf was taking home to his native village, and it would not have done for him to be attended by Lady Clifford’s seneschal.

It was well he had been sent away, for just about this time King Edward caused an act of attainder to be passed against all the noblemen who had fought for the cause of Henry the Seventh, that is, they were deprived of their titles, and their estates were declared forfeited to the crown; he also issued a command that the children of the attainted nobles should be sent to London to be disposed of, as he, the king, should think fit; and this was probably done for the very purpose of getting Clifford’s children into his power; for no sooner had Lady Clifford taken up her abode with her father, the aged Lord de Vesci, than she was summoned to London, and closely questioned as to what had become of her boys. She said she had sent them out of the country, but as she had heard nothing of them since, she did not know whether they were alive or dead, and so the retreat of the high-born shepherd boy remained unknown. But all the castles and broad lands that were his by right of inheritance were given to the enemies of his family. The Barony of Westmoreland, with Brougham Castle, was bestowed by Edward on his brother Richard Duke of York, afterwards Richard the Third; and the great manor of Shipton was conferred on Sir William Stanley, who, at a later period, went over to the Lancasterian party himself, and you may read in Shakespeare’s play of “Richard the Third,” that it was he who, after the battle of Bosworth, where Richard was killed, picked up the crown and placed it on the victor’s head, saying, “Long live Henry the Seventh!” We shall presently see what this event had to do with our hero, Henry de Clifford.

II.

Londesborough was a beautiful place in the county of York, about sixteen miles from York city. Lord de Vesci had other and larger estates, but as his dignity of baron was limited to male heirs, his daughter could only inherit two of his possessions, and Londesborough was one of them, consequently young Henry de Clifford was its next heir in right of his mother. He knew this, yet so well had his mind been trained by that excellent parent, that he was content to live in a shepherd’s cot outside its gates with Robin and Maud, whom he soon became accustomed to call father and mother. As they had come from Skipton, and brought with them two little children of their own, the people of the hamlet where they were now settled, did not know but that Henry was their eldest son, and the little ones were so young that they were easily taught to believe he was their brother. He wore a shepherd’s frock of grey serge, fastened round the waist by a leather belt, with half-boots made of untanned deer-skin; and every morning he went out with his foster-father to mind the flocks, taking with him, in a little wallet slung over his shoulder, his mid-day meal, which he would eat as he sat on some grassy mound, or by the side of a rivulet, from which he could fill his horn cup with water. How different was this from the costly banquet in his father’s hall, where he had servants to attend upon him, and drank out of a goblet of gold or silver. Yet he did not repine, but performed his duties with a willing spirit, and instead of thinking his lot was a hard one, he often reflected how much worse it would have been if he had fallen into the hands of his father’s foes; still he could not help feeling melancholy at times, for he longed to see his dear mother again, and more than two months had passed, yet she came not. There was no occasion now to stain his hands and face, for the sun had embrowned them quite enough, and his long curls had been suffered to grow again, for Maud said it was a great pity to cut them off, and she was proud of hearing her neighbours say what nice hair her boy had got, and she would answer—

“Ay, my goodman tells me I take over much pride in Henry’s curly locks, but he is my eldest, and sure it is natural for a mother to take pleasure in the beauty of her child, and, though I say it, he is as pretty a boy, and as good too, as any in the village.”

One evening Henry had brought home the sheep, and having seen them safe in the fold, was sitting on the ground outside the cottage door eating his supper. One arm rested on the neck of a large dog, that was idly reposing by his side, as if tired with the toils of the day, for it was the shepherd’s dog, and its duty was to guard the flocks as they were feeding in the fields, and warn his master if any danger seemed near them. At length the boy arose and walked slowly towards the entrance of a fair domain, where he stood gazing with tearful eyes through a long vista of tall oaks, on a noble mansion standing on the summit of a verdant slope, and his young heart was oppressed with unusual sadness as he looked wistfully on this his rightful home. He had stood there for some time when his foster-father came up and laid his hand kindly on his shoulder.

“Come, my boy, you are giving way to idle regrets. I do not like to see you here, Henry, for I know your thoughts are not what they should be.”

“I know it is wrong, father, but I cannot help it sometimes.”

“Whenever this feeling comes over you, Henry, try to drive it from you, and think of the past as if it had been but a dream. A dark prison, my boy, would have been a worse dwelling-place than a thatched cottage. Think of that, and be content.”

“Indeed I am content, father, for you are very kind to me. But when, oh when, do you think my own dear mother will come?”

“Nay, I cannot tell; but let us hope it will not be, long first. And now, Henry, come home and go to your bed, for the sun is set, and you must be up betimes. See, here is Lion coming to meet us. Poor Lion! he does not like to lose sight of his master.”

Henry, who had dried his tears and was smiling again, sprang forward to caress the faithful dog, who frolicked round him as if he thought he had been long away, and was rejoiced at his return. Maud had put aside her spinning-wheel, for it was nearly dark; the two younger children were already asleep, and Henry was about to retire to rest, when the door was opened softly, and there entered one whose form was muffled in a long dark cloak, the hood of which was drawn over the head to conceal the face from view. Robin and Maud trembled with fear as the idea struck them both that the boy’s retreat had been discovered; but Henry, with the true instinct of affection, uttered the word “mother!” and rushed into the arms of the mysterious visitant, who threw off her disguise, and clasped her boy fondly to her bosom.

“My honoured lady!” exclaimed Maud, as she recognised the beautiful, but pale and careworn countenance of her mistress.

“Hush! Maud, hush!” said the lady; “are you sure we are quite safe?”

“Yes, madam, we are safe,” answered Robin, “there is no one within hearing, and I will fasten the door, so that none shall enter without giving notice.”

And so saying he proceeded to make all secure, whilst Henry laughed and wept by turns in the excess of his joy, and, amidst kisses and embraces, asked many questions about his brother and sister.

“I hope they are both well, my darling. Elizabeth I have seen lately, but I have not heard of Richard since his arrival in the Low Countries. Nevertheless, I trust he is safe and well. But how fares it with you, my best and dearest? Can you make yourself happy in this new life?”

“As happy as I can be away from you, dear mother. I do not mind the sort of life I lead so much as I thought I should; for I am getting used to it now.”

“In truth he takes to it bravely, my lady,” said Robin. “I only hope my own lad will be as good a shepherd as Henry, when he is as old.”

Lady Margaret sighed deeply, for although the worthy man did not mean to give her pain, but rather pleasure, by this rough applause, she could not help feeling how very low the fortunes of De Clifford’s son had fallen. But she did not make this thought apparent, she folded him closer to her heart, and whispered words of encouragement and praise.

“You have shown yourself a true hero, Henry, for nothing is more noble than to bear misfortune nobly, and this you have done. I am proud of my son, and should you ever be permitted by Providence to take your own name again, you will be doubly worthy of it.”

“And that time will come, my lady,” said Maud, fervently, “as sure as there are stars in yonder heavens!”

“We will hope so, Maud. And how shall I thank you for the care you have taken of my treasure? he looks well; the bloom of health is on his cheek. I would fain give you some token of my gratitude, if I durst do so.”

“Better not, my lady,” said Robin in his blunt way. “Besides it is for us, not you, lady, to talk of gratitude, since we owe all that we possess to your goodness. Even this cottage we live in, was it not your gift? It would be hard, then, if your child should meet with aught but kindness beneath its roof.”

Lady Clifford did not stay long, fearing that her absence from her own abode might be discovered, and lead to suspicion; but she said she was going to stay some time at Londesborough, and should pay a visit to the cottage whenever she saw an opportunity of doing so without risk. For a few weeks she often came at nightfall without attracting the notice of the villagers; but at length she was obliged to leave Londesborough, and Henry saw her no more for a very long while. By degrees, however, he grew reconciled to her absence, and, as time wore on, the events of his early life were less distinctly remembered, until he could almost believe that his former grandeur had never been a reality. He often thought of his brother, and wondered where he was, and whether he was living like a peasant too, for he did not know till long afterwards that poor little Richard died soon after he was sent out of England.

When Henry was about fourteen, the death of his grandfather, Lord de Vesci, brought new dangers upon him, for a rumour got spread abroad that he was still live and in England, and, as he was the rightful heir to all the estates as well as the honours of the Bromfletes, the king’s emissaries began to inquire into the matter, and make search in different parts of the country, where it was supposed he might be concealed. This alarming intelligence was first conveyed to his mother by the faithful Rolf, who, you remember, was one of the old Lord de Vesci’s people, and devotedly attached to Lady Clifford. But she was not Lady Clifford now, for she was married to a noble knight named Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, whose domain was in the mountainous part of Cumberland, and was called Threlkeld. He was a kind-hearted, noble gentleman, and, as he had not taken an active part in the wars, he had been left in possession of his lands and dignities, and was living quietly on his own estate, when he offered his hand to the widowed Lady Clifford, who consented to become his wife because she knew he would be a friend to her dear boy, and they were married soon after the lady went away from Londesborough.

As soon as they heard that King Edward had instituted a search for the young heir, Sir Lancelot proposed to his lady to remove Robin the shepherd, with all his family, including Henry, from Londesborough to the hills of Cumberland, and settle them as near as possible to Threlkeld.

Robin and Maud had now five children of their own, who all looked up to Henry as their elder brother, and, as he was always kind and good-natured amongst them, treating them exactly as if they had been his brothers and sisters, they were very fond of him, nor did they ever suppose he was not the child of their parents. It was the beautiful summer-time when Sir Lancelot Threlkeld paid a visit to Londesborough, and sent for Robin, to whom he told what had happened, and explained his designs.

“The boy is no longer safe here,” he said; “his life may depend on his immediate removal, but it must be very cautiously done. I shall tell the people here that we have increased our flocks at Threlkeld so that we want more shepherds there, and have fixed on Robin, whose three sons, being active lads, will be very useful. What think you of this plan?”

“It is good,” replied the shepherd. “But you will see Henry yourself, my noble lord?” (It was thus he styled his lady’s husband, whose servant he now deemed himself to be.)

“No, I think not,” returned the knight; “it would please me much, but it will be better for him that I should not seem to think about him at all. There may be spies on the watch to take note of my movements, and if only the shadow of a suspicion should be awakened, all would be lost. We should have no power to save him then. How soon can you be ready to commence the journey?”

“To-morrow if you will, my lord.”

“To-morrow let it be then, and may heaven send us a safe deliverance from this peril!”

“Amen!” responded the peasant, devoutly crossing himself. “It will be a happy day for me, and my dame too, should we live to see our Henry restored to his rights.”

The worthy knight shook his head as he replied, “I fear me there is but small chance of that. The king is a young man; he is popular, and has sons to succeed him, and so long as there is one of the line of York to hold the sceptre of England, the house of De Clifford will be under a ban.”

“Time, with the aid of Providence, works wonders, my lord.”

“True, good Robin, true; but there is not much at present to encourage such hopes, and I would not have you speak thus to Henry.”

“There would be little wisdom, indeed, in that,” replied Robin smiling. “Shall I tell him I have seen you, my lord?”

“Yes, surely—and you can tell him, also, why I thought it prudent to depart without seeing him, for I would not have him think me careless or unkind.”

He then gave Robin money for his journey, and when all was arranged the good man took his leave, and Sir Lancelot Threlkeld departed from Londesborough that same day.

It was joyful news for Henry to hear that he was going to live so near to his own dear mother again. In the gladness of his heart he was almost inclined to regard his enemies in the light of friends, since they had been the cause of this happy change. Maud was very glad too, for anything that gave pleasure to Henry was always pleasing to her, besides which she was devotedly attached to Lady Margaret, and rejoiced in the thought of being settled in a place where she would see her more frequently than she had done of late, and as for the children, they were almost out of their wits with delight, for young folks were quite as fond of novelty four hundred years ago as they are now.

The journey was a long and a rough one, as travellers of a humble class could not get on very fast in those days when there were no roads, and it was often a difficult matter to make their way through forests, or over wide tracts of waste land where the ground was rugged, uneven, and covered with brushwood. The vast forests which then existed in the north of England, have long since been cleared away, and wild trackless heaths have been converted into parks, meadows, and corn-fields. Maud and the two girls rode in a waggon wherein they had placed some wooden stools, several baskets of provision, and all their clothing, with such other things as they wished to take with them. Robin drove, while Henry and the other boys took it in turns to ride one at a time, the rest walking by the side of the clumsy vehicle, which could only proceed at a foot pace, so that their progress was but slow. They had taken care to put plenty of rushes in the waggon, so that some of them might sleep comfortably in it at night, while Robin and the elder lads, as it was summer-time, and warm, dry weather, could rest under the trees, wrapped in their shepherd’s cloaks. In this manner they proceeded, sometimes halting at the villages to get a fresh supply of food and water, until at length they reached their destination, a small farm in a beautiful and romantic part of Cumberland, close to the borders of Scotland, but still within the domain of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, which extended far and wide. You may be sure it was not long before our hero was again clasped to the heart of his fond mother, who, however, as before, only visited him in secret and under cover of the night. She was sometimes accompanied by Sir Lancelot, who was a kind-hearted man, and had always been well disposed towards the noble youth whom he delighted to call his son when they were alone, but at all other times he only noticed him as one of his shepherds.

Much of Henry’s time was spent in solitude, as he watched his flocks feeding on the mountains, and being of a meditative disposition, he thought much and deeply of the beautiful works of the Great Creator that he beheld around him. Though wholly unlettered, though he could neither read nor write, he possessed a native nobleness of mind that raised him far above the class to which he seemingly belonged; yet his manners were plain and simple, nor did the knowledge of his high birth ever lead him to assume an air of superiority over the peasants with whom he was associated. In his solitary musings he thought so much about the wonders of the earth, the sea, and the skies, that he became quite a natural philosopher; but his chief delight was in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies, and he would watch the moon in her course, or gaze for hours on the myriads of stars that shone in the blue vault above him, until he acquired an ardent taste for the sublime study of astronomy, in which he indulged to the full at a later period of his existence.

And so the time passed on, bringing no change to Henry de Clifford, save the gradual increase of years, that transformed the slight delicate youth into the well-grown, powerful man, whose fine form, handsome face, and gentle manners won the hearts of the rustic maidens, and matrons too, of Threlkeld.

His foster-brothers and sisters, one by one, married amongst the villagers belonging to Sir Lancelot’s estate, so that, at last, Henry was left alone with the worthy pair he called his father and mother.

In the meanwhile many stirring events were passing in England, though little was heard about them in the remote and quiet regions of Threlkeld. The wars of the Roses had never wholly ceased. There had been some peaceful intervals, but they had not lasted for long together, as Queen Margaret, assisted by the great Earl of Warwick, the most powerful baron in the kingdom, had resolved never to give up the cause so long as the least chance remained of replacing her husband on the throne, and securing the right of succession to her son. The Earl of Warwick had at first fought for the Duke of York, and it was through his power and influence that Edward the Fourth was made king, for he had more men and more money at his command than any other nobleman in the country. However, King Edward was unwise enough to quarrel with this high and mighty earl, who thereupon went over to the queen’s party, and actually restored the poor, weak-minded King Henry the Sixth to the throne; on which Edward went over to Holland to get assistance of the Duke of Burgundy, his brother-in-law, who placed an army of foreigners at his command, with which he came back to England, and being joined by many of his partisans, a great battle was fought, in which the Earl of Warwick was slain. This event took place exactly ten years after the battle of Towton, where Lord Clifford fell. King Henry was then sent back a prisoner to the Tower, where he soon died; but Queen Margaret, who had just arrived from France, with Prince Edward, her son, who was then seventeen years old, resolved for his sake to make one more effort; but it would have been better for him and for her too, if they had given up this hopeless cause, and gone back to the court of her father, who was King of Anjou in France, for the battle was lost, the young prince was made prisoner, and being taken into the royal tent, the king spoke to him so rudely that he was provoked to answer with more spirit than he had been expected, on which some of the nobles who were standing by fiercely drew their daggers and killed him on the spot.

The unhappy queen having no one to care for, gave up the contest, and went to end her days in France, and for thirteen years afterwards there was no more open warfare in England; but there were still two parties, so that the White and the Red Rose were badges of enmity as before, for it was natural enough that all who, like the De Cliffords, had suffered from the success of the Yorkists, should wish to see the line of Lancaster restored. The existing heir of that family was Henry, Earl of Richmond, who was an exile in France, when Edward the Fourth died, leaving two sons, the eldest only eleven years of age. These were the two little princes that were sent to the Tower by their cruel, ambitious uncle, Richard the Third, who contrived that they should both die there, that he might wear the crown himself; but he had reigned very little more than two years when some of the great nobles, disgusted by his tyranny, sent word to the Earl of Richmond that, if he came to England, with a view to dethrone the usurper, he would find plenty of friends ready to assist him. The earl was soon here at the head of a large army, and met King Richard at Bosworth in Leicestershire, where the great battle was fought that put an end to the War of the Roses and to the life of Richard the Third.

You remember that when Edward the Fourth deprived the Cliffords of their lands and honours, the great manor of Skipton, with its fine old castle, was given to Sir William Stanley. This brave knight had remained faithful to King Edward, but he was amongst those who turned against Richard; and it was he who, when the fight was over and the victory won, took up the crown, which it appears, Richard had worn on the field, and placed it on Richmond’s head, calling out aloud, “Long live King Henry the Seventh!” And this cry passed from one to another till the air resounded with the shouts of the victors, who thus proclaimed the new sovereign on the battle plain. When this momentous event took place Henry de Clifford was about thirty years of age. He had now dwelt for sixteen years amongst the mountains of Cumberland, and one thing only had occurred to disturb the even tenor of his peaceful life.

A gentleman of noble family and good estate, Sir John Saint John, of Bletso, in Bedfordshire, came on a visit to Threlkeld with his daughter Anne, a fair girl in the bloom of youth and beauty. Henry, who had seen her riding out over the hills with her father and Sir Lancelot, thought he had never beheld so lovely a maiden; and he was right, for in all England there were few to compare with Anne of Bletso. She had seen him too, and had observed how far superior he was in appearance to other rustic swains, for the shepherd’s frock of homely grey could not conceal the graces of his person, which also attracted the notice of the worthy knight, her father, who, on one occasion, said to Sir Lancelot—

“That is a well-favoured youth of yours; I have seen a face like his before, but I cannot bethink me where or when, yet it is no common face either.”

“He is the son of my chief shepherd,” replied Sir Lancelot; “he was always a good-looking lad, and is an excellent servant.”

Then, anxious to divert Sir John’s attention from Henry, whose handsome features he feared might remind the knight of the late Lord Clifford, whom his son strongly resembled, he began to talk of other things. But Henry did not forget the sweet face of the young lady, or the beautiful eyes he had seen fixed intently upon him, eyes as bright as the stars he was so fond of gazing upon, and he could not help feeling sad to think the fates had placed him in a sphere so much beneath her.

It chanced one day as he watched his flocks feeding on the mountains, he saw the damsel on her white palfrey, attended by a single page, riding direct towards the spot where he was reclining in profound meditation, beneath the spreading branches of a luxuriant oak, that shielded him from the noonday sun. He rose at her approach, and took off his cap, displaying a rich profusion of nut-brown hair as he gracefully made his obeisance, supposing she would pass by with merely a slight notice, therefore he blushed with surprise and pleasure when she stopped her horse, and said in the sweetest tone imaginable—

“Good day, shepherd Henry; I come to ask a service of you.”

“If I can render you service, lady, you may command me, even to the peril of my life.”

“Nay, I would not have you peril your life for my behoof,” she replied, with a smile.

“In riding over the hills this morning, I have lost a golden clasp, with three diamonds, that fastened my gorget, and I would ask you, should you meet with such a bauble in your ramblings, to carry it to the Lady Margaret of Threlkeld, who will see that it is restored to me.”

“Lady I will not fail to do your bidding. Few persons traverse those hills, and I doubt not the jewel may be recovered.”

“Thanks, gentle shepherd. We leave Threlkeld this day; so farewell, and be assured your courtesy will not be forgotten by Anne of Bletso.”

That night, by moonlight, Henry wandered over the hills in search of the lost treasure, and for many hours he sought in vain; but at length, oh joyful sight! he saw the diamonds glittering in the moonbeams, at the bottom of a deep ravine, and without a moment’s hesitation he commenced the dangerous descent. A single false step and he would have been dashed to pieces against the sharp points of the craggy rock, but with a steady hand and firm foot he gained the depth in safety, seized the prize; then, with great difficulty, and not without a few wounds and bruises, he climbed up again, and stood triumphant on the brink of a really frightful precipice. If the young lady had known where her clasp was to be found, she certainly would not have asked him to look for it; but he was himself well pleased to have encountered any danger for her sake, and in thoughtful mood he returned to the cottage, and repaired to his humble couch to dream of Anne Saint John.

“Why, Henry, what hast thee been doing to face and hands, boy?” said Robin the next morning.

“I stumbled into a brake, father,” replied Henry, laughing, “and got a few scratches, that’s all.”

“Dear heart, but they are grievous hurts!” exclaimed Maud, “you must let me put a balsam to them, Henry.”

“As you will, mother, but it is hardly worth while for so light a matter.”

The balsam, however, was applied, and the wounds were speedily healed, but Henry did not recover his wonted peace of mind. As Lord Clifford he might have won the hand of the high-born maiden on whom his thoughts now constantly dwelt; but, as Henry the Shepherd, even to speak to her was presumption. Never had he lamented over his fallen fortunes as he did now; but he buried his regrets in his own bosom, nor did he let it appear, either by word or look, that he was less contented than he was before.

Lady Margaret had taken care of the clasp, but she told him the country was again threatened with warfare, so that it would not be safe to entrust anything of value to the hands of a messenger; therefore she would keep it till Sir Lancelot went to Bletso, which he intended to do ere long. She did not tell him that Sir John Saint John had come to Threlkeld to give secret information to herself and her husband of the project contemplated by the chief nobles, to depose King Richard and place the Earl of Richmond on the throne. She was afraid of exciting hopes that might end in disappointment, yet she was herself sanguine as to the possibility of De Clifford being restored to his rights if the crown should be won by a prince of the House of Lancaster. Sir John took great interest in the cause, being himself related in a distant degree to Henry Earl of Richmond; therefore the Saint John’s of Bletso had royal blood in their veins.

It was the close of the autumn, in the year 1485, when Lady Margaret came one evening to Robin’s cottage, not secretly as heretofore, not in fear and trembling lest it should be known for whom her visit was intended, but openly to greet her son as De Clifford’s heir. Little did he guess the purport of her coming as he returned her fond embrace, but he saw that her countenance was radiant with happiness, and he asked if Sir Lancelot had returned.

“No, my son, he is in London; and, Henry, I have important news to tell. Have you courage to hear it?”

“Why should I need courage, dear mother? You do not look as if you had evil tidings to communicate.”

“The tidings I bring are not evil; but it requires fortitude to bear a great joy as well as a great sorrow, when it comes upon us unexpectedly.”

Henry’s heart began to beat more quickly, his face flushed, and his voice trembled as he asked—

“Mother, what has happened? Tell me at once, I beseech you.”

“I told you, Henry, that we were looking for a renewal of the war.”

“Yes, you told me so. Has it begun again?”

“It has begun and ended, I hope, for ever. There has been a battle; King Richard is killed, and a prince of the House of Lancaster now sits on the throne.”

Henry started up from his seat, his eyes fixed on Lady Margaret’s face in an agony of suspense.

“And I, mother, what have I to do with this?”

“Much, my beloved son. Henry the Seventh is a just and noble prince, and your father, my husband, is at his court even now.”

“Then, am I—am I—” he could not give utterance to what he wished to say, but Lady Margaret knew what he would ask, and replied—

“Yes, my Henry, it is even so. You are now Lord Clifford before all the world, and I, your mother, may once more fearlessly acknowledge my son.”

Henry fell on his knees, and raised his clasped hands and streaming eyes in gratitude to heaven. He could scarcely realise this great, this overwhelming happiness. Again and again he embraced that tender mother, who, for so many years had watched over him like a guardian angel, and smoothed the rugged path he had been forced to tread.

When the first emotions of joy had in some degree subsided, and he was calm enough to listen to the account of how this happy change had been brought about, Lady Margaret told him that the new sovereign, immediately on his accession, had declared his intention of restoring to their rights all those nobles who had been dispossessed of their lands and titles by Edward the Fourth; and that Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, on hearing this, had proceeded to the court, with Sir John Saint John of Bletso, in order to make known to the king that the heir of the late Lord Clifford was still in existence. She said she had that morning received intelligence from Sir Lancelot that the royal decree was already passed for the restoration of Clifford’s son to all his father’s lands and dignities, and it was with the utmost surprise Henry now learned, for the first time, how immense were the possessions to which he was entitled; for, besides the great estates of Skipton and Brougham, his inheritance comprised the castles, manors, and lordships of Appleby, Pendragon, Brough, and Mallerstane Chase in Westmoreland; Barden Tower, Copley Feld, and other manors in Yorkshire; with lands and castles in Cumberland, Northumberland, Derbyshire, Worcestershire and Surrey. Clifford’s Inn, which is now used as law offices and chambers, in Fleet Street, was then a nobleman’s mansion with beautiful gardens; and this was Lord Clifford’s residence in London.

No wonder the humble shepherd should be dazzled and astonished to find himself all at once the lord of those vast domains; and not only these, but all the Bromflete estates, that had belonged to Lord de Vesci, his grandfather, were now his by right of inheritance. It would be impossible to describe the joy of the worthy couple who had so long performed the part of parents to the shepherd lord, at the wondrous turn of fortune that had raised him once more to the elevated sphere that was his birthright.

“We have lost a son,” said old Robin, “but we have found a noble master; and may heaven grant him a long life to enjoy his own.”

“Think not, my father, that you have lost a son,” said Henry, pressing the old man’s hand with affectionate warmth. “I shall be ever a son to you.”

“And to me also, my Lord Henry,” said Maud, “for it would break my heart now if you should bear yourself towards me proudly in your own grand castle.”

“I should ill deserve my good fortune, dear Maud, if it made me so ungrateful as to bear myself proudly towards you. Though I may be the lord of fifty castles, you will always be to me a second mother.”

The next day Henry took his place in the house of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld as Lord Clifford. He laid aside the peasant’s suit of homely grey for a dress befitting his rank, which Lady Margaret furnished him with from her husband’s wardrobe; and very handsome he looked in a mulberry coloured vest richly embroidered with gold, a short cloak of blue satin falling over one shoulder, and a diamond hilted sword by his side, for such was the fashion of the age.

The faithful Rolf was despatched to Brougham Castle to see that all was prepared for the reception of its lord; and right well did he execute the commission. A sumptuous feast was provided, and a grand pageant prepared to meet him at the castle-gate. All the ancient banners that had been taken down and thrown aside, were now displayed again in the hall, and, under the superintendence of Rolf, everything was made to look just as it did before the banishment of the family.

At length the bright day dawned that was to see Henry de Clifford restored to the beloved home of his childhood, and the people had flocked from far and near to hail the return of Brougham’s rightful lord. It was nearly noon when the cavalcade was seen approaching. Then loud acclamations rent the air, and, as Henry lifted his plumed and jewelled cap to acknowledge the greeting of the joyous multitude, his heart was overflowing with gratitude to the Father of all mercies, and he could scarcely restrain the tears that were ready to gush from his eyes. He was mounted on a fine grey horse, and on one side of him rode his lady mother, on the other Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, while behind him came a fair lady, escorted by a gentleman of noble mien. This was his sister Elizabeth, who had lived for many years in the Netherlands, and was married to Sir Robert Aske, a wealthy knight, who was now with her. They were followed; by a long train of knights and gentlemen and their attendants, forming a retinue that might have graced a prince, and so they came onward towards the castle-gate, where a triumphal arch was erected, on the top of which were two figures clothed in white, with outspread wings, and golden crowns, intended, perhaps, to represent angels; and as Clifford passed under the arch, they chanted these lines—

“Now the Red Rose blooms again,

Clifford o’er his own shall reign.

Fill the cup, and sheath the sword,

To welcome back our noble lord.”

And now the shepherd lord stood once more in his father’s bannered hall. Silently he gazed around him on the well-known scene, too powerfully affected to give utterance to his feelings; and, as his mother clasped his hand, she felt that it trembled even more than her own.

“Let us pass on, my Henry,” she whispered softly, “we must hold communion alone.”

Henry could not speak, but he pressed her hand assentingly, and they left the hall together, amid the congratulations and good wishes of all therein assembled.

The mother and son were absent for the space of an hour, engaged, no doubt, in prayer and thanksgiving, for when they returned to the hall Henry had recovered his composure, and took the highest seat at the sumptuous banquet with all the dignity of his noble race.

Gladsome was the feast that day at Brougham Castle; joyous were the songs of the minstrel bards as they celebrated, in extempore verse, the exile’s restoration to his long lost home.

You may be sure that amongst the joyful assemblage that crowded the banquetting hall on that auspicious day, old Robin and his wife Maud held a distinguished place; and proud indeed were they to hear themselves addressed by the noble host as father and mother.

It was not long after that another grand feast was held at Brougham Castle in honour of the marriage of its lord, which had been celebrated at Bletso, where the beautiful daughter of Sir John Saint John willingly bestowed her hand on him who, as a simple shepherd, had won a place in her heart.

The only drawback to the happiness of our hero was the consciousness of his neglected education. Unable to read or write, he cared not to mix with the nobles of the court, but preferred living in retirement, and with great simplicity. His grand object was to repair all his castles, which had been much injured daring the wars, and he expended vast sums of money in fitting up some of them with princely magnificence; but his own favourite residence was a quiet retreat called Barden Tower, near Bolton Priory, in Yorkshire. He chose this for his chief abode because it afforded him the opportunity of spending much of his time at the Priory with the monks, who assisted him in the delightful study of astronomy, which he was passionately fond of; but he beautified the place, and kept up a noble establishment there, worthy of his own exulted station, and of the lady he had made his bride.

“Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth;

The shepherd lord was honoured more and more:

And ages after he was laid in earth,

‘The good Lord Clifford’ was the name he bore.”

Wordsworth.

Chapter Three.

The Story of Nelson, by W.H.G. Kingston.

My great ambition as a boy was to be a sailor; the idea of becoming one occupied my thoughts by day and influenced my dreams by night. I delighted in reading naval histories and exploits and tales of the sea, and I looked upon Rodney, Howe, Nelson, and Saint Vincent, as well as Duncan, Collingwood, Exmouth, and Sir Sidney Smith, as far greater men, and more worthy of admiration, than all the heroes of antiquity put together—an opinion which I hold even to the present day, and which, I hope, all my readers will maintain with me.

Once it happened during my summer holidays that, most unwillingly, I was taken up to London. During the time, a naval friend, having compassion on me, suggested that I might find matter of interest by a trip to Greenwich, and a visit to the Hospital. I jumped at the proposal. I can never forget the feelings with which I entered the wide, smooth space on which that beautiful collection of buildings stands, forming the Royal Hospital for Seamen, with its broad terrace facing, the river, and found myself surrounded by many hundreds of the gallant veterans who had maintained not only so nobly the honour of Old England on the deep, but had contributed to preserve her from the numberless foes who had threatened her with destruction.

The building is of itself interesting. On this spot once stood the Royal Palace of Placentia, in which no less than four successive sovereigns were born—Henry the Eighth, Edward the Sixth, Mary, and Elizabeth. Charles the Second had intended to rebuild it, but left it unfinished; and it was put into the heart of good Queen Mary, the wife of William of Orange, to establish that noble institution for the reception of the disabled seamen of the Royal Navy, which, much augmented in size, has ever since existed the noblest monument to a sovereign’s memory.

I visited the beautiful chapel and the painted hall, where already were hung a number of fine pictures, illustrative of England’s naval victories; and my friend then took me to see an old shipmate of his, who was one of the officers of the Hospital. When he heard that I wished to go to sea, and was so warm an admirer of Nelson, he exclaimed—

“He’ll just suit me. Let him stay here for a few days. We’ll fish out some of our men who long served with Nelson, and if he keeps his ears turning right and left he’ll hear many a yarn to astonish him. He must have patience though. The old fellows will not open out at once; their memories are like wells, you must throw a little water down at first before you can get them to draw.”

I was delighted with the proposal. My friend, however, began to make excuses, saying that he ought to take me back, and that I had no clothes with me. At this the Greenwich officer, Lieutenant R—, laughed heartily.

“A shirt-collar and a pocket-comb? What does a midshipman want more?” he exclaimed. “But I will find him all the luxuries he may require. Let him stay, and tell his friends that he is in safe keeping.”

So it was arranged, and I found myself an inmate of Greenwich Hospital.

After I had been seen walking up and down the terrace a few times with Lieutenant R—, the pensioners, when I spoke to them, answered me readily, though at first rather shy of talking of themselves or their adventures. At length I fell in with a fine old man, and sitting down on one of the benches facing the river, I began to tell him how much I honoured and loved all sailors, and how I longed myself to become one.

“Ay, boy, there are good and bad at sea as well as on shore; but as to the life, it’s good enough; and if I had mine to begin again, I would choose it before all others,” he answered, and once more relapsed into silence.

Just then Lieutenant R— passed; he nodded at me with a smile, saying, as he passed on, “My old friend there will tell you more of Lord Nelson than any man now in the Hospital.”

The old man looked at me with a beaming expression on his countenance.

“Ay, that I can,” he said, “boy and man I sailed with him all my life, from the day he got his first command till he was struck down in the hour of victory. So to speak, sir, I may say I knew him from the very day he first stepped on board a ship. This is how it was: My father was a seaman, and belonged to the ‘Raisonable,’ just fitted out by Captain Suckling, and lying in the Medway. One afternoon a little fellow was brought on board by one of the officers, and it was said that he was the captain’s nephew; but the captain was on shore, and there was nobody to look after him. He walked the deck up and down, looking very miserable, but not crying, as some boys would have done—not he. That wasn’t his way at any time. When the captain did come on board, and he saw his nephew, he shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that he didn’t think he was fit for a sea-life. No more he did look fit for it, for he was a sick, weakly-looking little fellow. However, it wasn’t long before he showed what a great spirit there was in him.”

“Ay,” said I, “there is a story I have heard which proved that, when he was merely a child. He and another little fellow had gone away bird’s-nesting from his grandmother’s house, and he not coming back, the servants were sent to look for him. He was found seated by the side of a brook, which he could not get over. ‘I wonder, child,’ said the old lady, when she saw him, ‘that hunger and fear did not drive you home.’ ‘Fear, grandmamma!’ answered the boy, ‘I never saw fear! What is it?’”

“True, true!” exclaimed the old man. “Fear! I don’t think he ever felt it either. Well, as I was going to tell you, my father followed Captain Suckling into the ‘Triumph,’ and young Nelson went with him; but as she was merely to do duty as guard-ship in the Thames, the captain sent his nephew out in a merchant-vessel to the West Indies, to pick up some knowledge of seamanship. When he came back he soon showed that he had not lost his time, and that he was already a good practical seaman. Soon after this an expedition was fitted out for a voyage of discovery towards the North Pole, under Captain Phipps and Captain Lutwidge, in the ‘Racehorse’ and ‘Carcass.’ My father volunteered, and so did Mr Nelson, who got a berth as captain’s coxswain with Captain Lutwidge. The ships, after entering the polar seas, were quickly beset with ice. Mr Nelson, who had command of a boat, soon showed what he was made of. My father was in another boat, and as they were exploring a channel to try and find a passage for the ships into the open sea, one of the officers fired at a walrus. ‘Ah, I’ve hit him!’ he exclaimed, ‘not a bad shot!’ and he thought no more about the matter. But the brute gave a look up with a face like a human being, as much as to say, ‘We’ll see if more than one can play at that game,’ and down he dived. Presently up again he came, with some twenty or more companions, and with the greatest fury they set on the boat with their tusks, and tried to capsize her. My father and the rest of the crew fought desperately with boat-hook and axes, but they were getting the worst of it, and well-nigh gave themselves up as lost, when another boat was seen coming along the channel towards them. On she dashed; a young officer, a very little fellow, with an axe in his hand, sprang to the bows, and began dealing his blows right and left at the heads of the walruses till several were killed, when the rest dived down and took to flight. That young lad was Nelson. Soon after this, one morning he and another boy were missed from the ship. It was reported that they had gone away in pursuit of a bear which had been seen prowling about. A thick fog had come on, and they did not return. The captain began to think that they were lost, and a party was sent out to look for them. After wandering about for some time, the fog cleared off, and there was Mr Nelson, with a ship’s musket in his hand, close up to a big white polar bear, who could have made mincemeat of him in a moment. The party shouted to him to return, but he wouldn’t listen to them; and they expected every moment to see the bear turn and crush him. Still on he went, moving sideways with the bear. When they got up, they found that there was a wide chasm which had prevented him from getting closer to the animal. They led him back to the ship, and when the captain asked him why he had gone, he answered, with a pouting lip, that he had set his heart on getting a bear’s skin for his father, and that he didn’t think he should have a better opportunity.

“The captain reprimanded, but forgave him. There were greater dangers in store both for him and all in the expedition; and for a long time they had little hope of getting the ships clear of the ice. Mr Nelson exerted himself to cut a channel to let them escape; and at length a favourable wind getting up, they stood clear of it just as it was expected that they would be frozen in. They found themselves free, and reached England in safety. Mr Nelson had nearly been killed by the cold, and now he was to be tried by the scorching climate of the Indian seas. Such are the rapid changes we seamen have to undergo. He was appointed to the ‘Seahorse,’ and out she went to the Indian station. The climate soon did what no dangers or common hardships could do; it took away the use of his limbs, and almost overcame his brave spirit. He returned home, feeling that he should never succeed in the navy or in anything else. But then suddenly he thought, ‘I was not born to die unknown. I’ll try what I can do. I’ll trust in Providence. I’ll serve my king and country—I will be a hero.’ I heard him say this long after, and I have often since thought if all lads were to try to do their best, and trust in Providence, we shouldn’t hear of so many as we do getting into poverty and disgrace.

“No officer, I have heard, ever passed a better examination for seamanship and navigation than did Mr Nelson. His uncle was present, but did not say who the young man was till the examination was over. Whatever he did he tried to do as well as he could; that was the reason of his success. Just about this time, young as I was, my father took me to sea with him, and we went out to the West Indies. We were shortly turned over to the ‘Hichinbrook,’ a prize captured from the enemy, and mounting twenty-eight guns. I was walking the deck with my father when a thin, sallow, small young man stepped up the side. I should have taken him for a midshipman, but he had on a post-captain’s uniform. He nodded, as an old acquaintance, to my father, who stood hat in hand with the other men to receive him. ‘That’s Mr Nelson, our new captain,’ said my father; ‘he’ll not let the grass grow under his feet.’ That was the first time I ever saw the great Lord Nelson. What my father said was true. We soon sailed to convoy a fleet of transports destined to attack Saint Juan de Nicaragua. Up a muddy river we pulled, led by our captain, with a hot scorching sun striking down on us. We arrived before a fort. Captain Nelson leaped on shore, sword in hand, leaving his shoes in the mud, to attack it. The fort was taken, and so was San Juan itself; and though the grass did not grow under our feet, it was soon growing over the heads of numbers of the fine fellows who composed the expedition—both redcoats and seamen; and though our captain, receiving notice of his appointment to another ship, the ‘Janus,’ sailed away immediately, we lost the greater number of our people by sickness. The captain was so knocked up that he had to go home invalided, as did my father, who was never able again to go to sea. I went with him, and we lived for some time at Deal.

“I remember early in January, 1782, a tremendous gale sprang up. My father and I were standing on the shore, he with his glass in his hand watching the ships driving here and there, one running foul of another, when we observed a heavy store-ship drive right down on a frigate.

“‘They’ll grind each other down to the water’s edge,’ observed my father. ‘Does no one on board know what to do? I’d like to be off to lend a hand, but that’s impossible; few boats could live in such a sea.’

“While we were talking, a lad came running along the beach, saying that an officer was in a great taking, wanting to get off to his ship, and no one would go.

“‘Who is he?’ asked my father.

“‘A Captain Nelson,’ answered the lad.

“‘I’ll go, if any man will trust his boat,’ exclaimed my father. ‘Come along, Ned.’

“We ran along the beach, and there we found our late captain walking up and down, fuming away, and trying to persuade the boatmen to take him off.

“‘I’ll go, sir, if I had a boat,’ said my father. ‘I’ve long sailed with you.’

“‘Ah! Ned Freeman. Thank you—thank you,’ exclaimed the captain. ‘I’m sure you’d go with me anywhere.’

“‘We’ll take the captain off if he’ll give us fifteen guineas,’ observed several of the men, owners of a fine boat.

“‘Done!’ exclaimed the captain. ‘Off we go at once.’

“My father and I, with the other men, launched the boat. Away we pulled with the white-topped seas dancing up round us and the dangerous Goodwin Sands to leeward, towards which the frigate was driving fast. Captain Nelson, by word and look, urged us on, though more than once I thought the boat would have been swamped, and all hands lost. We did succeed in getting alongside. The captain sprang on board, and soon had got the ships clear with only the loss of the frigate’s bowsprit and pennant.

“‘Well, Freeman, if you can’t sail with me, your boy must,’ said the captain, as the boat was about to shove off for the shore; ‘I’ll look after him.’

“‘Will you go, Ned?’ said my father to me.

“There was no time for consideration. I said, ‘Yes, father.’

“My kind father wrung my hand, and we parted never to meet again.

“The ‘Albemarle’ soon after sailed for Canada and the West Indies. Our captain had a kind heart. On our first cruise we captured a fishing vessel belonging to Boston. The master wrung his hands, declaring that he had no other property, and a large family at home to support, who would all be brought to beggary. The captain told him not to be cast down; that he would employ him as a pilot, and give him back his vessel at the end of the time. He was as good as his word, and I never saw a poor fellow so happy and grateful as the fisherman was when he was put on shore. Some time after, when we were all suffering from scurvy, not having had a fresh piece of meat or vegetables for many months, the same man came off to us with a full supply for several days, which I believe saved the lives of many poor fellows on board.

“Soon after this, while cruising off Boston, a squadron of four French line-of-battle ships and a frigate were seen from the masthead. They made sail in chase, but the captain knew well all the shoals and quicksands in those parts, and soon got into channels where the big ships were afraid to follow. The frigate, however, kept on her course, and when we saw this we hove to, to wait for her. We all looked forward with joy to a brush, but she did not like our appearance, and much to out disappointment, about she went and rejoined her consorts.

“I can’t tell you all the things we did in the West Indies. At last we went home, and were paid off; and I remained on shore with my widowed mother till I heard that Captain Nelson had commissioned the ‘Boreas.’ I went and joined him. He received me heartily, and away we sailed for the West Indies.

“Young as was our captain, he found himself senior officer on the station—that is to say, second in command under the admiral; for in those days we had old heads on young shoulders; so we should now, if boys would try to imitate the example of wise and noble men, not to ape the folly of foolish ones. We were chiefly among the Leeward Islands.

“While visiting the island of Nevis, the captain fell in love with a lady, a Mrs Nisbet, and they married: a very good, kind young lady she was, that I remember; but after we returned home I saw no more of her. The ‘Boreas’ was paid off in 1787. Thus I have told you most of what I remember about Nelson’s early days. He was soon to be known to the world as the greatest naval captain of his time.”

II.

“You have heard speak of the ‘Agamemnon’ of 64 guns. I was one of the old Agamemnons, as we called ourselves. We, all her crew, were proud of her, and good reason we had to be so. Captain Nelson commissioned her on the 26th of January, 1793, and it wasn’t many days after this that I joined her. You see I kept my eye on him. When a man has found a good captain, if he’s wise he will follow him whenever he can.

“I can’t now remember all the places we went to. First, we were one of the Channel fleet. Then we were sent out to the Mediterranean, where our captain astonished the admirals, and made the soldier-generals almost tear their eyes out by the way he did things. He took care that the weeds should not grow to the bottom of the ship he commanded. First we had to conquer the island of Corsica (Note 1). We drove the French out of every place but the strong fort of Bastia, so we landed, and hauled our guns up the heights, and kept up such a hot fire on the place that it gave up, and then the soldiers marched in and gained the glory. Then we took a place called Calvi. Here it was that a shot, striking the ground, threw up some sand in the captain’s eye, and though we thought but little of it at the time, he never saw again with that eye. It was very hard work, and the country was unhealthy, and many of us grew sick, so that we were heartily glad when it was over. There was something better in store for us too. News was brought us that the French fleet, nearly twice as strong as ours, was on the look-out for us. Our fleet was under the command of Admiral Hotham. You may be sure that we kept a bright look-out for the enemy. At last they hove in sight, and one of our frigates, the ‘Inconstant,’ got so close that she brought to action the ‘Ça Ira,’ a French eighty-four, which had carried away her main and foretop masts. The ‘Inconstant,’ however, was obliged to bear away, and a French frigate came up and took the line-of-battle ship in tow, while two other line-of-battle ships guarded her on her weather bow.

“Our captain had been watching all that took place, and, though we had no line-of-battle ship to support us, we made all sail in chase. There was not a man on board whose heart didn’t beat high with pride at the way we went into action against odds so great; but we Agamemnons knew well enough what our captain could do and would do. As soon as the enemy could bring their guns to bear, they kept firing away their stern-chasers at us. We stood on, without answering a shot, till we were within a hundred yards of them. ‘Starboard the helm!’ cried the captain. The after-sails were brailed up, and the ship falling off, our broadside was brought to bear on the retreating enemy. Now we opened a tremendous fire on them, every gun telling. Then the helm was put a-port, the after-yards braced up, and again we were after them.

“Again and again we practised the same manoeuvre, never allowing the ‘Ça Ira’ to get a shot at us with one of her broadside guns. The enemy, however, were not idle with their after-guns, though it was not till we had torn her sails almost to ribbons that the French frigates began to open their fire upon us. Then down came more of the enemy’s ships towards us. The captain seemed only the better pleased at seeing this, and it’s my opinion he would have hove to to meet them, and still managed to come off victorious by some means or other, even if the admiral had not made the signal of recall. Though our sails and rigging were much cut up, we had only seven men wounded, while the ‘Ça Ira’ lost one hundred and ten that day.

“The next day we were again at it, for we managed to cut off the ‘Ça Ira,’ and the ‘Censeur,’ which had her in tow. This time we got one on each side of us, and both of them fought well; but we fought better, and at length both struck, and our boats were sent on board to take possession. I never before had witnessed such a scene as that I saw on board the ‘Ça Ira.’ On her decks lay three hundred brave fellows, dead or dying, or badly wounded, besides those she had lost the day before, while the ‘Censeur’ had lost three hundred and fifty. Our captain wanted to follow up the enemy, and it’s my belief, if we had, we should have taken every one of them; but the admiral would not let him, and said we had done very well as it was. So we had; but, you see, our captain was the man who always wanted to do something better than well. Do well sits on the main-top—Do better climbs to the truck.

“The ‘Agamemnon’ had been so knocked about, that the captain now shifted his flag into the ‘Minerva’ frigate, and took me and many other men with him. One of our first duties was to carry off the English garrison and privateers and merchantmen from Corsica, which had declared for the French. We soon afterwards fought several actions with the enemy, and then war broke out between England and Spain, and we had a narrow escape from an overwhelming force of Spanish ships. We had just sailed from Gibraltar, when two Spanish line-of-battle ships followed us. We were keeping pretty well ahead when a man fell overboard. To let a man drown without trying to help him was against our captain’s nature. A jolly-boat, commanded by Lieutenant Hardy, was lowered, and away she pulled to try and pick up the poor fellow. The boat was within range of the enemy’s guns: the man was not to be seen. The captain had been anxiously watching all that took place. ‘I’ll not lose Hardy,’ he exclaimed. ‘Back the main-topsail!’ No order was ever obeyed more readily, and soon we were dropping back towards our boat, and towards the enemy. We fully expected to be brought to action, but we did not care for that; we got back Mr Hardy and our boat, when what was our astonishment to see the headmost Spaniard shorten sail to wait for his consort. There can be no doubt he thought we had assistance not far off. The Spaniards were very timid of us in those days—they had good reason to be so. With flying colours we sailed out of the Straits, laughing at our enemy.

“Both officers and men were constantly being shifted from ship to ship in those days; and, as soon as we reached Cadiz we found ourselves transferred to the ‘Captain,’ a fine seventy-four. Captain Nelson hoisted his pennant, as commodore, on board of her, with Captain Miller under him. You have heard speak of the battle of Saint Vincent. Sir John Jervis, who was made Earl Saint Vincent, was our admiral, and Commodore Nelson was second in command. He was now going to show all the world what he really was. The Spaniards had twice as many ships as we had. They were much bigger, and carried heavier guns; but what did Nelson or we care for that. It is the men who fight the battles, and Nelson knew the stuff British seamen are made of.

“Early in the morning of the 14th of February, the Spanish fleet hove in sight, and we bore down on them. They were in line, that is, one following the other. We managed to break that line, and cut off one part from the other, just as you cut a snake in two. We followed the head, the biggest part. That part bore away before the wind to join the tail. The ‘Captain’ was instantly wore round, instead of tacking, according to a signal just then made by the admiral, and away, after them we went, followed by the ‘Culloden,’ ‘Blenheim,’ and ‘Diadem.’ The ‘Captain’ was in the rear of the British line; but by the manoeuvre just performed, we came up with the Spaniards, and in a short time we and the ‘Blenheim’ were tooth and nail with no less than seven Spanish line-of-battle ships—one, the ‘Santissima Trinidade,’ of 130 guns, and the ‘San Josef’ and ‘Salvador del Mundo’ of 112, the others being of 80 and 74 guns. For nearly an hour we pounded away at them, till Captain Collingwood, in the ‘Excellent,’ came up, and gave us a helping hand by pouring a tremendous broadside into the ‘San Nicolas.’

“Our captain now let us fall close alongside that ship, and then he called for boarders, and away we dashed into her. Right through her we went; her flag was hauled down, and then, more boarders coming up, on we dashed aboard the big ‘San Joseph,’ and in a little time we had her also. We followed our captain to the quarterdeck, and then the Spanish officers assembled, and their captain and all of them presented their swords to Commodore Nelson. As he received them he gave them to one of his bargemen, William Fearney, who, with no little pleasure, tucked them under his arm, just as you see in the picture in the Painted Hall yonder. All the seven ships were taken, and if the Spaniards had had any pluck we should have taken the remainder; but they hadn’t, and made off while we were unable to follow. That is the worst of fighting with cowards. If they had been brave men they would have stopped to fight, and we should have captured every one of their ships. That was the battle of Saint Vincent.

“The commodore was made an admiral and a knight, and now everybody in England, high and low, rich and poor, had heard of him, and sung his praises.

“You’ve seen a picture of Sir Horatio Nelson, as he was then, in a boat attacked by Spaniards, and his coxswain, John Sykes, defending him, and receiving on his own head the blow made at him by one of the enemy. I’ll tell you how it was:—

“His flag was flying on board the ‘Theseus,’ and he had command of the inner squadron blockading Cadiz. The Spanish gunboats had annoyed us, and he resolved to attack them with the boats at night. In we pulled. In the admiral’s barge there were only his ten bargemen—I was one of them—Captain Freemantle, and his coxswain, John Sykes, when suddenly we found ourselves close up with a Spanish launch carrying twenty-six men or more. To run was not in our nature, so we tackled to with the launch. It was desperate work, and the Spaniards fought well. Sir Horatio was foremost in the fight; but the enemy seemed to know who he was, and aimed many a blow at his head. Sykes, not thinking of himself, defended him as a bear does her whelps. Blow after blow he warded off, till at last his own arm was disabled. Still, instead of getting over to the other side of the boat, he stood by the admiral. Down came another Spaniard’s sword which Sir Horatio could not ward off, but Sykes sprung forward and received the blow on his own head, which it laid open. This did not make us less determined to beat the enemy. One after the other we cut them down till we killed eighteen, wounded the rest, and towed their launch off in triumph. It will just show you how the men who served with him loved the admiral. That was a desperate fight in a small way, let me tell you; but before long we had still worse work to go through.

“Many men are thought a great deal of if they gain one victory. Nelson never but once suffered a defeat. It was at the island of Teneriffe. He was sent there, by Sir John Jervis, with a squadron to cut out a rich Manilla ship returning to Spain, which lay in the harbour of Santa Cruz. Our squadron consisted of four ships of the line, three frigates, and the ‘Fox’ cutter. Our first attempt at landing failed, and then the admiral, who never would be beaten, against the orders of Sir John himself, determined to take command of the expedition on shore. Midnight was the time chosen for the attack. The orders were, that all the boats should land at a big mole which runs out from the town. Away we pulled; the night was very dark, the boats got separated, and when we reached the mole there were only four or five boats there. A heavy fire was at once opened on us, but the admiral would not be turned back. Drawing his sword, he was springing on shore, but the same moment he was struck by a musket ball, and fell back into the arms of his step-son, Lieutenant Nisbet. The lieutenant and one of our men bound up his arm, while all those who could be collected jumped into the boat to shove her off. It was difficult work, for she had grounded. We pulled close under the battery to avoid the heavy fire from it. As we moved on, all we could see was the bright flashes from the guns extending in a long line in front of us. On again pulling out, a fearful cry was raised. It came from the ‘Fox’ cutter. A shot had struck her between wind and water, and down she went, leaving her crew struggling in the waves. The admiral had just before been lifted up in the stern-sheets by Mr Nisbet to look about him.

“‘Give way, lads—give way,’ he shouted, forgetting his own desperate wound. ‘We must save them.’

“Soon we were in among the struggling men, and hauling them into the boats as fast as we could, the shot all the time rattling about us. The admiral seemed to have recovered his strength, and worked away with his left arm, assisting in saving a great many. Eighty men were saved, but more than half the crew were lost. The first ship we came to was the ‘Seahorse.’ Her captain’s wife, Mrs Freemantle, was on board, but he was with the boats, and no one could tell whether he was alive or dead.

“‘No, no,’ exclaimed the admiral; ‘I can give the poor lady no tidings of her husband; she shall not see me in this state. Pull to another ship.’

“We managed to reach the ‘Theseus.’ When a rope was lowered, he sprung up the side, and would have no help. We could scarcely believe our eyes, for we thought he was half dead. His was a wonderful spirit. Then he sent us off to try and save a few more of the poor fellows from the ‘Fox.’ When we got back we found that he had made the surgeon at once cut off his arm. We brought him the news that Captain Freemantle, though badly wounded, had got off in safety to his ship. You may be sure that both he and all of us were very anxious to know what was going forward on shore. At length we heard that Captain Troubridge had managed to collect two or three hundred men—all who were not drowned or killed by shot—and having marched into the square, had taken the town. Of course, he could do nothing against the citadel. Some eight thousand Spanish troops were collecting about the place, but he was not a man to be daunted; telling them that he would burn the town if they molested him, he was able to draw off all his men in safety. During that business we lost two hundred and fifty men and officers. It was a sad affair, but though it was a failure every man engaged in it did his duty bravely, and no one could blame the admiral for what had happened. We heard that the Spaniards treated our wounded men who were left on shore with the greatest kindness and care. No one among the wounded suffered more than the admiral, and it was some months, I’ve heard say, before the pain left his arm.

“Once more we returned to old England, and the admiral went up to London to try and get cured of his wound. Since he left home he had lost an eye and an arm, and had been terribly knocked about besides; but people thought of what he had done, not of how he looked, and he was received with honour wherever he went.

“I and a few others of his old hands lived on shore, keeping a look-out for when he should get another command. We were afraid of being pressed, and made to serve somewhere away from him. One and all of us were ready enough to fight for our king and our country, provided we could fight under him. We had not long to wait. We soon got news that the ‘Vanguard’ was to be commissioned to carry Sir Horatio Nelson’s flag to join the Mediterranean fleet under Earl Saint Vincent. That was in the year 1798.

“We sailed from Gibraltar on the 9th of May with three line-of-battle ships, four frigates, and a sloop of war, to look after the French fleet, which consisted of thirteen ships of the line, seven frigates, twenty-four smaller ships of war, and a fleet of transports, bound, as we afterwards learned, for Egypt. If the French had conquered that country, they would have gone on, there is no doubt of it, to attack our possessions in India. The admiral, I dare say, knew the importance of stopping that French fleet. In spite of their numbers we did not fear them. Proud we were of our ship, and prouder still was our admiral of her and her crew and the fleet he commanded. While we were in the Gulf of Lyons, after it had been blowing hard all day, it came on one dark night to blow harder still, and, without warning, first our main and then our mizen-topmast went over the side, and lastly the foremast went altogether, so that we no longer could carry sail on it. What a crippled wreck we looked in the morning! There was a thick fog: not one of the squadron could be seen. We were boasting the day before that we were ready to meet more than an equal number of the finest ships the French could bring against us; and now we lay docked of our wings, and scarcely able to contend with the smallest frigate. Providence was watching over us, and we had good reason to believe this when some time afterwards we learned that that very day the French fleet sailed from Toulon, and passed within a few miles of us, while we were hid from them by the fog. At last Captain Ball, in the ‘Alexander,’ came up, and towed us into the harbour of San Pietro in Sardinia, where in four days, with the aid of his and other two ships’ companies, we got completely refitted and ready for sea. Away we went in search of the French fleet, with General Bonaparte himself on board. We heard of the French at Gozo, and our admiral would have attacked them there, but they had gone; then on we railed for Egypt, hoping to find them off Alexandria, but not a sign of them could we discover. If we had had our frigates, we should have found them out fast enough. Leaving Alexandria, we steered for Syracuse, where we provisioned and watered; we visited the Morea; we hunted along the Greek coast. At last we entered the Gulf of Coron, where Captain Troubridge brought us the news that the French fleet had been seen steering from Candia for Egypt four weeks before. Instantly all sail was made for Alexandria. Still we scarcely expected to find the French fleet there. Great then was our joy when the signal was seen flying from the masthead of the ‘Zealous,’ Captain Hood, that the enemy’s fleet were moored in Aboukir Bay. Not a moment was lost in clearing the ships for action. We all knew that we had hot work before us. We found the French fleet moored in a sort of curve in the bay, but far enough from the shore to let some of our ships get inside of them; that is, between them and the land. This the French little expected, and many hadn’t even their guns loaded on that side.

“Oh! it was a magnificent sight, as on we sailed, receiving a hot fire from the shore batteries, but not answering a shot, while silently we furled our sails, and got ready for anchoring. I believe that silence made the hearts of the Frenchmen quake more than our loudest hurrahs would have done. It was evening; the sun was just sinking into the ocean as we entered the bay. The ‘Goliath’ led the way, followed by the ‘Zealous,’ and then came the ‘Orion,’ all anchoring inside the enemy’s line. The ‘Vanguard’ (our ship) was the first which anchored outside, within half pistol-shot of the ‘Spartiate.’ We had six colours flying, just us a sign to the Frenchmen that come what might we were not likely to strike to them; and now there was very little to be seen but the flashes and thick smoke from the guns. Other ships followed us outside the French line, but the greater number were inside. No sooner were our anchors dropped than we opened fire, our example being followed by the other ships as they brought up. We blazed away in right earnest; there was no flinching from our guns. What the Frenchmen were about I cannot tell, but we seemed to fire two shots to their one; but then their guns carried heavier metal than ours, and they had many more of them. It was so dark that we had to get our fighting-lanterns hung up along the decks. Just fancy us then stripped to the waist, with handkerchiefs bound round our heads, and straining every nerve as we ran in and out, and cleaned and loaded our heavy guns, and blazed away as fast as we could. We were covered, too, with smoke and powder, and before long most of us were sprinkled pretty thickly with our own or our shipmates’ blood. Such was the sight you would have seen between decks on board every ship in the action.

“I must tell you what happened in other parts. There was a shoal we had to pass on our starboard hand. The ‘Culloden,’ the ship of the brave Captain Troubridge, struck on it when standing in, for by that time the darkness of night had come on. He instantly made signals which prevented the other ships, the ‘Alexander,’ ‘Swiftsure,’ and ‘Leander,’ following, and getting on shore. They did their best to help off the ‘Culloden,’ but could not get her off, so stood on into the battle. Before even they opened their fire, five of the enemy’s ships had struck. On standing on, Captain Hollowell fell in with the old ‘Billyruffian’ (‘Bellerophon’), with already two hundred dead and wounded, and almost a wreck from the tremendous fire of ‘L’Orient’ of 120 guns. The ‘Swiftsure’ took her place, and soon made the Frenchman pay dear for what she had done. I heard of this afterwards. A seaman at his gun can know little more of an action than what he sees before his nose, and that is chiefly smoke and fire, and part of the hull and rigging of one ship, and men struck down, and timbers and splinters flying about, and yards and blocks rattling down, while he hears alone the roar of the guns, the shouts, and shrieks, and groans of those around him. This sort of terrible work was going on for some time, when the word got about that the admiral himself was desperately wounded in the head. It made our hearts sink within us with sorrow, but it did not cause us to fight less fiercely, or be less determined to gain the victory. How anxiously we waited to hear what the surgeons would say about the wound of our noble chief! and when we were told that it was merely the skin of his head which was hurt, and which had almost blinded him, how hearty the cheer we gave. It must have astonished the Frenchmen, who could not tell the cause. Then at it again we went blazing away like fury, the round-shot and chain-shot and bullets whizzing and tearing along our decks, making the white splinters fly, and sending many a poor fellow out of the world, when suddenly the darkness, which had till now surrounded us, was lighted up by the bright flames which darted out of every port and twisted round the masts of a burning ship. We soon learned that she was a French ship, the big ‘L’Orient,’ with which the ‘Billyruffian’ had been engaged. Never did I see such a sight; in a few minutes she was just one mass of flame, from her truck to the water’s edge. Her miserable crew, from one end of her to the other, were leaping into the water to avoid the scorching heat. ‘Out boats!’ was the order, and each of our ships near at hand sent as many boats as could be manned to the rescue of our unfortunate enemies. Had they been our own shipmates, we could not have exerted ourselves more. Still the battle raged from one end of the line to the other. Suddenly there was a sound as if the earth were rent asunder. In one pointed mass of flame up went the tall masts, and spars, and the decks of the huge ‘L’Orient.’ They seemed, in one body of fire, to rise above our mastheads, and then down they came, spreading far and wide, hissing into the water among the boats and the hundreds of poor wretches struggling for their lives. Among them was the French commodore. Captain Casabianca, I heard, was his name. He was a brave man. He had his son with him, a little fellow only ten years old, as gallant, those we rescued told us, as his father. They were blown up together. We saw the two, the father holding on his son clinging to a spar. We pulled towards them, but just then a bit of the burning wreck must have struck them and carried them down, for when we got up to the spot they were nowhere to be seen. That’s the worst of a battle; there are so many young boys on board who often get as cruelly hurt as the men, and haven’t the strength to bear up against their sufferings. Well, as I was saying, we pulled about, picking up the half-burnt struggling wretches wherever we could find them among the bits of floating wreck. Only seventy were saved out of many more than a thousand men on board. That was about ten o’clock. For some time not a shot was fired. Every man felt that something awful had happened, but still many of the Frenchmen hadn’t given in. So at it again we went, and blazed away at each other till three in the morning. When daylight returned, only two of the enemy’s ships of the line had their colours flying, and they had not been engaged. They, with two frigates, cut their cables in the forenoon, and stood out to sea, we having no ships in a fit state to follow them. There were thirteen French line-of-battle ships when the action began; we took nine, two were burned, and two escaped; and of the four frigates one was sunk and another burned; while the enemy lost three thousand one hundred and five men in killed and wounded. Captain Westcott was the only captain killed, but we lost in all nearly nine hundred other officers and men. As soon as the battle was over, an order was issued that all on board every ship should return thanks to Almighty God, who had given us the victory. Many a hearty thanksgiving was offered up that day. It was a solemn ceremony; not a word was spoken fore and aft till the chaplain began the prayers. A dead silence reigned throughout the fleet. The Egyptians and Arabs on shore could not make it out, I’ve heard say; and even the French officers, prisoners on board, infidels as they were, listened with respect, and could not help believing that there must be a God who had given us the victory. Hard work we had to get our ships and prizes fit for sea again after the battering they had got; as it was, we had to burn four of our prizes, as it would have taken too long to refit them; and then at last away we sailed with the larger part of the fleet for Naples.

“The battle I’ve been telling you about was called the battle of the Nile. It was, I’ve heard say, one of the most glorious and important ever fought on the sea.”

III.

“After lying at Naples for a long time, Lord Keith came out and took the chief command, and we sailed with a squadron for Malta. On our way we fell in with a French fleet, the biggest ship of which was the ‘Généreux,’ one of the line-of-battle ships which had escaped from the Nile. We captured her and a frigate, and not long afterwards the ‘Guillaume Tell,’ the other line-of-battle ship, after in vain attempting to escape from Valetta harbour, surrendered to us; and thus every ship of the fleet which had escorted Bonaparte to Egypt was captured, except, I fancy, one frigate.

“At last we went into Leghorn Roads, and after some time Lord Nelson and Sir William and Lady Hamilton, and other people who had been on board, landed, and travelled through Germany towards England. I have heard say that he was more than once very nearly caught by the French during the journey through Italy. What a prize he would have been to them. I remained in the ‘Foudroyant’ for some time. We all missed the admiral, and hoped that he would come out again, and hoist his flag on board his old ship. Whatever ship he went to it was the same, the men loved him, and would have done anything for him. At last I was sent home in a prize, and was paid off. As the admiral was taking a spell on shore, I thought I would take one too, and enjoy myself. I spent some time with my old mother; but one night, going down to see an old shipmate who was ill at a public-house near Deal, I found myself in the hands of a press-gang, and carried aboard the ‘Elephant,’ Captain Foley. I had made up my mind to belong to the flag-ship of Admiral Nelson, whatever she might be. Still, it couldn’t be helped, and, of course, I determined to do my duty. I there learned that Captain Hardy had commissioned the ‘Saint George,’ of 98 guns, and that it was supposed Lord Nelson would hoist his flag on board her. This he shortly afterwards did, and it was some consolation, when we sailed for Yarmouth Roads, off the Norfolk coast, to join him. It was soon whispered about that there was work for us to do, and we guessed that there was truth in the report when the fleet was ordered away up the Baltic. This was in 1801; a long time ago it seems. You see that Russia, and Sweden, and Denmark were all going to join against us to help the French; and as the Danes had a fine fleet, it was necessary to destroy or capture it, to prevent it doing us mischief. We therefore sent to tell the Danes that they must give it up and be friends, or that we would knock their city about their ears, and sink their ships. They dared us do our worst. They ought to have known what Lord Nelson was likely to do; but you must understand that Sir Hyde Parker was commander-in-chief—he was only second in command. A great deal of time was lost in diplomatising, and all that time the Danes were preparing their ships and batteries to receive us. If you take a look at a chart of the mouth of the Baltic, you will see what numbers of shoals, and small islands, and narrow channels there are about Copenhagen. Fortunately one of our captains, Captain Dommet, knew the coast, and he persuaded Sir Hyde Parker only to let the lighter ships go up to the attack. The ‘Saint George’ drew too much water, and, fortunately for us, Lord Nelson chose our ship to hoist his flag on board. Didn’t we cheer him as he came alongside. Copenhagen stands on a dead flat facing the sea; it is defended by a large fort and two heavy batteries, thrown up on rocks or sandbanks. Besides these there was the Danish fleet drawn up in a long line before the city, and eighteen floating batteries, mounting no less than 690 guns. Some way off, in front of the city, is a shoal called the Middle Ground, and then another channel, and then comes the long island of Saltholm. On the last day of March we entered the channel between the Swedish and Danish coasts, having the castle of Helsingburg on one side and that of Elsinore on the other, and on we sailed in front of the city till we came to an anchor off the island of Arnak. Sir Hyde Parker remained near the mouth of the channel with the heavier ships, so that Lord Nelson had the lighter ones all to himself, while the brave Captain Riou commanded the frigates. All the night was spent in preparing for battle, and Captain Hardy was employed in sounding the channel, through which we were to pass to the attack. He even reached in the darkness close up to one of the Danish ships, and sounded round her. There was the whole squadron anchored so close in with the Danish shore, that had our enemies known the range they might have done us much mischief. Lord Nelson spent the chief part of the night dictating orders to his clerks, to send round to his captains to tell them what to do. At last the morning broke, and, with a fair wind, the ‘Edgar’ leading under a press of sail, the fleet stood down the Danish line, and took up their positions as arranged, the brave Captain Riou and his frigates being opposed to the Crown Battery, at the further end. With a groan, we who once belonged to her saw the old ‘Agamemnon’ take the ground on the shoal I have spoken of; the ‘Bellona’ and ‘Russel’ touched also, but sufficiently within range to take part in the battle. Soon after ten the ‘Edgar’ began the action, and one, by one, as the other ships slipped from their anchors, and following at intervals, took up their position, they also commenced firing. The commander-in-chief, Sir Hyde Parker, was away on our right, you’ll understand, with the bigger ships, and from the way the wind was he could not have come up to help us. Now, along the whole line the action became general. Opposed to us there were the forts and the floating batteries, and the Danish ships of war, all blazing away together; and many of them had furnaces for heating red-hot shot, which several times nearly set our ships on fire. No men ever fought better than the Danes, and several times when we had killed or wounded all the defenders of a battery, their places were supplied by fresh hands from the shore, who worked away at their guns as bravely as the first, till they, poor fellows, were shot down. More than once the ships of the enemy had hauled down their flags, and when we were going to take possession again opened fire on us. This enraged us, as you may suppose; but we cut them up terribly, and many of their ships and floating batteries were sinking or on fire. For three hours or more we were at it, pounding away without being able to silence them. They were cutting us up too, let me tell you, riddling our hull, and round-shot, and red-hot shot, and chain-shot, and bar shot flying around, about, and through us. It seemed a wonder that a man was left alive on our decks. Lord Nelson kept pacing the quarterdeck, watching everything that was going on. A young Danish officer had got a big raft, with a breastwork mounting some twenty guns, and in spite of our marines, who kept up a sharp fire on him, he held his post till the battle was over. The admiral praised him for his gallantry, and, I believe, would have been very sorry if he had been killed, much as he was annoying us. A shot now struck our mainmast, sending the splinters flying on every side. I saw the admiral smile. ‘This is hot work,’ he observed to one of the officers; ‘in another moment not one of as may be alive, but, mark you, I would not be anywhere else for thousands.’ It’s my opinion that most men would have thought we were getting the worst of it; and if we hadn’t had Lord Nelson for our chief, we should have thought so likewise.

“Sir Hyde Parker’s flag-ship was near enough for us to make out his signals. It was reported that the signal for discontinuing the action had been made. ‘Acknowledge it!’ cried Lord Nelson. ‘Is our signal for close action still hoisted?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ was the answer. ‘Then keep it so,’ he replied. Soon afterwards he put his glass up to his blind eye, and turning to Captain Foley, he exclaimed, ‘I have a right to be blind sometimes, and really I don’t see the signal. Never mind it, I say, nail mine to the mast.’ Admiral Graves in like manner disobeyed the order, and the rest of the squadron, looking only to Lord Nelson, continued the action.

“I was telling you about the brave Captain Riou and his frigates. The ‘Amazon,’ his ship, had suffered much, and was so surrounded by smoke that he could see nothing of the batteries to which he was opposed. He ordered, therefore, his men to cease firing to let the smoke clear off, that they might see what they were about. This allowed the Danes to take better aim at them, and so tremendous was the fire opened on them that there seemed every chance of the frigates being sent to the bottom. Just then, Sir Hyde Parker’s signal was seen flying. Captain Riou judged that he ought to obey it. He had already been badly wounded in the head by a splinter. ‘What will Nelson think of us?’ he exclaimed, mournfully, as the frigate wore round. Just then his clerk was killed by his side, and directly afterwards another shot struck down some marines who were hauling in the main-brace. It seemed as if not a man on board could escape, ‘Come, then, my boys,’ exclaimed their brave Captain Riou, ‘let us all die together!’ They were the last words he ever spoke. The next moment a shot cut him in two. There was not a more gallant officer, or one the men loved better, in the service.

“Well, as I was saying, on we went at it for four long hours. In spite of the shot, and bullets, and splinters flying about on every side, I had not had a scratch. Several poor fellows had been struck down close to me. I cannot say that I thought that I should not be hit, because the truth is I did not think about the matter. I went on working at my gun like the rest, only just trying how fast we could fire, and how we could do most damage to the enemy. That’s the way to gain the victory; it does not do to think of anything else. At last I felt a blow as if some one had struck me on the side, and down I went. My trousers and belt were singed and torn, and the blood started from my side; but I bound my handkerchief over the wound, and in a little time got up and went back to my gun, and there I stayed till the fighting was done, and then I let them carry me below to the cockpit, for walk by myself I could not.

“Some of our ships suffered dreadfully. The ‘Monarch’ lost two hundred and ten men, the ‘Isis’ a hundred and ten, and the ‘Bellona’ seventy-five, and all the other ships great numbers. At last, however, the Danes could stand it no longer, and ship after ship struck; but still the shore batteries kept firing on, and killed great numbers of men on board the prizes. One of their ships, the ‘Danbrog,’ after she had struck and was in flames, fired on our boats. Notwithstanding this, when she was seen drifting away before the wind, the fire gaining on her, Captain Bertie, of the ‘Ardent,’ sent his boats to the assistance of the poor fellows as they leaped out of the ports to escape the flames. At last Lord Nelson, wishing to put a stop to the carnage, wrote to the Crown Prince, the Danish commander, saying if he did not cease firing he must burn the prizes. A wafer was brought him. ‘That will not do,’ said he, ‘we must not appear in a hurry; bring a candle and sealing-wax.’ Captain Sir Frederick Thesiger, with a flag of truce, took the letter, and after some time the Danes sent one in return to arrange what was to be done, and the battle of Copenhagen, for so it was called, was over.

“While negotiations were going on, Lord Nelson ordered the ships to take advantage of a fair wind, and to start out of the narrow channels. As we in the ‘Elephant’ were going out we grounded, as did the ‘Defiance,’ about a mile from the Trekroner battery, and there we remained for many hours. At last, however, we got off. We had to burn all our prizes except one ship, the ‘Holstein,’ 64, which was sent home. The next day Lord Nelson went on shore to visit the prince, and settle matters. He was received with great respect, and he told the Danes that he had never had a braver enemy, or known men fight better than they had done, and that now he hoped that they would all be friends again for ever after. Lord Nelson now returned to the ‘Saint George,’ and the fleet sailed to the eastward to look after the Swedes. We were off Bornholm, but the ‘Saint George’ could not get through a shallow channel which had to be passed, and was some twelve leagues astern of us. Every minute we expected to be engaged with the enemy. At midnight, who should step on board the ‘Elephant’ but Lord Nelson himself. The night was very cold, but he had come all that distance in an open boat without even a cloak, so eager was he to be present at the expected battle. None took place, and after a little time I was sent home invalided.”

IV.

“When I came home from the Baltic, I and others were landed at Yarmouth, and sent to the hospital. I was some time in getting well. I’ll tell you what set me on my legs again. One day as I was lying on my bed in the crowded ward, thinking if I should ever recover, and be fit for sea again, the news came that a brig of war had entered the harbour with Lord Nelson on board. Would you believe it, I was thanking Heaven that our brave admiral had come back safe, and was in a half dreamy, dozing state, when I heard a cheer, and opening my eyes there he was himself going round from bed to bed, and talking to each of the men. He knew me at once, and told me that I must make haste and get well and join his ship, as it wouldn’t be long probably before he again hoisted his flag.

“‘You shall have any rating you like, remember that,’ said he, taking my hand. ‘We must have medals and prize-money for you; you have gallantly won them, all of you.’

“He passed on, for he had a kind word to say to many hundred poor fellows that day. When I got well I went home for a spell; but before long I heard that Lord Nelson had hoisted his flag as commander-in-chief of the channel squadron on hoard the ‘Medusa’ frigate. I went on board, and the admiral instantly rated me as quartermaster. We had plenty of work before us, for General Bonaparte, who was now Emperor of France, wanted to come and invade England. He had got a flotilla of gunboats all ready to carry over his army, and he had a large fleet besides. Many people thought he would succeed. We knew that the wooden walls of old England were her best defence, and so we afloat never believed that a French soldier would ever set foot on our shores.

“They had, however, a large flotilla in Boulogne harbour, and it was determined to destroy it with the boats of the squadron. I volunteered for one of out boats. The boats were in three divisions. We left the ships a little before midnight. It was very dark, and the divisions got separated. We knew that it was desperate work we were on. Ours was the only division which reached the harbour. There were batteries defending the place, and troops on the shore, and soldiers on board the flotilla, and the outer vessels were guarded with iron spikes, and had boarding nets triced up, and were lashed together. In we darted. It was desperate work, and the fire of the great guns and musketry soon showed our enemies to us, and us to them.

“‘Just keep off, you brave Englishmen, you can do nothing here,’ sung out a French officer in very plain English.

“‘We’ll try that!’ was our reply, as we dashed on board, in spite of iron spikes and boarding nettings. On we went; we cut out several of the vessels, and were making off with them with loads of Frenchmen on board, when, would you believe it, if the enemy didn’t open their fire on the boats, killing their own people as well as us. To my mind, those French, in war, are as bad as cannibals—that’s what Lord Nelson always said of them. If it hadn’t been for this we should have burned or captured most of them. While I was just springing on board another vessel, among the flashes from the guns, the flames and smoke, the hissing and rattling shot, I got a knock on my head which sent me back into the bottom of the boat. I knew nothing more till I found myself on board my own ship, and heard that we had lost some hundred and seventy poor fellows. I was sent to the hospital, where one of our gallant leaders, Captain Parker, died of his wounds.

“The next ship I found myself on board was the ‘Victory.’ There wasn’t a finer ship in the navy, more weatherly or more handy—steered like a duck, and worked like a top. Lord Nelson himself got me appointed to her. Away we sailed for the Mediterranean. While Admiral Cornwallis watched the French fleet at Brest, we kept a look-out over that at Toulon under the command of Admiral La Touche Treville, who had commanded at Boulogne, and boasted that he had beat off Lord Nelson from that port. He could not boast, though, that he beat him off from Toulon; for, for eighteen long months, from the 1st of July, 1803, to the 11th of January, 1805, did we keep watch off that harbour’s mouth. If such a gale sprung up as would prevent the French getting out, we went away, only leaving a frigate or so to watch what took place; but we were soon to be back again. Thus the time passed on. We saw the shore, but were not the better for it; for few of us, from the admiral downwards, ever set foot on it. At last the French admiral, La Touche Treville, died, and a new one, Admiral Villeneuve, was appointed. We now began to hope that the French would come out and fight us; for you see Lord Nelson did not want to keep them in—only to get at them when they came out. If it hadn’t been for the batteries on shore, we should have gone in and brought them out. We had gone away to the coast of Sardinia, when news was brought that the French fleet was at sea. Instantly we got under weigh, passing at night through a passage so narrow that only one ship could pass at a time, and fully expecting the next morning to be engaged with the enemy. First we looked for them about Sicily; then after them we ran towards Egypt, and then back to Malta, where we heard that they had put into Toulon. Now, we kept stricter watch than ever, without a bulkhead up, and all ready for battle.

“It was on the 4th of April, that the ‘Phoebe’ brought us news that Admiral Villeneuve, with his squadron, had again slipped out of Toulon, and was steering for the coast of Africa. Frigates were sent out in every direction, to make sure that he had not gone eastward; and then after him we stood, towards the Straits of Gibraltar, but the wind was dead against us, and we had hard work to get there. I had never seen the admiral in such a taking before. We beat backwards and forwards against the head-wind, but all to no purpose—out of the Gut we could not get without a leading-wind, and so we had to anchor off the Barbary coast; there we got supplies.

“At last, on the 5th of May, an easterly breeze sprung up, and away we went, with a flowing sheet, through the Straits. We called off Cadiz, and the coast of Portugal, and then bore away for the West Indies, where we heard the French had gone. We sighted Madeira, and made Barbadoes, then sailed for Tobago; and next we were off for the Gulf of Paria, all cleared for action, making sure that we should find the enemy there. We thought it would have killed the admiral when he found that he had been deceived. Back we sailed, and heard that the French had captured the Diamond Rock. You’ve heard about it. It’s a curious place, and was commissioned like a man-of-war. If it hadn’t been for false information, and if Lord Nelson had stuck to his own intentions, we should have caught the French up off Port Royal, and thrashed them just at the spot Lord Rodney thrashed Admiral de Grasse—so I’ve heard say. Well, at last, we found that the French had left the West Indies for Europe, so back across the Atlantic we steered, but though we knew we were close astern of them, they kept ahead of us, and at last we sighted Cape Spartel, and anchored the next day at Gibraltar.

“I know it for a fact, that it only wanted ten days of two years since Lord Nelson himself had last set his foot on shore. It was much longer than that since I and most on board had trod dry ground. That was serving our country, you’ll allow—most of the time, too, under weigh, battling with tempests, and broiling under the sun of the tropics.

“We victualled and watered at Tetuan, then once more stood to the west’ard—then back to Cadiz, and once more crossed the Bay of Biscay, thinking the enemy were bound for Ireland. Foul winds made the passage long. Once more the enemy had baffled us, and at last, when off Ushant, we received orders to return to Portsmouth to refit.

“That very fleet Sir Robert Calder fell in with on the 22nd of July, just thirty leagues westward of Cape Finisterre, and, although his force was much smaller, he captured two of their line-of-battle ships. It was a very gallant affair; but people asked, ‘What would Nelson have done?’ While the admiral was on shore we were busily employed in refitting the ‘Victory,’ while a number of other ships he had wished to have with him were got ready for sea. On the 14th of September he once more came aboard the ‘Victory,’ and hoisted his flag. The next day, we sailed for Cadiz. We arrived off that place on the 29th, where we found the squadron of Admiral Collingwood blockading the French and Spanish fleets under Admiral Villeneuve.

“What Lord Nelson wanted, you see, was to get the enemy out to fight him. He wanted also, not only to win a victory, but to knock the enemy’s ships to pieces, so that they could do no more harm. To get them out we had to cut off their supplies; so we had to capture all the neutral vessels which were carrying them in. You must understand we in the ‘Victory’ with the fleet did not go close into Cadiz, but kept some fifty or sixty miles off, so that the enemy might not know our strength. We had some time to wait, however. Lord Nelson had already given the French and Spaniards such a taste of his way of going to work, that they were in no hurry to try it again. You’ll understand that there was a line of frigates, extending, like signal-posts, all the way from the fleet to the frigate cruising just off the mouth of the harbour—that is to say, near enough to watch what was going on there.

“Early in the morning on the 19th of October, the ‘Mars,’ the ship nearest the chain of frigates, repeated the signal that the enemy were leaving port, and, at two p.m., that they were steering south-east. On this Lord Nelson gave orders for the fleet to chase in that direction, but to keep out of sight of the enemy, fearful of frightening them back into port. Still, you’ll understand, the frigates kept in sight of them, and gave notice to the admiral of all their movements. The enemy had thirty-three sail of the line, and seven frigates, with above 4000 riflemen on board. Our fleet numbered only twenty-seven sail of the line, and four frigates. We were formed in two lines. Admiral Collingwood, in the ‘Royal Sovereign,’ led fourteen ships, and Lord Nelson, in the ‘Victory,’ eleven.

“On the morning of the 21st of October, 1805—you’ll not forget that day, it was a glorious one for England, let me tell you—we sighted the French and Spanish fleet from the deck of the ‘Victory’ off Cape Trafalgar. They were formed in a double line in a curve, one ship in the further line filling up the space left between the ships of the nearest line. They also were trying to keep the port of Cadiz under their lee, that they might escape to it. Lord Nelson determined to break the line in two places. We led the northern line with a light wind from the south-west. Admiral Collingwood led the southern, and got into action first, just astern of the ‘Santa Anna.’ We steered so as to pass between the ‘Bucentaur’ and the ‘Santissima Trinidade.’

“‘Well, there are a lot of the enemy,’ exclaimed Tom Collins to me, as I was standing near the gun he served.

“‘Yes, mate,’ said I; ‘and a pretty spectacle they will make at Spithead when we carry them there.’

“‘Ay, that they will,’ cried all who heard me, and I believe every man in the fleet felt as we did.

“We were watching all this time the magnificent way in which the brave and good Admiral Collingwood stood into action and opened his fire. That was about noon. There was a general cheer on board our ship and all the ships of the fleet. At our masthead flew a signal. We soon knew what it meant. It was—‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ For nearly half an hour the noble Collingwood was alone among the ships of the enemy before any of his followers could come up. We, at the same time, had got within long range of the enemy. On we floated slowly, for the wind was very light, till at last our mainyard-arm was touching the gaff of the ‘Bucentaur,’ which ship bore the flag of Admiral Villeneuve; and though our guns were raking her and tearing her stern to pieces, we had ahead of us in the second line the ‘Neptune,’ which poured a heavy fire into our bows. Our helm was then put up, and we fell aboard the ‘Redoubtable,’ while the ‘Temeraire,’ Captain Blackwood, ranged up on the other side of her, and another French ship got alongside the ‘Temeraire.’ There we were all four locked together, pounding away at each other, while with our larboard guns we were engaging the ‘Bucentaur,’ and now and then getting a shot at the big Spaniard, the ‘Santissima Trinidade’. Meantime our other ships had each picked out one or more of the enemy, and were hotly engaged with them. At the tops of all the enemy’s ships marksmen were stationed. The skylight of the admiral’s cabin had been boarded over. Here Lord Nelson and Captain Hardy were walking. More than one man had fallen near them. Mr Scott, the admiral’s secretary, had been struck down after we had been in action little more than an hour. Suddenly as I turned my head I saw a sight which I would rather have died than have seen. Lord Nelson was just falling. He went on his knees, then rested on his arm for a moment, and it, too, giving way, he rolled over on his left side, before even Captain Hardy could run to save him. Captain Hardy had to remain on deck. I, with a sergeant of marines and another seaman, carried him below, covering his face with a handkerchief. We placed him in one of the midshipmen’s berths. Then the surgeons came to him. We feared the worst, but it was not generally known what had happened. I can tell you I was glad enough to get on deck again. It was bad enough there to see poor fellows struck down alongside one, but the sights and sounds in the cockpit were enough to overcome the stoutest heart—to see fine strong fellows mangled and torn, struggling in their agony—to watch limb after limb cut off—to hear their groans and shrieks, and often worse, the oaths and imprecations of the poor fellows maddened by the terrible pain; and there lay our beloved chief mortally wounded in the spine, parched with thirst and heat, crying out for air and drink to cool the fever raging within. For two hours and a half there he lay suffering dreadful pain, yet eagerly inquiring how the battle was going. Twice Captain Hardy went below to see him; the first time, to tell him that twelve of the enemy had struck; the last time that still more had given in, and that a few were in full flight, after whom our guns were still sending their shot. Thus Lord Nelson died at the moment the ever-to-be-remembered battle of Trafalgar was won.

“It was a sad voyage we had home, and great was the sorrow felt by all, from the highest to the lowest in the land, for the death of our beloved leader. I will not describe his funeral. It was very grand, that I know. Many of the old ‘Victory’s’ attended his coffin to his grave in Saint Paul’s Cathedral. When they were lowering his flag into the tomb—that flag which had truly so long and so gloriously waved in the battle and the breeze—we seized on it and tearing it in pieces, vowed to keep it as long as we lived, in remembrance of our noble chief. Here is my bit—see, I keep it safe in this case near my heart.”

England’s greatest military chief now lies by the side of one who had no equal on the ocean, in the heart of her metropolis. Within the walls of her finest cathedral, what more appropriate mausoleum could be found for Britain’s two most valiant defenders, Heaven-sent surely in the time of her greatest need to defend her from the hosts of her vaunting foes.

Note 1. Lord Hood was commander-in-chief. The object of the attack was to co-operate with the patriot Corsicans, who, under their well-known gallant general Paoli, desired to liberate themselves from the yoke of France, then ruled by the tyrannical and cruel Convention. The story of the struggles of Corsica to gain her independence is deeply interesting.

Chapter Four.

An Adventure on the Black Mountain, by Frances M. Wilbraham.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

“A story! Why, children, you certainly are the most persevering little beggars for a story I ever encountered! Well, a story you shall have, as your lessons were, I must say, particularly well said, this morning, and, moreover, the afternoon does look hopelessly wet.”

A chorus of thanks responded to this promise; then Janie’s demure voice was heard asking, “Is it to be a true story, aunt, about some of the foreign countries you have resided in? If so, I will bring the atlas.” Here Millie broke in eagerly, “Oh dear, I hope it is to be a romantic story, full of murders, and caverns, and nice dark-eyed bandits isn’t it, Aunt Cattie?”

Aunt Cattie smiled inwardly at the contrast between these twin sisters, yet their resemblance to their former selves when, six years before, she had visited England. It was the same Janie who, at seven years old, devoured books of geography and history, but laid down Aesop’s Fables in disgust, unable to detect truth embedded in fiction. It was the same Millie who used coaxingly to beg for stories “all about naughty children—very naughty children—and please, auntie, they mustn’t improve.” The same Janie and Millie, only a head and shoulders taller.

“It shall be a tale of the Black Mountain,” said Aunt Cattie, after a pause. “The Black Mountain, or Montenegro, is a real place, Janie, marked in the map of Turkey in Europe, yet as wild and full of horrors as Millie could desire. It is a tract of country, several miles long, in the south-east part of Dalmatia. Its western side slopes down to, or overhangs, the beautiful Adriatic Sea; the eastern, unhappily for its peace, borders on Turkey, and between its gallant but lawless Christian inhabitants and their Mahometan oppressors there has been, for centuries, war, the most merciless you can imagine. We, who lived some years in the neighbouring seaport-town of Cattaro, heard enough, and sadly too much, of their atrocities.”

During this preface to the story the girls had settled themselves with their knitting at Aunt Cattie’s feet, and Archie, their brother, at her elbow, his eyes fixed on Aunt Cattie’s animated face, and his ears “bristled up,” as Millie expressed it, in expectation of her promised narrative. It began thus:—

“Mr Englefield and I, when first we married, in 1843, lived in a small but pretty dwelling outside the gate of Cattaro. The front of our house looked across to a narrow arm of the sea, to a range of hills. A bleak, rocky mountain stood at the back of our house and of the town; so you see we were in a very cramped situation. The sun rose an hour later, and set an hour earlier with us than elsewhere; the noonday sun baked us in summer, the keen winds, pent between our mountains, eddied round us in winter, and in autumn we were often wrapped in dense fog for days together.”

Cattaro is a considerable port, in the hands of the Austrians, and some of its traders were connected with the house of “Popham and Company,” for which your uncle was then an agent. He was often away for weeks together, on business. I remained behind, and was much alone, but time never hung heavy on my hands, for it was fully occupied with making sketches from nature. These I carefully finished afterwards, and they found a ready sale at Corfu, through the kindness of a friend. These little gains eked out our slender income, and I remember no moment of purer delight than that in which I welcomed your uncle home one soft autumn morning, and placed my first hoard of fifteen guineas in his hand. “My own industrious Cattie!” he exclaimed, “how very hard you have worked in my absence! You have earned a holiday, my dear. Say, how and where shall we spend the week I have to devote to you?”

“O Laurie!” I cried, “on the Black Mountain—sketching on the Black Mountain! You don’t know how I long to explore it, and to paint its scenery and its splendid-looking peasants! Do let us start at once!”

“My dear, are you crazy?” he answered quietly, “Why, those mountaineers are a set of lawless cut-throats, that regard neither life nor property. They—”

“I know, I know!” cried I. “They glory in cutting off as many Turkish heads as they can, and carrying them home on the points of their lances. Yes, it is horrible, Laurie; still, we must make allowance for an oppressed race, and remember how cruelly the Turks have treated them for ages. I don’t believe the Black Mountaineers would hurt a hair of our heads, or of any unoffending traveller who threw himself on their honour. Just let us try, Laurie.”

I was only nineteen then, and quite fearless. For many days my lonely rambles had been in the direction of Montenegro, and my upward gaze had turned hourly towards the path which leads thither, issuing forth from the gate of the town in a zigzag form, and mounting till it seems lost in the clouds. It was so tantalising to know that three hours’ ascent on one of the stout mules of the country, would bring one to the heart of the Black Mountain, and to the palace of its chivalrous Vladika, or Prince-Bishop, the feared and adored monarch of a hundred and twenty thousand Montenegrins. His praises and his exploits had been continually rung in my hears by some hill-people with whom I had made great acquaintance in the market-place. Week by week they brought me fuel, eggs, and fruit, and in my dealings with them I had picked up a smattering of their beautiful Slavonic language, and was eager to display this new accomplishment to your uncle. However, I soon saw that was not the time for pressing the subject upon him; on scanning his sunburnt features there was a look of care upon them that was not usual. When the bright look my little surprise called forth had faded away, he appeared grave and harassed, and his tone, for the first time, was a little abrupt. I felt sure something had gone wrong in the affairs of Popham and Company.

So it proved; a younger brother of the firm, Mr John Popham, had come out, some months before, to look after the affairs of the house, which, for some unexplained reason, had gone less smoothly than usual of late. Unfortunately he was not the right person to conduct such an inquiry, for he was young, rash, and easily duped. Our agent at Ragusa, one Orlando Jones, an artful, worthless person, half English, half Greek, insinuated himself into his good graces, and managed to hoodwink him completely. Now, you must know that Mr Englefield had long watched Jones with suspicion, and in this last visit to Ragusa had obtained such proofs of his dishonesty as appeared to him quite convincing. These he thought it his duty to lay before Mr Popham. Unfortunately that young gentleman took up the information hotly and unwisely, blurting out the whole matter to Jones, instead of watching his conduct narrowly and then judging for himself. Jones affected the most virtuous indignation when charged with fraud by Mr Popham. He accused your dear uncle of base jealousy, spoke movingly of his own services, and, in short, talked Mr Popham so completely round that he turned the cold shoulder on his faithful and tried servant. So your uncle returned to Cattaro deeply hurt, and more anxious than ever about the safety of the house.

I heard not a word of all this at the time, for Mr Englefield was secret as the grave as to the affairs of his employers. To soothe and amuse him was my province; so I pulled out a budget of cheerful home letters, and read them aloud, with comments, while he partook of breakfast under the shade of our carob tree. His brow relaxed by degrees, and after breakfast he proposed we should take a stroll together; and we set out, following the bend of the sea-shore, and returning by the eastern gate of the town. I am afraid this was a little stroke of crooked policy on my part; for at this gate is held, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, a market, to which the hill-people flock, and I knew it would be in full activity at that moment, and my dear Montenegrins would be there in their trimmest apparel. How I wish you could have beheld the scene: there were the citizens of Cattaro in their sober garb—black cloth or velvet jackets with silver basket buttons, small black caps, wide trousers also black, black stockings, and a dull red sash—the only relief of this heavy costume. In strong contrast to it were the bright dresses of the mountaineers, numbers of whom were buzzing about, the men all armed to the teeth, as their custom is. They were engaged in gossiping, sauntering about, or comparing their guns and other weapons. Their women, heavily laden, and square in figure, were transacting the real business of the market. Amid the throng I looked out for some special friends of mine, and soon espied them driving their mule down the zigzag road. “O Laurie,” said I, “yonder is the group I want to introduce to you; look at my pretty peasant-wife Spira, and Basil her husband; is he not a grand specimen? six feet three, and so broad-shouldered, and such a frank good-tempered expression of face; look at his rich silver-hilted dagger, and his long gun, and that graceful bright scarf (strucca, they call it) wound round him; doesn’t he look like a doughty warrior?”

“He does, indeed,” your uncle answered; “permit me, however, to hint that your friend appears scarcely as gallant as he is gallant; he stalks on unhampered, leaving his little wife to trudge after with that huge bundle of firewood on her back.”

“And a child on the top of it,” I rejoined, laughing; “all husbands are not like you, Laurie, who feel injured if I insist on carrying my own umbrella. Now look at Spira’s face—there is something so lovely in that deep-tinted golden hair and those large mournful eyes. Don’t look at her hands or ankles, please—hard work has spoilt them.”

Spira now came up to me and kissed my hand, with a low obeisance, as her wont was; she did not speak when her husband was by—he greeted us frankly; then leaning on his long gun, said to me: “I have brought the fuel, the quinces, and the walnuts your Excellency desired; also the mutton-hams you bespoke—they are of my wife’s own curing (I ask your pardon for naming her) and right well cured.”

The articles were submitted to my inspection, approved of, and paid for, Basil asking very fair prices for them, and handing over the silver to Spira as if he could not be “fashed” to carry it. “Now, Basil,” I rather maliciously said, “pray relieve your wife of that heavy load; she must be quite tired.”

“Spira is used to heavy loads,” replied the imperturbable Basil; “no wife in our hamlet can carry so large a sheaf of corn as she.”

Apparently it gratified Spira to be thus compared to a beast of burden; for she crept up to Basil’s side and kissed his sleeve. The little boy perched on her back, who had hitherto remained motionless, his face hidden against her neck, and only his tangled auburn curls visible, now threw back his head suddenly, and uttered a hoarse cough. A thrill seemed to run through the mother’s whole frame at that sound, and she lifted her terrified eyes to her husband. Whatever he might feel, he was too proud to betray anxiety in our presence; and taking the boy off Spira’s shoulders he addressed him thus: “Fear not, Nilo, little Nilo; thou shalt live and grow up to be a man, and cut off more Turks’ heads in thy day than thy father and thy grandfather, put together.” So saying, he tapped a bright silver medal attached to his own breast—the Prince-Bishop’s reward for extraordinary valour against the infidels. The child looked up, amused; such a lovely child, of perhaps two years old, with almond-shaped deep-blue eyes, pearly complexion, and sweet dimpled mouth. I noticed, however, that the eyes were heavy, and the lip soft pink, not red, coral; his breathing came thick, and there was something of the same appearance of distress about him that I once witnessed in a dear little brother of my own, who died in an attack of croup. The sight roused within me feelings and memories that had long, long slept.

The sky, meanwhile, had clouded over, and some heavy drops began to fall—presaging one of those deluges of autumn rain which so often rush down at Cattaro. Mr Englefield urged me to return home, adding, “Had you not better offer shelter to your mountain friends? that pretty child hardly looks stout enough to bear a drenching.”

I acted on the kind suggestion, and Spira was thankful to accept my offer; as by the time she had driven her mule to our door it rained in torrents. The Montenegrin standard of cleanliness being very low, I gave them an unoccupied room on the ground floor, and carried some food to them there. Spira scarcely tasted it, but crumbled some bread into a cup of milk and water for little Nilo, and coaxed him to swallow a mouthful or two. By degrees her shyness wore off, and I drew her out to talk of Basil and his exploits; how Basil had won a prize at a shooting match given by their Bishop, and how he was esteemed nearly as good a shot as that prince—not quite: nobody could quite come up to his skill, who could hit a lemon thrown up to a great height in the air! This seems a singular accomplishment for a Bishop in the nineteenth century, does it not? Then she related how Basil had last year defended a pass all by himself against five armed Turks; and how, in token of his approval, the Vladika had deigned to baptise their little child, and permitted him to be called Danilo (or Daniel) after himself. So far all was smooth; but when the little woman entered into particulars about the Turkish war, I was astonished to see how ferocious she grew. Her eyes flashed and dilated as she denounced those “unbelieving dogs;” and she talked of cutting off their heads as coolly as our sportsmen do of bringing home the fox’s brush! I was shocked, and tried to bring to her mind the heavenly precepts of mercy towards our enemies; but she only looked bewildered, and said in reply, “Excellency, they are Turks.” Saddened, and rather repelled, I went back to your uncle; but scarcely five minutes later a ringing cry from Spira’s part of the house made us both start. We hastened to the spot, and beheld little Nilo stiff and blue in his father’s arms—his frame convulsed, and his throat emitting that kind of barking sound which accompanies violent croup. Basil, as he held him, looked the image of despair. As for Spira she had flung herself in a heap in a corner of the room, crying out, like Hagar, “Let me not see the death of the child!” Neither of them had an idea of trying any remedy, unless laying a leaden image of Saint Basil (the patron of Montenegro) on the baby’s breast might be called such. When I stole to Basil’s side to look at the poor child, and offer a suggestion of hope, he said briefly, “He is called; he must go, as our three others have gone before him; I know it by that hoarse raven-note.” Then breaking down altogether, he cried, “Nilo, Nilo, would I could die for thee, little one! would I could die for thee!” and the strong man sobbed as if his heart would break. Your uncle and I, deeply moved, took counsel together, and determined to try what could be done. I flew to my well-stocked medicine-chest, and weighed out some croup powders; your uncle, kind soul! went off in search of a bath and hot water. When I returned, I found the parents on the move, preparing to carry their child to a neighbouring church, that the priest might anoint it, according to the rites of the Greek communion, before its death. The rain had ceased, but a dense mist had gathered in and sent a chilly breath through the doorway where Basil stood with Nilo in his arms. Spira was following—her hands clasped over her bright bodice, and her face looking ten years older than when she came in. So aghast was I at this sight, that I stopped Basil peremptorily, exclaiming in my wretched Slavonic, “Turn back, this instant, if you do not wish to kill the child!” The father glared on me angrily, and stalked across the threshold, muttering some word that sounded like “heretic;” but Spira, whose lovely eyes turned upon me with a ray of hope, happily interposed: she plucked him by the sleeve, kissed it, and said humbly, “Basil, the lady is good; I pray you hearken to her!”

Most providentially, the proud mountaineer’s resolution gave way before this meek appeal. He turned back gloomily, let me take the child from his arms, let me have my own way, in short; I beckoned to Spira to help, and together we placed Nilo in the soothing warm water, and coaxed the medicine between those pearly teeth, which at first closed stubbornly against it. It was anxious work, with Basil’s dark, distrustful eyes lowering upon me, but, thank Heaven, a blessed and complete success crowned our efforts. Half an hour later, the cold, stiff, little limbs had relaxed, the breathing had become soft, and natural glow and moisture had returned to the skin; the child knew his father, and lifted his hands caressingly to stroke Spira’s face. Oh, the pure exquisite delight of those moments, and the deep thankfulness also! My heart silently overflowed with both. Basil and Spira were beside themselves with joy.

To be brief. We insisted on keeping Spira and the child with us till Nilo’s strength was restored; as for Basil, he discovered that he must return to Montenegro that night. He stalked off through the misty moonlight, glad, I believe, of the fresh air and rapid climb as a safety-valve for his overflowing rapture. One look was all the thanks he offered me at that time, but what a world of feeling did that look convey!

The night passed without further alarm.

Little Nilo quickly recovered his strength, all the more quickly, probably, from the unwonted care I insisted on bestowing on his ablutions and diet. He became a bonnie boy, and wound himself round our hearts, and very sorry we were when the time came for parting. Perched on his mother’s back, he returned to the Black Mountain the day week of his seizure.

From that time, tokens of grateful, loving remembrance from our Montenegrin friends ceased not to flow in. It rained quinces, figs, and walnuts; poultry cackled at our door, the bringers running hastily off to get out of the way of payment; and, finally, an elaborate epistle from the parish priest of Cetigna (Basil’s home) expressed the gratitude of the village for this our simple act of kindness.

II.

“Oh, that I were where I would be.”

Aunt Cattie was called away to see visitors, and it was not till after tea that the story could be resumed. Millie had chafed at the interruption, and said it was horrid of people to come, and bring one down from the Black Mountain to listen to talk about weather and fashions. Janie bore the delay more philosophically, observing that she could not have turned the heel of her stocking so correctly while thinking of Nilo and his poor mother. Archie remained silent, only when Aunt Cattie sat down and resumed her narrative, he was heard to mutter to himself that it was “awful jolly!”

The day that Spira left us, she said, was the last of your uncle’s holiday. That evening we sat together before the hearth on which a pine log or two from Montenegro blazed. Your uncle cracked his walnuts in a thoughtful mood, and I sat listening to the wind which rose and rose till it blew a perfect gale; when it paused, as if to take breath, I could count the waves that plashed on the shingle, and hear the shouts of people on the quay welcoming the mail steamer from Ragusa.

“Laurie,” said I at last, “are you going by that vessel to-morrow morning?”

“Yes,” he answered, “I have made up my mind to go to Ragusa, and come to an explanation with John Popham; there has been a misunderstanding between us, Cattie—I may tell you this much—and he has been led to doubt not only the prudence of my conduct in the affairs of the house, but the purity of my motives also.”

“Doubt your purity of motive!” I cried. “If he can do that, Laurie, it is not fit you should remain in his service another moment; it is not, indeed.”

There was a quiet smile on his face as he sat opposite to me in the flickering firelight; he did not speak and I sat silent too, perusing the lines of that dear face with a strange unaccountable foreboding of evil.

“The man,” thought I, “who can meet the glance of those clear, honest, grey eyes, hear the tones of that kindly voice, and harbour one suspicion, must be blind indeed. Heaven grant my Laurie be not too honest, too unsuspicious for his own safety! If he could only be persuaded to take half the care of that he does of the interests of those ungrateful Pophams, there would be no cause for fear.”

Your uncle spoke at last.

“Wee wifie,” he said, “one must not be in a hurry to break a connection of thirty-three years’ standing. I was but two years old when Mr Popham, the father of Francis and John, first took me up. I was an orphan with a bare pittance to maintain me, and no near relations; and had Mr Popham been a less conscientious guardian, I might have been exposed to many privations, ay, and temptations too. As it was, he nursed my little inheritance carefully, put me to a good though strict school, and arranged that I should spend my holidays at his house. Mrs Popham (the mother of Francis, now head of our firm) was a mother to me also, and her early death was my first keen and lasting grief. It made Francis and me cling closely to one another, the more so because bereavement added much to the natural sternness of Mr Popham’s character. Our holidays for the next three years were seasons rather of restraint than of enjoyment, but bright days returned when he married the second Mrs Popham, a young Greek of extraordinary beauty and gentleness. He only lived five years after that, and his death was a great misfortune to his younger boy John, who was left at four years old to the boundless spoiling of a doting mother. Francis’s character was quite formed at that time, and his habits of business and order were very remarkable for one so young. At twenty, he took the direction of affairs, and with the help of experienced advisers, has managed them admirably for fifteen years. He and I have met but rarely, as my knack of mastering languages easily had caused me to be employed chiefly in the service of the house abroad, but I think our friendship is such as to stand the test of absence, ay, and of calumny too. I do not, cannot, believe he will endorse his brother’s hasty censure of my conduct.”

Laurie jumped up and paced the room awhile, then stood still, and said abruptly—

“Shall I read you an article in the last ‘Quarterly,’ Cattie? It’s in my portmanteau somewhere; come and help me to look for it.”

I linked my arm in his, well pleased, and we were crossing the hall and listening to the pattering of the salt spray against the window, when, lo! there came a sharp rap at the house door. Mr Englefield unbarred it cautiously, and started as he encountered a very tall and slight figure wrapped in a shepherd’s plaid, and seeming to cower under the stormy blast.

“Mr Popham,” he said, in a low, constrained voice; then observing the wet and forlorn plight of the unexpected visitor, he added anxiously, “Come in, sir, I beg; come in. Catherine, see that Mr Popham’s room is got ready at once, and the stove lighted.”

“Don’t call me ‘Mr Popham,’ Englefield,” responded the musical, pleading voice of the stranger. “Call me John or Johnnie, as in old days, if you don’t wish to overpower me with shame and self-reproach. I have been an egregious fool, Englefield, and a most ungrateful one, and really know not in what terms to implore your forgiveness.”

“It is granted as soon as asked,” replied your uncle in his frank way, and he drew our guest in towards the blazing hearth, “Johnnie’s” arm lovingly twining itself round his neck as they walked together. What a revolution was this! I stood by, in silent wonder, watching Laurie’s brightening face, and glancing up curiously at the fair-haired stranger. As I observed his youthful appearance, more that of nineteen than of his real age, twenty-two; his delicate features, glowing with excitement; and his deep, blue eyes, with tears gathering on their long lashes, I no longer marvelled at the tenderness with which my husband had always spoken of him; my recent dislike quickly melted away, and kind feelings sprang up in its place. These feelings speedily took the practical shape of providing dry clothes, supper and bed for our guest, who seemed really distressed at giving me any trouble. He positively declined supper, saying, “he had dined late on the steamer.” As for bed, why it was hardly worth while preparing that, for he must be up and away by daybreak. “He should go with a lighter heart now Laurie had forgiven him.”

“Go, and whither?” inquired your uncle who out or delicacy had restrained his eager longing to learn how the affairs of the house stood.

“I hardly know,” answered Mr Popham; “that’s the point I want to discuss with you, Englefield. I think I must go to Scutari, as that rascal Orlando Jones appears to have crossed the Turkish frontier in that direction. I must, at any rate, track and secure those diamonds. I can never face Francis otherwise; you know they were entrusted to our care so specially.”

My husband had listened in speechless astonishment to these disclosures, and I saw him turn pale. Mr Popham saw it too.

“Is it possible, my dear Laurence,” he said, “that you had not heard of Jones’s having absconded? Why, I wrote you five days ago a penitential letter, and a full, true, and particular account of the rascal’s moonlight flitting; if, as it seems, you had never received my apology, I wonder you didn’t shut your door in my face; but you are the best fellow in the world.”

“Nonsense,” was the blunt reply; “drink that glass of mulled wine, John, I insist upon it, and then come with me. I must know all, that we may see what’s to be done, and do it at once.”

I saw little more of Laurie that evening; their voices might be heard through the thin wall in earnest talk. Then he went out into the town with a brow full of care and thought. He would not let young Popham go with him, but ordered him off to bed, observing.

“We will start early if I can obtain to-night from the authorities a pass into the Turkish dominions. My Cattarese servant, a sharp fellow, will soon find us horses and a guide for the journey.”

“Then you are going with me? God bless you, Laurie,” said John Popham, earnestly.

“Of course I am,” growled your uncle.

With an aching heart, I put the finishing touches to Laurie’s travelling gear, then went to bed, but not to quiet or refreshing sleep. There is generally something depressing, I think, in a very early setting out; my heart sinks now as I recall the breakfast by lamplight; faint, bluish dawn just marking the square outline of the window; the horses’ tread, as our man servant walked them up and down before the doors—the last words and directions hastily given by the travellers. Laurie found a moment to take me aside and say: “Cattie, I think we shall be back very shortly; Scutari, whither we can trace Jones, is but a few miles distant and our journey attended with little or no risk, as we are well armed, fairly mounted, and provided with a passport in due form. I have letters too to the Pasha which may induce him to assist us in our search after that rascal.”

“Have you much hope of catching him?” I asked.

Laurie shook his head. “I confess I have very little,” he said; “yet it seems worth the attempt at all events; Johnnie is bent on making it, and I can’t let him go alone, poor boy! Ah, had his letter reached me four days ago, as it would have done had he trusted it to fitting hands, we should have had a much better chance;” and he fairly stamped his foot with vexation.

Well, they started; it was a Tuesday, and several days dragged their slow length along, without any tidings of the absentees. Saturday morning came, and brought a throng of mountain women to market, unaccompanied, for the first time, by their husbands. Spira was there, and delighted to see me, but even to her I could not hint my troubles, as the good understanding then existing between Austria and England and the Turks, was a very sore subject to a Montenegrin. So I replied but vaguely to her inquiries after my lord and master, and begged to know why hers had not made his appearance as usual.

“Oh, your Excellency, he is much better employed,” she replied, “than coming down here to buy salt; have you not heard? has nobody told you the new outrage committed by those Turkish dogs? our deadly foe, the Pasha of Scutari, without notice or warning, has attacked our Bishop’s island fort of Lessandro, at the head of the Scutari lake, and taken it; ten of our men have been killed, my father’s brother’s son amongst them, and ten taken prisoners. The Bishop is mad about it, and Basil and all the picked men are flocking to him. The Pasha himself is at Lessandro,” added Spira, “may a bullet from our Vladika’s rifle whiz through his brain shortly! But what ails your Excellency? you shiver like our silver aspen leaves.”

I did indeed feel great disquiet at the thought of the wild work my husband might be witnessing, and finding Spira’s conversation too warlike to suit my taste, walked homewards slowly, bidding her follow with the marketings. In our sitting-room I found Mr Popham!

He came up and took my two hands in his, as if he had been the friend of a lifetime, instead of the acquaintance of an evening.

“I think, I hope he is safe,” he said, looking very white.

“How safe?” I asked; “tell me all, Mr Popham, if you please.”

“I will,” he answered; “it is a flesh-wound in the shoulder, nothing of consequence, on my honour; he bade me tell you so, with his love.”

“Am I to understand that you have left Mr Englefield wounded?” I asked; it never struck me, in my consternation, that I had worded the question harshly, till I saw Mr Popham’s look of deep distress. There was not the least anger in the crimson glow that suffused his face, nor in his voice as he huskily answered: “I deserve this for my cruel ingratitude towards him at Ragusa, but, on my honour, Mrs Englefield, I am not to blame for leaving him now, nor shall I know rest till I am again at his side.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I answered; “we will lose no time in going to him; and now, let me hear some particulars.”

“We reached Scutari all right,” said Mr Popham; “the Pasha had just left it to attack a fort belonging to the Prince of the Black Mountain; so we followed, and reached the camp just as the fort was being stormed. That evening we had an audience of the Pasha, in which Englefield laid the whole matter before him; he spoke us fair, and promised help, but it was all a sham, a regular sham; you will not wonder this when I tell you that Orlando Jones, unseen by us was at the Pasha’s elbow, bribing, cringing, and sticking at nothing to gain his ends! It seems the wretched man has long been in communication with the Turks, and has now adopted the Mussulman creed and dress. In requital, a lucrative post has been conferred on him.”

“But to return to Laurie: on Thursday night, finding the Pasha still impracticable, he advised our return to Cattaro next morning; we took our leave of that dignitary and retired to the hut assigned us by the Turkish quartermaster, in a wretched village near the head of the lake. A force of some two hundred Turks guarded the place, but so negligently that before daybreak they were surprised and overpowered by a daring band of Black Mountaineers. Our share in this transaction was rather passive than active; in fact I was dead asleep till the door of the hut was burst in; I then saw Englefield, who had been vainly trying to shake me into consciousness, deliberately place himself between me and the intruders. That was a perilous moment; several swords were aimed at us, and one came down on Laurie’s shoulder, inflicting the wound I have mentioned. I must confess that its effect would have been far more serious, but for a most strange and providential circumstance. A stalwart young mountaineer no sooner caught a glimpse of your husband’s face, than he rushed forward, grasped his comrade’s arm, so as to weaken the blow he could not quite avert, then threw himself on Laurie’s neck with wild yells of delight. A few words from this ‘Basil,’ as they called him, to his companions, changed their murderous fury into enthusiasm. Laurie was hoisted on their shoulders, and carried at a sort of shuffling trot a little way up the mountain, just within the frontier of Montenegro; I followed close at their heels, and saw him deposited in a hut, and his wound dressed by one of these gigantic highlanders. I watched by him for several hours afterwards.”

“And how did he seem?” I asked anxiously, for I well remembered Laurie’s telling me before we left England that he was of a feverish temperament, and that hurts which others would recover from quickly, became from that cause serious matters with him. The answer rather increased my fears. He had fallen into a doze, but wakened within an hour a good deal excited. Perhaps the extreme roughness of the bed they had laid him in, contributed to his unrest, also the heavy anxiety on his mind. He had talked confusedly of Orlando Jones, then he almost raved about me, first begging I might not be told of his state, then changing his mind suddenly, and entreating them to bring me to him. You will easily believe that I did not require such a summons to make me hasten to his side.

An old mountaineer, past fighting, who had guided Mr Popham to Cattaro, offered me his escort, and Spira, who was at the door with her mule, went into an ecstasy of delight at the prospect of showing her dear native crags to “our lady,” as she called me. I hastily put together needful clothes for myself and Laurie, old linen, a change of sheets for my dear patient, tea, arrow-root, and other provisions, and a selection from the precious medicine-chest. These were packed on one side of the stout mule, and a seat for me was devised on the other side. Happily for the animal, I was as light as a feather in those days. Seeing Mr Popham pale and fatigued, I urged him to remain at our house till his strength was recruited, and rejoin us the next Tuesday, when he would easily find a competent guide in the market-place; but he rejected this advice with vehemence, and after swallowing some refreshment and writing several letters to Ragusa and England, declared himself quite ready for a start. My heart warmed to him for his love of Laurie.

Up, up the zigzag path I had so long panted to explore; up, up, we climbed, but under circumstances how different from those I had pictured to myself! No Laurie at my side, enjoying every beautiful thing in earth, air, or sky, showing me what to sketch and how to sketch it; but vague, uneasy thoughts of him on his feverish couch and among half savage people. The channel of Cattaro lay below us, its jagged shores, studded with pretty villages; on all sides were craggy grey peaks, rising one behind the other, a sky of hazy blue arching over all. My guide Giuro was full of apologies for the roughness of the track we rode upon, telling me the old Montenegrin legend “that at the Creation, the bag which held the stones to be distributed over the earth, burst, and let them all fall on the Black Mountain.”

The road certainly was as bad as possible; but my mule advanced sturdily, by jumps and jerks, till we reached the top of the pass. There we were, I am afraid to pay how many hundred feet above the sea, but overhanging it so completely that a pebble dropped from one’s hand fell into the waves. The Ragusan steamer looked like a nutshell from our eminence.

The ascent had occupied two hours and a half; it took us three more to reach our halting-place, Cetigna, Spira’s home. A gentle descent led to the village, and in the distance shimmered a white shroud-like mist, which Spira told me covered the lake of Scutari. Somewhere in that direction Laurie must be lying, I knew; and the certainty doubled my impatience to get to him. Old Giuro now raised his voice to the shrillest key imaginable, and, in a way peculiar to these mountaineers, who talk to each other from hill tops half a mile asunder, announced that “our lady” was approaching. Whereupon a great hubbub arose; dogs barked, and feminine voices responded eagerly. Two or three muskets were presently discharged, and the twang of the balls as they passed near gave my nerves rather an unpleasant shock. I did not then know that the Black Mountaineers always receive their friends thus; in this instance female hands had loaded and fired, the men being almost all away fighting. A band of brightly-clad women, not less than forty in number, now came to meet me, their children frolicking round them, and some boys playing, not very discordantly, the one-stringed fiddle of the country. At their head walked a grey-haired matron, whom Spira pointed out as her grandmother, and who carried on her shoulder Nilo, looking lovely in a “strucca” striped olive-green and mulberry-red. The dear little fellow knew me at once, and almost sprang to my arms, whereupon the good housewives of Cetigna uttered a screech of delight, closed round me and kissed my cloak, hands, and even lips with a fervour I could have dispensed with.

Mr Popham, much amused with these greetings, pushed forward to the little inn of the place to order supper. I meanwhile yielded to Spira’s urgent wish, and turned into her cottage to be introduced to the remaining members of her family. You will smile, children, when you hear that I found squatting round the hearth a great-grandfather of a hundred years old, and a grandfather of eighty-two; her mother, a handsome woman with scarlet vest and girdle encrusted with cornelians was there also, and these, with Spira and her boy, made up five generations. Such patriarchal families, they say, are not uncommon on the Black Mountain. The fire-place was merely a raised hearth in one corner of the room, with a cauldron hanging over it. A lump of dough was baking on the ashes; chimney there was none, so the smoke eddied slowly round, a portion of it making its way into my throat and eyes; at least one pig reposed on the floor of the hut, and I heard a faint clucking of poultry roosting in some remote and dusky corner of the chamber. It really was a relief to get away from the motley group, and under Spira’s guidance I soon reached the clean little inn of Cetigna. Here, in the bright, low kitchen, I found Mr Popham on his knees, toasting bread, and at the same time giving our Cattarese landlady useful hints as to the grilling of some fine trout her boy had just caught. A quaintly-carved chair had been dragged to the fireside, and stuffed with cloaks to supply the want of cushions. Tea was set forth; also a flask of the famous Ragusa Malmesey; a red-legged partridge, intended by the hostess for her own supper, had been carried off for mine, she smiling complacently at the theft, and confiding to Spira that so pleasant a gentleman had never visited the mountain before! In fact, Mr Popham was now quite in his glory, and as I lazily leaned back in my chair and watched him (for he would not allow me to make myself of use), his ingenuity and overflowing good-nature amused and cheered me. After supper we held a little council as to next day’s movements, and my spirits were further raised by Mr Popham’s proposing that we should start at five in the morning, so as to get to Laurie by noon. The indefatigable Spira begged to be our guide; all was settled, and I went to bed in a small adjoining room, feeling almost happy. It was an untold comfort when alone to pull out my little Bible and Prayer-book, and in that wild region to be able to commend Laurie, myself, and all we loved to His fatherly care “in whose hand are all the corners of the earth.”

III.

“When pain and anguish wring the brow,

A ministering angel thou.”

Scott.

If I went to sleep with a cheerful impression of the Black Mountain, my first glance next morning dispelled it. I woke at four, dressed, and then put my head out of the one small window, from which I could see the village of Cetigna, bathed in white moonlight. This village, which, by the way, is the capital of Montenegro, seemed to consist of scarcely twenty hovels or houses, scattered about; a corner of a larger building was visible, which I found afterwards was the Prince-bishop’s palace. A crag rose opposite my window, on the top of which stood a low round tower, crowned with at least twenty Turkish skulls, fixed to tall stakes. Strange trophies those Turkish heads were for the residence of a Christian bishop! Spira’s entrance diverted my eyes and thoughts from these horrible proofs of Montenegrin ferocity; and after partaking of an inviting little breakfast of Mr Popham’a arranging I mounted my mule, and we set out. He rode also, and Spira and Giuro trudged alongside. Leaving Cetigna and its grassy plain behind, we rode down a rough and dangerous ascent. We saw not a human being till, on turning a sharp corner, we suddenly came on a party of Black Mountaineers—active-looking fellows, coming up from the Turkish frontier, and singing snatches of wild songs as they went. They were going to their homes to celebrate some feast, and meant to be back again under their Bishop’s standard before night. As usual with these highland soldiers, they had asked nobody’s leave but their own for this freak. They looked hard at me and then at Mr Popham, and pointed out to one another, well pleased, the Fez cap which he wore and politely took off to them. Hats and European caps of all sorts, you must know, they have a special dislike to. Spira and some of them exchanged greetings, and in reply to her questions one of them said:—“Basil Basilovich was well at sunset; I saw him with a fresh head at his girdle, guarding the hut of the wounded stranger from the west.” There was nothing to be gleaned from them respecting Mr Englefield’s state, so we pushed on once more, my eyes fixed on the brightening east, where presently the sun came up like a torch. We now came down on a rapid, clear, green stream, which hurries to the Lake of Scutari.

The stream widened into a little river, and we suddenly turned to the right, and went down to its bank through a patch of Indian corn seven feet high. A number of wild ducks flew out of the reeds, startled partly by our approach, partly by that of a boat, in which sat a solitary figure rowing vigorously. “It is Basil!” cried Spira, joyfully. He heard the voice, looked up, saw her, recognised me with a start of glad surprise, and at once ran his boat ashore, and joined us. Spira, after four days’ separation, did not know how to make enough of him. He seemed in his lordly manner truly glad to see her again, and asked with much earnestness after his boy. To me his manner was one of almost reverential courtesy; scarcely durst I ask him how he had left Laurie, but while the question was faltering on my tongue, Spira came out with it in round, unvarnished terms, saying, “Is our good Englishman alive?—is he better?”

“Alive, but not better,” answered Basil bluffly; “a hurt which I should have forgotten in three days has eaten into his very flesh and bone; there must be devilry in it, and I am on my way to fetch priest Jovan from Nariako to exorcise him.”

“Take me to him first, kind Basil,” said I anxiously; “I too have soothing spells here,” pointing to the valise which held my remedies, “nor shall prayers be wanting to aid them.” I wept as I spoke; Basil, with some odd contortions of feature, meant, I believe, to drive back sympathetic tears, beckoned us to get into the boat. Spira and he followed with my light baggage, and Giuro remained behind in charge of the animals. Softly and swiftly we glided along, the green waters rippling and gurgling round our boat. The river gradually widened till it grew into a lake, the lovely Lake of Scutari. Of its beauties I can say little, for, indeed, they fell on a heedless eye; but I remember well the deeply indented shore to our left, under which we stole along, the flocks of ducks and cormorants, and the noble milk-white herons that rose up screaming at our approach.

“Your husband lies yonder, near the crest of this next hill,” said Basil to me, indicating by a jerk of his chin a craggy height almost overhanging the water; “your excellency would see the roof of the hut, but a wild cherry tree hides it.” Then he explained to me (Mr Popham not understanding his dialect) that we had but to double one more headland, and we should come to a creek, and a landing-place, and a path leading straight to the hut. You may think how my heart bounded to be there!

But we were reckoning without our host. On rounding the headland there was the path indeed, like a white thread on the green height, but it was beset by foes. Several shots fired from that direction showed this too plainly; and I saw Basil’s eyes dilate with wonder and wrath as he marked the quick flashes, the smoke, the sharp report of fire-arms in the tall thicket. The fact was, the enemy had within the last quarter of an hour stolen on a party of mountaineers set to guard that point, and surprised them. Our friends were fighting with their usual desperate bravery, but they seemed likely to be worsted. Basil now signed to Mr Popham that we must turn back, and effect a landing on the other side of the headland; and accordingly ten minutes’ rowing brought us back to that point. Meanwhile, Mr Popham drew closer to me, and said, with a grave solicitude scarcely natural to him, “You see the plan is that we should scale the hill on this side, which the enemy has not reached—possibly may not attempt to reach. Once at the top—where Laurie is, I mean—you are safe enough, for a strong body of the black highlanders is posted there; and the Turks would have no object that I could see in attacking them. But, dear Mrs Englefield, there is a certain amount of risk in the ascent. I ought not to disguise this from you. If it—the ascent, I mean—should occupy much time (and it is so steep and tangled that it might prove tedious); and if our friends should be driven back speedily, the Turks might be upon us before we reached the crest. Mind, I don’t say it is probable, but it is possible. For a man the risk is a trifle, not worth thinking twice about; but for a woman!—Good heavens!—that’s quite another thing.”

He paused, then added, “The sum of all this is, that I want you to turn back with Spira, and stay at the next hamlet till this alarm is over. Basil will guide me back to Laurie, and we will cheer him with the hope of your coming. I am a poor nurse compared with you, but I’ll do my best.”

He was so kind, so in earnest, poor fellow! I wrung his hand, and said, “Thank you again and again. You are a true friend, and Laurie knows it. But if you won’t think me obstinate, I would rather go on; Laurie may be very ill, very wretched; and the wild people about him may not know how to treat him. You would hardly know, perhaps, for you can’t be used to sick-room ways, and Laurie’s ways in particular. From what you say, the risk is small, almost nothing; and I was brought up at the foot of Skiddaw, and can climb like a cat, so I should not delay you; and—”

“Enough!” he said, resuming his offhand manner. “Such an array of reasons cannot be gainsaid; and, indeed, I shouldn’t feel comfortable in leaving you down here with no champion but little Spira, so let us be off at once. Head the van, you see, by crossing this Slough of Despond on friend Basil’s back!”

Danger always sharpens my sense of the ridiculous, and the sight of Basil steadying himself with a pole, and striding through the mire with the long-legged Englishman on his back, fairly upset my gravity. He soon landed him, and came back for me; lifting me on one arm, and carrying me as easily and tenderly as if I had been little Nilo.

Well! we scrambled up the pathless steep, through oaks and ashes of mushroom growth to a height of perhaps two hundred feet. It was troublesome climbing, for there was an undergrowth of brier and bramble which tore my clothes, and the sharp crags which jutted in all directions out of the ground cut my feet; nevertheless, I progressed rapidly, outstripping Spira and Mr Popham, and keeping alongside of Basil, who now and then stretched out a helping hand to me and nodded grim approval.

No one uttered a word, and a sign from Basil made us understand that we were to keep in the shade, lest, perchance, some of the enemy might be straggling in our direction. I was growing tired and breathless, when our herculean guide signed to me to look upwards. My eye following the lead of his finger, travelled across a curtain of foliage—the delicate ash leaf, faded and ready to drop away; the sturdier oak, brown, yellow, dull green, or blotted with crimson. At the top of all was a hut perched on the edge of the cliff; that was Laurie’s hut, Basil whispered. I could see the wall, built of rough stones, and a miserable little hole meant for a window, and a bright patch of red, probably a “strucca,” stuffed into it to keep out the cold. At that sight I forgot my fatigue, and Mr Popham grew excited, and waved his cap over his head, crying, “Hurrah! Now go ahead, Mrs Englefield!” for which piece of boyish folly he received a frown from Basil, the darkest I ever saw on human face.

We were brought here to a standstill by a smooth wall of rock about ten feet high. In order to get round it, we had to crawl some yards to our right, that is nearer to the scene of conflict. There were voices, trampling of feet, and the report of fire-arms, close by, as it seemed, but really on the shoulder of the hill, a quarter of a mile off. “More foes climbing the hill!” Basil muttered; “I know their tread. Why do not our men come down, and give them the meeting? Ah, they are coming! praise to Saint Basil! I hear them—I see them;” and he lifted his head cautiously, and fixed his lynx eyes on a point where the hillside met the pale blue sky. “They are pouring down—twenty, thirty of them! Not one would stay behind, I warrant! Ah, why must I?”

“Why must you, husband?” responded Spira, but in a submissive tone. “Go, and trust me to guide our lady to her husband. I will die sooner than any harm should befall her.”

It was a tempting offer, but the noble fellow resisted it. “Go to,” he said, still in the same low voice. “What! leave our Nilo’s preserver to the care of a woman, and of a prating boy that knows not how to take care of himself? Peace, woman! not another word!”

We climbed the rock at the first practicable place, Basil mounting first, and lowering one end of his “strucca” for me to hold by. Mr Popham followed, saying, playfully, in my ear, “Ticklish work, ain’t it; this holding on by one’s nails and eyebrows?”

Poor, poor John! yet why should I say so? No doubt, Providence ordered all that should befall him, and ordered it in mercy. He was of too yielding a nature, perhaps, to fight the battle of life, yet too tender-hearted and right-minded to err without anguish of spirit. Yes, I see now, and Laurie sees, that all was ordered for the best! But to proceed.

We now crept towards the left, on a narrow ledge surmounted by a natural wall, similar to that we had scaled. This wall and the shelf beneath it, jutted out at one point so as to conceal all beyond it; when Basil reached the spot, he looked stealthily round the angle of the rock, drew back sharply, shouldered his gun, and signed to Mr Popham to do the same. At that instant, two shots were fired by the unseen foes, but fell harmless. Basil advanced, partially screened by the rock, took aim and fired; then I heard branches crashing. Certainly the enemy had been struck or fled; but there were more behind,—three, four, turbaned Turks pressing round the corner! Basil, seeing them, flung down his gun and threw himself upon the foremost. The Turk seemed not much behind him in strength, and for several terrible minutes they wrestled together, John Popham’s threatening attitude as he stood ready to fire, keeping the others at bay. The struggle ended by Basil’s enemy slipping his foot, and being flung down the steep. I know not whether he was badly hurt or not, but he gave us no more trouble, vanishing amid the brushwood with magic speed. His three comrades now showed some disposition to do the same, but Basil would not let them; he snatched, with a fierce smile, the gun I had reloaded (yes, I could load a gun, your uncle had taught me to do that early in our married life), and fired it at the foremost man, but to my infinite relief, with no deadly effect. The poor fellow, though slightly wounded, summoned strength to dash over the precipice and make his escape. The third followed unhurt; only one remained, an elderly wrinkled man, who, it seemed, knew something of Christian and civilised usages; he threw down his gun, cast himself at John Popham’s feet, and in an abject, yet piteous tone, exclaimed, “Quarter, quarter, noble sir; you are no Montenegrin to slay a helpless old man.”

Poor John could not make out a word of this appeal, but the cry for mercy could not be mistaken, and it found an instant response in his gentle heart. He gave the suppliant a re-assuring nod, and signed to the astounded Basil that he would not permit him to be touched. Alas, what availed his kind intentions? I have been told there is no instance on record of a Black Mountaineer giving quarter to a Mussulman, to such lengths have ages of oppression goaded a generous people! Seeing the deadly fire in Basil’s eye, I flew to him and plied him with prayers and angry expostulations. All in vain; he beckoned Spira to lead me away as one should give over a petted but troublesome child to its nurse, and deliberately put a pistol to the old man’s head. “Now, if this is not butchery, I don’t know what is!” I heard John exclaim; and without a moment’s hesitation, he snatched at the pistol and tried to wrest it from Basil’s grasp. I could not see exactly what passed, but there was a moment’s struggle, then a report, and the ball lodged in John’s breast. Oh, the agony of that moment! words cannot paint, nor thought realise it! With a loud cry, Basil rushed forward to support Mr Popham, but I bade him stand back, and he at once obeyed. I contrived to catch poor John as he fell, and laying his head on my left arm tried my utmost with the other hand to stanch the blood that flowed from the wound. It was right to try, but I knew all the while it was perfectly useless. He sighed once or twice, then opened his large blue eyes, and looked fixedly on me; oh, with such a beautiful soft expression. I am sure he felt no pain, he seemed perfectly easy in body and mind; it was a comfort even then, to be sure of this. “It’s no use, Mrs Englefield,” he murmured, bringing out each word very slowly; “No use, thank you; I’m going—best I should go—I should have done no credit to the house—tell Laurie, with my love—now farewell—God bless you—and me too—and I think He will.” His head dropped on my arm at that last word, and he added no more; I believe the angels were coming for him then.

Don’t cry, my dear children; perhaps had John lived to grow grey, there might have been greater and truer cause to weep for him.

I did not speak or move for some time, for life seemed still flickering about the parted lips. At length the stillness could not be mistaken, and I laid his head softly on a mossy stone, and closed his eyes; then I looked round and saw Basil leaning against the rock, watching me with an expression of sullen misery in his face. My heart smote me, for after all he had never intended to hurt John, and it had been partly the poor fellow’s reckless way of snatching his weapon that had caused this calamity; still, I felt too much revolted by the cold-blooded attempt on the Turk’s life, to speak to him with calmness, so we remained aloof and silent.

A great stir now arose on the hillside, and I saw a large party of the mountaineers returning from their raid against the Turks with every mark of triumph. Presently, a number of them turned in our direction. Many glittering dark eyes rested on our mournful group with curiosity, wonder, or pity. I felt abashed at first, and was considering how I could enlist their help in carrying the body to a place of shelter near Laurie’s hut, when I saw the crowd open. To my great joy, an officer in European dress came forward, exclaiming “Is it possible? you, Mrs Englefield, here?” then, seeing my bloodstained hands and cloak, he added, “and hurt, I fear?” and he was at my side in a moment. With unspeakable comfort, I recognised Captain Blundel, an Englishman, in the Austrian engineer service, who had dined with us several times at Cattaro. My husband liked him particularly, and their acquaintance seemed in the way to become a friendship, when Captain Blundel had been ordered up the country in order to survey some part of it for a government map. I soon relieved his mind of the fear that I was wounded, and told my story in the fewest words possible. Oh, the relief of having a strong mind to lean upon once more! Not till then did I know how utterly exhausted I was. Captain Blundel seemed quite at home with the mountaineers, selected some to carry the body up the hill, sent a couple to guard the door of Mr Englefield’s hut, lest the tidings should be carried to him hastily, and, lastly, to my great delight, took measures to procure surgical help for him as quickly as possible.

“That is a blessing I dared not hope for,” I exclaimed; “they told me there was no surgeon to be found in Montenegro.”

“And they told you right;” he answered, “but happily at this moment, it is otherwise. The Prince-bishop, who was brought up, you know, in Russia, has a clever medical man from Saint Petersburgh on a visit to him just now; his highness is about to pass this way, on his march from the Lake of Scutari back to Cetigna; he knows me well, and is besides too kind-hearted not readily to lend us Dr Goloff’s services for a short time.”

We walked slowly up the hill, Captain Blundel and myself keeping near the party that bore poor John’s body. The other mountaineers hurried forward with such shouts of glee and exultation that I could not help asking what it all meant. “It means,” replied my companion, “that the gallant fellows have made a successful raid over the Turkish border, and surprised an underling of the Pasha of Scutari, laden with money and jewels of his master’s and his own. I was surveying near the spot where he was captured. I never saw a fellow so terrified, and not without reason, for they would have beheaded him there and then, had he not declared himself a British subject and no Turk; they carried him to their Prince, in whose custody he remains.”

It flashed at once across my mind that this description agreed, in many points, with that of Orlando Jones. I determined, without delay, to hint these suspicions to Captain Blundel, and gave him, in the strictest confidence, an outline of that villain’s history. He listened gravely, asked several questions much to the point, and ended by begging me to trust the matter in his hands.

We were now at our journey’s end, and I begged for some water, and hastily washed my bloodstained hands and cloak, lest they should frighten your uncle. Captain Blundel, meanwhile, saw the body laid in a sheltered place, and appointed two mountaineers to watch by it. But Basil, he afterwards told me, now came forward, and insisted on that duty being left to him; he would take no refusal, and more than once, when Captain Blundel looked in, he found him on his knees at the head of the rude bier, praying devoutly. “No people,” added Captain Blundel, “make longer prayers than the Black Mountaineers, nor, I believe, more devout ones.”

I entered alone the hovel where my husband lay; what a place it was! The floor was unpaved, and positively alive with mice and fleas; the walls were of stones loosely heaped together, and little bright flecks of light peeped through the crevices. Wood smoke curled up from the hearth and so dimmed the air that I could not at once distinguish the dear object of my search. Two women were there, kind though rough nurses; one was baking cakes on the hearth for him, the other was holding to his lips a cup of sour milk. He was propped up against a pile of blankets, and his features looked wan and sunk. He caught sight of me at once, and snatched me to his breast with a vehemence so unlike his calm self that it almost startled me. So did his rapid utterance and feverish rather unconnected questions, ending with, “Where’s John? isn’t he with you?”

“No,” I tremblingly answered, neither daring to tell the truth nor to withhold it from him in his critical state.

“Then, my dear, where is he?” he rejoined quickly.

“He is—he has been called home,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Very extraordinary,” I heard him mutter, as he sank back on his pallet, “but they were right; John has no head for business; when did he go home, my dear?”

I could not help bursting into tears at this reiterated inquiry; your uncle raised himself on his elbow and gazed in my face, and as he did so, a sudden light seemed to break in upon him. I knew suspense would be torture, and added, “Yes, dear Laurie, he was called home this morning; his death was by a pistol-shot, purely accidental,—no pain, no distress, conscious to the last, and quite satisfied to go; he desired me to give you his love, Laurie; now you know the truth, and you shall hear every particular as soon as you are strong enough to bear it.”

Your uncle heard these tidings in perfect silence; he was calm, but too deeply heart-stricken to speak; next to me, I think he loved John better than any one in the world; often, very often, when I go into his dressing-room, I find him gazing on the sketch of him in crayons, that hangs over his chimney-piece. I will show it you when, you come to stay with us.

It was a sense of thankfulness for my preservation from danger that made your uncle bear up as he did. When I came to examine his wound I was shocked at the state it was in. A sword-cut extended from the neck over the shoulder to the arm, not only unhealed, but to the highest degree inflamed. No wonder his whole frame was fevered, for the suffering must have been severe indeed. The kind but rough treatment of his highland nurses was not calculated to promote a speedy cure; the food they brought him was not such as a sick man could eat; nor could they understand his English prejudice in favour of cleanliness. With great difficulty (he afterwards told me) he had the night of his arrival obtained a poultice, the application of which had given him such relief that he had dropped asleep. Presently, however, he was wakened by two or more rats tugging at it with all their might. He had tried to drive the intruders away, but was fairly obliged to give in, and fling the poultice to the farthest corner of the room.

I was bathing the shoulder with warm water when a stranger in the uniform of a Russian colonel appeared, and introduced himself as Dr Goloff. He went to business at once, inspected the wound, felt the pulse, then said there was no chance of his patient’s improving until he was removed from that unwholesome place. The irritative fever which accompanies such a wound had been much aggravated, he said, by bad air and improper dressings. He was commissioned, he added, by his friend Captain Blundel to see Mr Englefield removed at once to Captain Blundel’s tent, which was pitched for surveying purposes near the foot of this hill. No sooner said than done. A kind of litter was constructed, and your uncle placed upon it. We were about to set out when I saw Basil eyeing us from afar, sadly and gloomily. The remembrance of a shade of injustice towards him came across me painfully, so I went to him and asked him to be one of Laurie’s bearers; poor Basil! he sprang to execute my bidding with a look of impassioned gratitude that was most touching. With his powerful help the short journey was soon accomplished, and the litter safely set down in the large, watertight, and cheerful tent.

A painful process was needed in order to bring the wound into a right state for healing, and when it was over, Dr Goloff administered to your uncle a composing draught, adding, cheerily, “You, monsieur, will do well to sleep, while I give madame instructions for your future treatment.” He then drew me aside, and after relieving my mind by giving a favourable opinion of the case added a strong caution against suffering Laurie’s mind to dwell on painful subjects. By so doing, he said, not only would the patient’s recovery be rendered tedious, but his nerves might be shaken for life. He could see that some anxiety weighed heavily on his mind; it should at all costs be removed.

“It should indeed, but how?” thought I, with a despairing sigh.

The sorrowful question was about to be answered through the mercy of that good Providence which helps even the faithless and undeserving. I was musing dolefully at the tent door when a large party appeared in the distance, and one of them spurred forward, and came up to me at full gallop. It was Captain Blundel. He dismounted, and with a beaming face said—“Good news, Mrs Englefield; I think I have brought your patient a tonic more effectual than even Dr Goloff could prescribe. When I left you an hour and a half ago, I went to the Prince-Bishop, and imparted to him our suspicions as to the true name and history of his prisoner, begging his permission to sift the matter. With his usual gentlemanlike feeling he at once granted it. I then hastened to the hut where the prisoner lay guarded by unfriendly Montenegrins. Without preamble, I said, ‘I have the honour of speaking to Mr Orlando Jones, I believe?’ ‘Who told you my name, sir?’ he exclaimed, starting to his feet in great alarm: then, perceiving the mistake he had made in thus proving his own identity, he tried to retract, but stammered and broke down. I proceeded quietly to demand the restoration of the papers and jewels, fraudulently carried off by him from Mr Popham’s office at Ragusa. He tried to shuffle off the charge. ‘Very well,’ said I, ‘do as you please, but mark me, I am empowered by his highness to say that only by full restitution can you hope for a continuance of his protection; if that is withdrawn, your life is scarcely worth a pin’s purchase.’ The poor wretch turned pale and shook in every joint. Feeling, doubtless, the truth of this last remark he surrendered at discretion, entreating me to stand his friend, and confessing the whole extent of his frauds. His property, he said, was all in the hands of his captors, but it was possible they might not have discovered the jewels as they were cunningly secreted within his saddle. To be brief, I got the Vladika’s leave to examine the saddle, and found within it this packet, which I have every reason to believe is the object of your husband’s search.”

Tremblingly I carried the precious packet to your dear uncle. Never shall I forget his look of relief on opening it, and finding the lost jewels safe. Some important papers were also there—everything, in fact, that was missing; for the most valuable documents of all, Laurie had had the precaution to transfer to his office at Cattaro when his suspicions of Jones had ripened into certainty.

After warmly thanking Captain Blundel for his invaluable help, your uncle said, “Let me ask of you, my dear friend, two more proofs of kindness. In the first place, will you undertake the safe transport of this precious packet to Cattaro, whither you say you are shortly to return; in the next, will you convey the expressions of my sincere gratitude to the Prince-Bishop in the fittest terms?”

“Your first request is easily granted,” replied Captain Blundel; “your last it would be superfluous in me to undertake, as the Vladika has expressed his intention of inquiring after you in person, and here he comes.”

I turned and saw Basil, holding up the tent curtain while his highness entered. The prince did indeed appear a Saul amongst his people. Taller than the tallest Black Highlander from the shoulders upwards, his figure was finely modelled, his movements were free and active, his eyes dark and brilliant. Nothing about him except his long beard, which was black and glossy, reminded one of his sacred office; he wore a scarlet pelisse, fur cap, blue wide trousers, and in his belt a pair of plain pistols. He advanced towards Laurie’s bed, replying with peculiar grace to my silent courtesy, then in a voice of almost languid gentleness inquiring of me after my husband’s wound. He spoke in French. I took courage to reply in the same language, offering our heartfelt thanks for his intervention in our favour, and for Dr Goloff’s timely aid. Laurie raised himself on one arm and joined in these acknowledgments, but the Vladika kindly bade him lie down. He remained but a few minutes with us, being in haste to resume his journey, and at his departure he frankly and cordially invited us to return his visit at Cetigna. Basil attended him back to his charger, then returned full of pride and delight to congratulate us on this honour.

We saw the kind and noble Prince-Prelate no more, as a Turkish invasion of his northern frontier hurried him away from his little capital before Laurie was well enough to be moved there. We remained ten days under Captain Blundel’s canvas roof, he most kindly undertaking to superintend the removal of poor John’s body to Cattaro, and its respectful interment there. Meanwhile Basil was my unwearied helper in the task of nursing Laurie—a happy task, as the beloved invalid gained strength each day. The faithful fellow escorted us to cetigna, then flow back to his prince’s side for some weeks, but managed to return to Cetigna in time to be our guide to Cattaro. How thankful I felt when I saw your dear uncle once more installed in his home! and to complete my satisfaction, his dear and early friend, Francis Popham, joined us there almost immediately, having left England on receiving from Captain Blundel the mournful tidings of his brother’s death. Under his able management, affairs were soon restored to perfect order. I scarcely need to tell you how it has pleased Heaven to prosper your uncle’s and his joint exertions since that time, and how a few months ago your uncle became a partner in that house and we returned to live in dear old England.

Basil and Spira are still alive. “Little Nilo” is grown a noble-looking youth as gallant as his father, and far better taught, having received a good education in one of the excellent schools founded by our friend Bishop Danilo.

Thus ends our adventure on the Black Mountain; so now to bed, all of you, and I wish you a good night and happy dreams.

Chapter Five.

The Boatswain’s Son: A Tale of the Sea, by William H.G. Kingston.

It was the memorable 1st of June. A sea fight ever to be renowned in history was raging between the fleets of England and France. The great guns were thundering and roaring, musketry was rattling, round-shot, and chain-shot, and grape, and langridge, and missiles of every description, invented for carrying on the bloody game of war, were hissing through the air, crashing against the sides of the ships, rending them asunder, shattering the tall masts and spars, sending their death-dealing fragments flying around, and hurling to the deck, mangled and bleeding, the gallant seamen as they stood at their quarters in all the pride of manhood, fighting for the honour and glory of heir respective countries. A dark canopy hung over the scene, every moment increasing in density as the guns belched forth their flashes of flame and clouds of smoke, filling the pure air of heaven with sulphureous vapours, and almost concealing the fierce combatants from each other’s gaze.

“Who is that brave youngster?” asked the captain of the renowned ‘Marlborough,’ a seventy-four, which lay hotly engaged surrounded by foes in the thick of the fight; “I never saw a cooler thing or better timed.”

“The son of Mr Ripley the boatswain, sir,” was the answer.

“I must have my eye on him, there is stuff in that lad,” observed the captain. The deed which had called forth this eulogium was certainly well worthy of praise. The “Marlborough” had for some time been furiously engaged, almost broadside to broadside, with the “Impétueux,” a French seventy-four, which ship had just fallen aboard her, the Frenchman’s bowsprit becoming entangled in her mizen rigging. To keep her antagonist in that position was of the greatest consequence to the “Marlborough,” as she might thus rake her fore and aft, receiving but little damage in return. An officer and two or three men sprang into the “Marlborough’s” mizen rigging to secure the bowsprit to it. The French small-arm men rushed forward to prevent this being done, by keeping up a fire of musketry. The two seamen fell. The lieutenant still hung in the rigging, but the rope with which he was lashing the bowsprit to it was shot from his hand; no other was within reach. Having just delivered the powder he had brought from below, young Ripley was watching the proceeding. Seizing a rope he sprang into the ringing unhurt amid a shower of bullets, and handed it to the brave officer. Together they made the required turns for lashing it fast, and descended to the deck in safety. The young powder-boy then resuming his tub was speedily again seen at his station, composedly sitting on the top of it as if he had performed no unusual deed. The “Marlborough” had soon another antagonist, the “Mucius,” seventy-four, which fell aboard her on the bow, the three ships thus forming a triangle, of which the British ship was the base. With these two opponents, each more powerful than she was, the “Marlborough” continued the seemingly unequal fight, but the stout arms and hearts of her crew made amends for their inferiority in numbers. Her mizen-mast fell soon after the “Mucius” engaged her, her fore and main masts followed, and the Frenchmen began to hope that victory was to be theirs, but they had not discovered at that time the stuff of which British tars are made. Though dismasted herself, she had her foes fast so that they could not escape. So well did her crew work their guns, that they quickly shot away the bowsprit and all the lower masts of the “Impétueux,” those of the “Mucius” soon sharing the same fate. At this juncture another French ship, the “Montague,” passing under the “Marlborough’s” stern, fired a broadside into her of round-shot and langridge, killing many of her brave crew, and wounding among others her captain, though receiving but a few shots in return. The first battle in that long, protracted, and bloody war was over, and won by England’s veteran admiral, Lord Howe; six of the enemy’s finest line of battle ships forming the prize of victory, and among them the “Impétueux.”

The “Marlborough’s” captain had not forgot the promise he had made to himself in favour of Young Ripley. As he lay wounded in his cabin he sent for the boatswain. The proud father had heard of his son’s gallantry, and the captain’s words had been repeated to him. It would have been difficult to find a finer specimen of the superior class of British seaman, the pith and sinew of the navy, than the boatswain of the “Marlborough” presented, as, still in the prime of manhood, he stood, hat in hand, before his captain. By his manner and appearance he looked indeed well fitted for the higher ranks of his profession, but it was his lot to be a boatswain, and he did not complain. With unfeigned satisfaction he heard the account of his son’s gallantry and coolness rehearsed by the captain’s lips.

“You have always proved yourself to be a brave man and a good officer, and although I have it not in my power to reward you as you deserve, I can your son,” said the captain. “Would it be satisfactory to you to see him placed on the quarterdeck?”

The father’s heart beat quick; the blush of gratified pride rose to his cheeks as he answered, “It is the thing of all others I should prize. I trust that he will not be found unfitted for the rank to which he may attain if you thus put his foot on the lower ratlins.”

“I am glad to have hit the thing to please you, Mr Ripley,” said the captain. “Your son shall at once be rated as a midshipman in the ship’s books;” and then he added, a shade of grief passing across his countenance, “He will have no difficulty in getting an outfit from the kits of the four youngsters who were killed on the 1st. By the by, what is he called?”

“Pearce, sir—Pearce Ripley is his name,” answered the boatswain.

“Very well; send my clerk to me, and tell your boy that he is a midshipman. The first lieutenant will introduce him to his new messmates, and secure him a favourable reception,” said the captain as the boatswain withdrew.

Pearce Ripley was a fine-looking lad of about fourteen, with an ingenuous countenance and frank manner, which spoke of an honest, brave heart. With the ship’s company he had been a general favourite; it was to be proved how far he would recommend himself to the officers.

In the afternoon the young gentlemen, as all the members of the midshipmen’s mess were called, were summoned on the quarterdeck, and briefly addressed by Mr Monckton, the first lieutenant. Pearce Ripley was then sent for, and the boatswain’s son had no cause to complain of his reception by those whose messmate he was about to become. They, with one exception, came forward and cordially shook him by the hand, and when he entered the berth they all seemed to vie who should pay him the most unobtrusive attention as forthwith to place him at his ease. So surely will true bravery and worth be rightly esteemed by the generous-hearted officers of the British Navy. Pearce had gained the respect of his messmates; he soon won their regard by his readiness to oblige, his good temper, his evident determination not to give or take offence, and his general kind bearing towards all. On duty he showed that he was resolved to merit the good opinion which had been formed of him. The only person who differed from the majority was Harry Verner, a midshipman of about his own age. Though Verner had shaken hands with him, it had been with reluctance and marked coldness. His manner was now haughty and supercilious in the extreme, and he took every opportunity of making sneering remarks about men who had risen from the lower orders always being out of place and never doing any good. “If such were to become customary in the service, it would drive all the gentlemen out of it,” he remarked one day in Pearce’s hearing. “Not if those who entered it knew how to behave as gentlemen,” Pearce replied, quietly. Verner said nothing in return, but he gave a look to show his intense displeasure. Generally Pearce walked away when Verner spoke in that style, or when at table, and he could not move, pretended not to hear what was said.

The fleet reached Portsmouth. Great was the satisfaction of the British nation at the victory won. The good King George the Third and the kind Queen Charlotte went on board all the ships and visited the wounded; honours were awarded to the chiefs, and those officers who had especially distinguished themselves were presented to their Sovereigns. Among others was Pearce Ripley, as the midshipman who had helped to take the “Impétueux.” The “Marlborough’s” crew declared on this that he was a marked man and must get on in the service. The remark greatly excited Harry Verner’s indignation and wrath. “It is high time for me to quit the service after this,” he remarked, when the King patted Pearce on the head, but did not even glance towards him. Of memorable days in English history, the 1st of June, 1794, stands justly prominent.

II.

The “Marlborough,” though victorious, had received so tremendous a battering from her numerous opponents, that it was very clear the stout craft could not again go to sea without a thorough repair. Her officers and crew were therefore distributed among other ships then fitting out, and thus Pearce, for the first time in his life, was separated from his father, to whom he had always been accustomed to look up for guidance and advice. In some respects this might have been an advantage to the young midshipman, but the parting cost both more pains than either confessed. “I am no great preacher, my boy, but remember there’s One ever watching over you, and He’ll be true to you if you try honestly to be true to Him,” said the boatswain, as he wrung his son’s hand, and stepped down the side of the fine frigate to which Pearce through the interest of his late captain had been appointed. The crew went tramping round the capstan to the sound of the merry fife, the anchor was away, and under a wide spread of snowy canvas the dashing “Blanche” of thirty-two guns, commanded by the gallant Captain Faulkner, stood through the Needle passage between the Isle of Wight and the main, on her way down channel, bound out to the West Indies. It was a station where hurricanes, yellow fever, and sicknesses, and dangers of all sorts were to be encountered, but it was also one where enemies were to be met with, battles to be fought, prizes to be captured, and prize-money to be made, glory, honour, and promotion to be obtained, and who on board for a moment balanced one against the other?

Several of Pearce’s old shipmates were on board the “Blanche,” and two of his messmates, from one of whom, Harry Verner, he would rather have been separated; the other, David Bonham, he was very glad to see. Between Bonham and Verner the contrast was very great; for the former, though of excellent family, was the most unpretending fellow possible, free from pride, vanity, and selfishness, and kind-hearted, generous, good-tempered, and the merriest of the merry. The first A.B. who volunteered for the “Blanche,” when he knew Mr Pearce had been appointed to her, was Dick Rogers, an old friend of his father’s, with whom he had served man and boy the best part of his life; and if there was one thing more strongly impressed on Dick’s mind than another, it was that John Ripley, the boatswain, ought to have been a post-captain. For his father’s sake Dick had at first loved Pearce, and now loved him for his own. “Though his father isn’t what he should be, he shall be, that he shall, or it won’t be my fault,” he said to himself. Dick was no scholar, and had not many ideas beyond those connected with his profession, except that particular one in favour of Pearce which might or might not be of any service to him, and yet let us never despise a friend, however humble. Pearce did not, though he possibly had not read the fable of the lion and the mouse.

Dick Rogers was short and broad in the shoulders, though not fat, with a huge, sandy beard, a clear blue eye, and an honest smile on his lips, and saying that he was a seaman every inch of him, he needs no further description. Verner let it be known, among their new messmates, that Pearce Ripley was only the boatswain’s son; and hearing this, Bonham took great care to recount to them his gallant act on the 1st of June, and to speak otherwise in his praise. Dick forward did not fail to make the young midshipman his theme, and there the fact of his parentage was undoubtedly in his favour. “We shall be, no doubt, alongside an enemy some day soon, and then will be seen what stuff the youngsters are made of,” was the remark of several on board. They were not wrong in their prognostications. The Island of Desiderade, near Guadeloupe, was in sight to windward. “A sail on the weather bow!” was shouted by the look-out at the mast’s head, always the keenest sighted of the seamen on board in those days.

The frigate made all sail in pursuit of the stranger, a large schooner under French colours. The chase stood into a bay defended by a fort, where she was seen to anchor with springs to her cables. Along the shore a body of troops were also observed to be posted. The drum beat to quarters as the “Blanche” worked up towards the fort, when, the water shoaling, she anchored and opened her fire in return for that which the fort, the schooner, and the soldiers were pouring in on her. Captain Faulkner’s first object was to silence the fort. This was soon done. The schooner, which it was clear was heavily armed, must be brought out. The boats were called away, under command of the second lieutenant. Pearce leaped into the one to which he belonged. A master’s mate, Fitzgibbon, had charge of her, and Dick Rogers formed one of her crew. Harry Verner was in another. Away the boats dashed, at a rate boats always do move pulled by British seamen when a prize is to be taken. The Frenchmen worked their guns bravely. A shot disabled the leading boat. Pearce, sitting by Fitzgibbon’s side, heard a deep groan, and before he could even look up the master’s mate fell forward, shot through the head. His boat took the lead. “Now’s your time,” cried Dick Rogers; “we’ll be the first aboard, lads.” The crew were not slack to follow the suggestion. In another moment they were up to the schooner, and, leaping on her deck, led by Pearce, laid on them so fiercely with their cutlasses that the Frenchmen, deserting their guns, sprang over the bulwarks into their boats on the other side nearest the shore, and, before another boat reached the vessel, pulled away towards where the troops were marching down to their support. The cables were quickly cut, and amid a shower of ballets sail was made, and the prize carried out. “I said as how he’d do it—I said he wouldn’t be wanting,” exclaimed Dick Rogers, as he gave his account of the cutting out expedition to his chums on board. “He’ll do more too come another occasion.” That occasion did occur before many days were over. Two days afterwards the “Blanche” was joined by the “Quebec” frigate, and together, when sailing by Guadeloupe, they discovered the French thirty-six-gun frigate “Pique” lying at anchor in the harbour of Pointe-à-Pitre, ready for sea. Not to deprive his brother captain of the honour he might obtain by engaging an antagonist so worthy of him, Captain Carpenter parted company, and the “Quebec,” steering westward, was soon out of sight. The next thing to be done was to get the French frigate to come out from under her protecting batteries to fight. This seemed no easy matter, for prizes were captured and sent away under her very nose, and still she did not venture forth. At length, however, on the memorable evening of the 4th of January, the “Blanche,” towing off another prize in triumph, the “Pique” was seen to follow. The sun went down. It was the last many a brave man was destined to see. Darkness had come on, when the French frigate was observed through the gloom astern. The “Blanche” tacked in chase.

In the solemn hour of midnight, while darkness covered the face of the deep, the two vessels approached each other, their relative positions clearly distinguished by the light from the fighting-lanterns which streamed from their ports. The British crew, mostly stripped to the waist, stood at their quarters, grim and determined, with the gun-tackles in hand, eager for the moment to open fire. Pearce was on the quarterdeck. Young as he was, the whizzing of shots and the whistling of bullets scarcely made his heart beat quicker than usual, and yet, as in gloom and silence he waited for the signal when the bloody strife must commence, he felt an awe creep over him he had never before experienced. Nearer and nearer the combatants drew to each other. The “Pique” commenced the fight. The “Blanche” returned her distant fire; and, after various manoeuvres, the two frigates ranged up alongside each other and hotly engaged, broadside to broadside, in the fashion in which British tars have ever delighted. Fiercely the two crews fought; the French, once having began, proved themselves no unworthy antagonists. The main and mizen-masts of the “Blanche” fell, and the French, seizing the moment, ran alongside and attempted to board. The British crew sprang up to repel them. Among the foremost was Pearce, with Dick Rogers by his side. With their sharp cutlasses they drove the Frenchmen back. Again the guns roared as before. Once more the French ship fell aboard the “Blanche,” her bowsprit touching the latter’s capstan. Captain Faulkner hurried to secure it there, for the “Pique,” thus held, was exposed to the raking fire of his frigate. Among those who flew to assist him were Pearce Ripley and Dick Rogers, the Frenchman’s musketry playing hotly on them. “This is something like what you did in the old ‘Marlborough,’ sir,” said Dick to Pearce, so loud that all might hear him—so many did, and noted the words. Death was busy around them. While he was passing the lashing the young and gallant Captain Faulkner fell to the deck—a musket ball had pierced his heart. That was no time for grieving, even for one well-beloved as the captain. A hawser was being got up from below to secure the enemy’s ship; but before it could be used she broke adrift, to the disappointment of the British tars. A cheer, however, burst from their throats as, directly afterwards, the “Blanche,” paying off for want of after-sail, the “Pique,” while attempting to cross her stern, fell once more aboard her. This time they took good care to secure the bowsprit to the stump of their mainmast; and now, running before the wind, the “Blanche” towing her opponent, the fight was continued with greater fury than ever. In vain the Frenchmen strove to free themselves by cutting the lashings—each time they made the attempt the marines drove them back with their musketry. Still it seemed doubtful with whom victory would side. The “Blanche” had no stern ports through which guns could be fought; the carpenters were unable to aid them. A bold expedient was proposed. The guns must make ports for themselves through the transom. Firemen with buckets were stationed ready to extinguish the fire which the discharge would create. With a thundering roar the guns sent their shot through the stem, and, the fire being extinguished, they began to play with terrific effect into the bows of the French frigate. Her foremast was immediately shot away; her mizen-mast was seen to fall. Still her crew, getting their quarter-dock guns trained aft, fought on; but what were they to the “Blanche’s” heavy guns, which mercilessly raked her, the shot entering her bow and tearing up her deck fore and aft, sweeping away numbers of her crew at each discharge. “If those Mounseers are not made of iron, they’ll not stand this battering much longer,” cried Dick Rogers, who was working one of the after-guns. Pearce was standing near him. The space between the decks was filled with smoke, through which the twinkling light of the lanterns could scarcely penetrate, the flashes at each, discharge showing the men, begrimed with powder, with sponge and rammers ready to load, or with their tackles to run in their guns. A cheer from the deck told them that the Frenchman’s remaining mast had fallen, and now another and another that the foe had struck. The “Pique” was totally dismasted; the “Blanche” had but her foremast standing. Every boat was knocked to pieces, and how to get on board the prize, still towed by the hawser, was the question. “The hawser must form our bridge,” cried Mr Milne, the second lieutenant of the ship, springing on to it, followed by Pearce, Rogers, and several men. Their weight brought the rope down into the water. For some distance they had to swim till they could climb up by it on board. What havoc and destruction a few short hours had wrought. Of a crew not far short of three hundred men, one-third lay dead or wounded, the deck covered with gore and the wrecks of the masts and spars; guns lay dismounted, bulwarks knocked away, all telling the tale of the bravery and hardihood of both the combatants. When the sun arose there lay the victor and the conquered almost equally helpless. Such was one of the scenes through which young Ripley fought his way upwards, and gained a name and fame.

III.

The person who is constantly keeping his eye on the reward he aims at is very likely to stumble and fall, and never to reach it. He, on the contrary, who thinks only how he can best perform his duty will be upheld and encouraged, and very probably obtain a higher reward than any at which he might have aspired. Pearce Ripley found this to be true in his case. Duty was his leading star. It never occurred to him to say, “Will this please my captain?” “Will this advance me in the service?” The “Blanche” was soon refitted and at sea again. Several prizes were made, and, greatly to his satisfaction, he was appointed to the command of one of them, with Bonham as his mate, and Dick Rogers as boatswain. She was a richly-laden West Indiaman, recaptured from the enemy. He was ordered to take her to England, where, on his arrival, he found his commission waiting for him.

Pearce received a right hearty welcome from his father, and intense was the satisfaction of the brave seaman when his son showed him his commission and appointment as second lieutenant to the “Vestal,” an eighteen gun sloop of war, commanded by Captain Gale, and destined for the North American station.

“You have got your first step up the ratlins, Pearce. Go on as you have begun, and Heaven preserving your life, there is no reason why you shouldn’t reach the highest,” said the proud father, as he once more parted from his son.

Those were days of pressgangs, and Dick Rogers took good care to hide away till he ascertained the craft Pearce was to join, when he at once volunteered for her. Bonham, who had still a year to serve, was appointed to the same ship. The “Vestal” had a quick run across the Atlantic till within about five days’ sail of Halifax, Nova Scotia, when a heavy gale sprang up, which tried to the utmost her seaworthy qualities. The sloop behaved beautifully, hove to, and rode buoyantly over the raging seas. Well indeed was it for her that she was properly handled, for the gale went on increasing till the oldest seamen on board declared that they had never met with such another. It continued for a week, each day the wind blowing harder and harder, or if there was a lull it seemed to come only that the gale might gain greater strength. For days not a glimpse of sun, or moon, or stars had been obtained. It was the morning watch; the grey cold dawn had just broke. Pearce was on deck, when sweeping his eye round the horizon as the sloop rose to the summit of a sea he perceived on the lee beam the hull of a ship, rising and sinking amid the tumultuous waters. At first he thought she was keel up, but as the light increased he saw that she was a large ship with the stump of the foremast alone remaining. That she was in a bad plight was very clear. She was remarkably low in the water he fancied, and who could say how long even she might keep afloat.

The captain, being summoned, soon came on deck. To bear sway for the stranger would be a work of danger to the “Vestal.” Still who could tell how many human beings might be on board that sinking ship! With hatches battened down and men lashed to the helm, the captain resolved to go to the rescue.

The seas came roaring up with furious rage, as the sloop flew before them, some breaking aboard; and rounding to under the stern of the ship, she again hove to. Many people appeared on the deck of the stranger who, stretching out their arms, implored assistance. How was it to be afforded? Would a boat live in such a sea? Such appeals to British seamen are never made in vain. Pearce Ripley offered to make the experiment if men were found ready to go with him. There was no want of volunteers. A boat was lowered. It seemed as if she must be engulfed before she left the sloop’s side. Ripley’s progress was watched by eager eyes from both ships. Now he is in the trough of the sea, a watery mountain about to overwhelm him; now he is on the summit surrounded by driving foam. A shout is raised as he neared the sinking ship, but to get alongside was even more dangerous than the passage from one to the other. As the ship rolled and her deck was exposed to view, he saw that there were women on board, and other people besides the crew. Ropes were hove to him. He seized one, and sprang up the side. A few hurried words told him what had occurred. The ship was conveying troops and stores to Halifax, the master and first mate had been washed overboard, the second lay wounded by the falling of a spar. Many of the crew had been lost with the captain. There was no sea officer who could enforce orders; the men were mutinous. Ripley instantly assumed the command. There were several ladies. “They must first be placed in safety before a man enters the boat,” he cried out, presenting a pistol at some seamen who showed an intention of leaping into her.

Some entreated that their husbands might accompany them. “Oh, father, father, come with me,” exclaimed a fair girl, who was being conveyed to the side to be lowered into the boat; “I cannot, I will not leave you.” She looked towards a fine, soldier-like man, who stood with several officers around him. “Impossible! Heaven protect you, dearest. Even for your sake I cannot desert my post. It is here with my men,” was the answer. The boat had already nearly as many persons in her as it would be safe to carry. This was no time for delay. Pearce lifted the young lady in his arms, and lowered himself with her into the boat. The boat returned to the “Vestal,” and all those who had been rescued were put on board. The young lady again and again entreated him to save her father, Pearce promised to make every effort to bring off the colonel. “But unless his men are rescued, I doubt that he will leave the ship,” he added, as he returned to his boat.

Two other boats were now lowered, but it was too evident that they could only save a part of the people from the foundering ship. Those on her deck were now seen forming a raft. It was their last hope of life should the boats not take them off. Though several of the people made a rush to the side, they were driven back by the officers and soldiers who remained firm, and the men were told off in order to allow of them to embark as arranged by Pearce. Twice the boat returned without an accident to the “Vestal.” The young lady cast a reproachful look at Ripley, when she saw that her father was not among the saved. “He would not come, lady, but I will make another effort,” he exclaimed, as he prepared once more to leave the corvette’s side. Just then arose the fearful cry, “She is sinking! she is sinking!”

“Oh, save him! save him!” shrieked the poor girl in an agony of terror, stretching out her hands towards the spot where she fancied that she saw her beloved father struggling in the waves. Pearce and his brave companions needed not such an appeal to make them use every effort to reach their drowning fellow-creatures. Some had leaped on the half-finished raft as the ship sunk beneath them, but many of these were speedily washed off. Others were clinging to spars, and oars, and gratings, Pearce was soon in the midst of the hapless beings, many with despair on their countenances, unable to reach the boat, sinking as he neared them. He looked round for the colonel. He could not distinguish him among the rest. Three people had been hauled in, when as the boat rose to the summit of a sea he saw below him a person clinging to a grating. A hand was waved towards him. “Give way, lads,” he shouted, and in another minute he had the satisfaction of hauling on board the brave officer for whom he was searching.

The other boats took off the people from the raft. He picked up several more, and returned in safety on board. The meeting of the father and his daughter need not be described. They were, he found, a colonel and Miss Verner. He was struck by the name as that of his former unamiable messmate. When the weather moderated, and the colonel was sufficiently recovered to appear on deck, he warmly expressed his gratitude to Pearce, and his admiration of the gallantry he had displayed. His daughter Alice was not less grateful. A calm succeeded the gale, and Pearce had frequent opportunities of seeing her. He did not mention Harry Verner to her, and indeed so great was the contrast he perceived between the two in manners and behaviour, that he could not suppose they were nearly related. Still there was at times an expression in Colonel Verner’s countenance when he was annoyed which reminded him strongly of Harry.

There was a frank heartiness and sincerity about the young lieutenant which at once gained Miss Verner’s regard. It was very different to what she had been accustomed, still his manner towards her was gentle and deferential, as if he in no way presumed on the service he had rendered her. Indeed, it never entered his head that he had rendered her any especial service, or that he had the slightest claim on her regard. He felt, as he wrote to his father, “that he had had the good fortune to command the boat which saved a colonel and Miss Verner; that they were very nice people; that the colonel was to be stationed at Halifax, and had invited him to his house whenever he could get leave on shore.” He added, “That will not be very often during these stirring times, but I shall thoroughly enjoy it when I do go, for Miss Alice Verner is the most beautiful and amiable girl I have ever seen or expect to meet; without a bit of pride about her, and she talks to me as if I were an old friend.”

At length the “Vestal” dropped her anchor in the fine harbour of Halifax, and with a regret which surprised him, Pearce saw the passengers depart for the shore.

“Remember, my dear Mr Ripley, Miss Verner and I shall at all times be glad to see you,” said Colonel Verner as he was about to leave the ship. Alice did not say as much as her father, but Pearce believed from the expression of her countenance that she willingly seconded her father’s invitation. Still he knew that the familiar intercourse which had been so delightful to him on board must come to an end. “What can she ever be to me more than she is at present?” he exclaimed to himself. “She says that I saved her life and her father’s life; but then I saved the lives of many other people. To be sure I have got one step up the ratlins, but it may be very long before I get another. No, no, I’ll not think about it.”

The next day a special invitation to the governor’s table, where he met Colonel and Miss Verner, and where all the gentlemen from the governor downwards drank wine with him, considerably altered his feelings. This was the first of many attentions which he received from the military officers and the principal inhabitants of Halifax. His time on shore was indeed fully occupied in making morning calls and in attending the parties to which he was invited. A portion of every morning he spent in the society of Miss Verner. It was very delightful, and he felt sure that he was welcome.

At length the “Vestal” was suddenly ordered to sea. Pearce had the greatest difficulty in getting on shore to wish his friends good-bye. Alice turned pale when he told her that the ship was to sail that evening. “You will come back here surely, Mr Ripley,” she said, in a trembling voice; “you have been every thing to us since that awful day when you saved our lives from the sinking ship; we shall miss you, indeed we shall, very much.”

Pearce could not frame a reply, at least, satisfactory to himself. He scarcely knew what he said, as he hurried away. The words might have made a vainer man than he was much happier than they did him.

The “Vestal” was bound for the West Indies. She cruised for some time, making several rich prizes, which she sent into Port Royal, Jamaica, and which filled the purses of her officers and men in a very satisfactory manner. Still, no honour or promotion was to be obtained by the capture of honest merchantmen. At length, however, there appeared a chance of falling in with an antagonist worthy of her. One morning at dawn a stranger was discovered on the lee beam. The “Vestal” was kept away, and all sail made in chase. As the “Vestal” gained on the chase, she was discovered to be a large ship, and pronounced to be flush-decked.

“Then we’ll tackle her; never mind how many guns she carries,” exclaimed the captain—a sentiment to which his officers and men responded heartily.

The chase was accordingly continued, and as the vessel came up with her on the weather quarter, it was seen that she was a large flush-decked ship, carrying twenty-two guns. The ensign of France flew out from the stranger’s peak, and was saluted by a shot from one of the corvette’s bow guns. The battle thus begun, the “Vestal” keeping the weather gauge, was continued for half-an-hour with great fury, till the Frenchman’s foremast went by the board. The enemy’s guns were well handled, and the corvette began to suffer accordingly. The first lieutenant and five men were killed, and the captain, a midshipman, and several men wounded. The captain was carried below, and the command devolved on Pearce. The young lieutenant’s heart beat high. “Bonham,” he said, addressing his friend who was standing near him, “we’ll take that ship, or go down with our colours flying.” The breeze which had fallen returned, and as the corvette was still under perfect command, he was able at length to obtain a position by which he could pour several raking broadsides into the bows of the enemy. Her main-top mast was shot away; her mizen-mast followed. The ensign of France was again hoisted, but did not long remain flying. Pearce poured in another broadside, and down it came, the cheers of the British crew giving notice of what had occurred to their wounded shipmates below. The prize, which proved to be the “Desirée,” had lost a considerable number of her crew, most of them killed during the latter part of the action. Bonham was sent on board to take command, and in two days the “Vestal” and her prize entered in triumph the harbour of Port Royal. Here the admiral with part of the fleet were at anchor. Pearce went on board the flag-ship to make his report. He was warmly received, and highly complimented on his conduct. The next day he found that he was to be first lieutenant of the corvette, and Bonham received an acting order as second lieutenant. The “Vestal” had received so much damage, that she was obliged to refit at Port Royal. This took several weeks, and Captain Gale considered himself sufficiently recovered, when she was ready, to go to sea in her. Pearce had, however, virtually the command. Several more prizes were taken. “That’s young Ripley’s doing,” exclaimed the admiral, “he deserves his promotion, and he shall have it.”

IV.

Once more the “Vestal” was at anchor in Port Royal harbour. In vain her brave captain had striven against the effects of his wounds. He must return home if he would save his life, he was told, so he applied to be superseded. The admiral came on board the “Vestal” to inspect her. The next day he sent for Ripley, and put a paper into his hand. Pearce’s heart beat quick with proud satisfaction. The document was an order to take the acting command of the corvette. “I have written home by this post to ask for your commission, and to recommend that you should be confirmed in the command of the ‘Vestal,’” added the admiral. “I am sure that you will take care she does as good service as she performed under Captain Gale.” Bonham, who had received his commission a few months before, became first lieutenant, and a young protégé of the admiral’s received an acting order as second; so that the united ages of the three principal officers of the ship amounted to little more than fifty-five years. Old heads were worn then on young shoulders. Many prizes had been taken, and the time approached for their return to Port Royal. The corvette lay becalmed. A French store-ship was expected, which had been separated from her convoy. The “Vestal” lay disguised, as was usual in those days, looking very unlike the smart sloop she was. A blue line was seen in the horizon, the sign of an approaching breeze, and in the midst of it a sail. The breeze brought up the stranger, a fine brig, to within about a mile, when it died away. She was an armed vessel, and showed by her colours that she was French. Before long, two boats were seen to put off from her. Three boats were instantly lowered from the opposite side of the “Vestal,” and manned. The Frenchmen pulled rapidly on, expecting to make an easy prize of the “Vestal.” Their look of consternation was very great when they first perceived the painted canvas which concealed the corvette’s guns. Pearce had carefully watched for the first sign of their wavering, and now ordered the three boats to make chase. The Frenchmen, taken by surprise, made but a slight show of resistance, and in ten minutes the whole party found themselves prisoners on the deck of the corvette. The “Vestal” was now towed up towards the brig, which opened her fire at the boats, but this did not deter them from placing the corvette on her quarter, when a few rapidly delivered and almost raking broadsides compelled her to haul down her colours, having had the chief officers left on board and ten of her crew killed or wounded. The privateer, which mounted fourteen guns, was on her way to France, having a large amount of specie and valuable goods on board, the result of a successful cruise.

It was with no little pride that Captain Ripley returned to Port Royal from his first cruise, with the fine brig in company, the British ensign flying over that of France. The admiral congratulated him on his success, and at the same time put his commission and appointment into his hand.

“You must be ready for sea again very soon though,” said the admiral; “I have dispatches to send to Halifax, and unless another cruiser comes in, I must send you.”

Pearce, rather to the admiral’s surprise, replied with animation, that he should be ready to sail that evening if required, provided he could get water, fuel, and fresh provisions on board. The admiral gave him permission to make everybody exert themselves.

By noon the next day the young commander had got his ship ready for sea, and receiving his dispatches with a joyous heart, he shaped a course for Halifax. A bright look-out was kept, but on this occasion it was to avoid strange sails. He was only to fight for the purpose of escaping capture. Halifax was reached, and Pearce having delivered his dispatches, hurried up to Colonel Verner’s house.

Miss Verner was at home. She started, and the colour rose to her cheeks when Captain Ripley was announced. She put out her hand, and did not withdraw it, for Pearce forgot to let it go.

“Are you really a captain already?” she asked.

“Yes; that is, a commander. I am captain of the ‘Vestal,’” he answered, and he told her how Captain Gale had been compelled to go home, and that he had been appointed in his stead. He mentioned also the number of prizes he had taken—a matter which interested Colonel Verner more than it did her.

“That young Ripley is a very fine fellow,” observed the colonel to a brother officer. “Why, in one cruise he must have made not far short of ten thousand pounds as his own share of prize-money. A capital haul for the admiral. Those naval men have better chances than we have of filling their purses.”

If Pearce had received attentions when only a young lieutenant, he was doubly courted now that he was a commander, with an established name for gallantry and energy. Alice Verner no longer hesitated acknowledging to herself that she had given him her entire heart. She felt honoured by his preference, and proud of it among so many others who seemed anxious to obtain it. Halifax was always a lively place. There were a great number of resident families with young people, and dances were therefore much in vogue. Consequently naval officers were always welcome, lieutenants and passed midshipmen were acceptable, but young commanders were treated with especial favour. A more experienced man than Pearce might have had his head turned with the attentions he received. While, however, he was grateful for them, he enjoyed to the full the society in which he found himself, and became neither conceited nor vain. He had also the opportunity of comparing Alice Verner with other girls, and he became more than ever convinced of her superiority to them all. His stay at Halifax was likely to be short. He naturally wished to spend as much of his time as possible in her society. She invariably received him so frankly and cordially that all restraint was thrown aside. He felt almost sure that she loved him; so he took her hand and told her how much he loved her, and that he believed he had made enough prize-money already to enable her to live as she had been accustomed to; that he hoped to make more, and that he had good reason to believe he should before long be a post-captain, when he should be her father’s equal in rank. Alice was not very much surprised nor agitated, because she was before sure that he loved her. Still it was very pleasant to hear him say so. Pearce also felt supremely happy, and did not for a moment contemplate the clouds and storms which might be ahead. Alice herself might possibly have seen difficulties which he did not. She loved her father, but she knew that he was a proud man and weak on certain points, and that few men thought more of family and connections. It had always surprised her that he had not inquired more particularly about Pearce’s parentage, but she concluded that he was acquainted with the circumstances of the case, and was satisfied. It was, at all events, her duty to tell her father that Captain Ripley had declared himself. Pearce was to dine with them that day. In the meantime he had to go on board. He returned some time before the dinner hour. Colonel Verner had not come in, so that Alice had not had an opportunity of speaking to her father. Pearce told her that a frigate had arrived that morning direct from England. Everybody was eager to hear the news she brought. Probably that kept the colonel from home. While seated together, and interested more in themselves than in the world at large, the door was suddenly opened, and Lieutenant Harry Verner was announced.

“Why, Cousin Harry, where have you dropped from?” said Alice, rising to welcome him, “I did not even know that you were a lieutenant. You have grown up out of a little midshipman since I saw you last.”

“I’ve dropped from His Britannic Majesty’s Frigate ‘Hecate,’ of which I have the honour of being third lieutenant,” announced the young man. “And as for changes, though you are lovely as ever, I shall not know soon whether I am standing on my head or my feet;” he looked fixedly at Pearce as he spoke.

“I beg your pardon, Captain Ripley,” said Alice, recovering herself from the slight confusion into which she had been thrown; “I should have introduced my cousin to you.”

“Harry Verner and I are old shipmates I suspect, unless there are two of the name very much like each other,” said Pearce, rising and putting out his hand.

“Yes, as midshipmen we were together, I believe,” answered Harry, superciliously; “but really it is difficult to remember all one’s old shipmates.”

Pearce under some circumstances would have been inclined to laugh at Harry Verner’s impudence, but it was very evident that the lieutenant wished to pick a quarrel with him, which was by all means to be avoided. Alice had thought her cousin a tiresome boy; he now appeared to have grown more disagreeable than before. Colonel Verner came in and welcomed his nephew, who was the only son of his elder brother; other guests arrived, and the conversation became general. Hairy at once assumed to be the person of most importance in the house, and though he was laughing and talking with every one, Alice discovered that he was constantly watching her and Captain Ripley whenever they spoke. Captain Ripley had to return on board. He never slept out of his ship if he could avoid it.

“I suppose, colonel, that you can give me a shake down,” said Harry; “I have got leave to remain on shore.”

Her cousin’s remaining prevented Alice from speaking to her father that night. Harry showed no intention of going to bed till Pearce had taken his leave, and Alice had retired. He then, jumping up from the sofa on which he had thrown himself, exclaimed, “My dear uncle, where did you pick up that man?”

“Whom do you mean, Harry?” asked the colonel, rather astonished at his nephew’s somewhat impertinent manner.

“Why, Captain Ripley, who has just left this,” answered the lieutenant. “He seems as much at home with Alice as if he were engaged to her. Indeed, I am half expecting you to tell me that he is.”

“Really, Harry, you are speaking too fast,” said the colonel; “Captain Ripley is one of the finest officers in the navy, and having rendered the greatest possible service to my daughter and me, I feel bound to treat him with every consideration and kindness.”

“Which he repays by aspiring to my cousin’s hand,” answered Harry. “Were he a man of family I should say nothing, of course; but he is, sir, a mere adventurer. His father is a common boatswain—a warrant officer—not a gentleman even by courtesy, and his mother, for what I know to the contrary, might have been a bum-boat woman, and his relations, if he had any, are probably all of the lowest order.”

The colonel walked up and down the room very much annoyed. “Though what you say may be true, Harry, that cannot detract from Captain Ripley’s fine qualities nor relieve me of the obligations I owe him,” he observed after a time. “Of course, were he to dream of marrying Alice, that would alter the case, and I should be compelled to put a stop to our present friendly intercourse; but I do not believe that such an idea enters his head. He is like you sailors generally, here to-day and gone to-morrow. Probably when he leaves this we may not see him again for years to come.”

“Not so sure of that,” said Harry; “Ripley was always very determined when he made up his mind to do a thing, and you will pardon me, uncle, but the way in which he was speaking to her when I came into the room was anything but that of an ordinary acquaintance.”

“I’ll see about it, I’ll see about it,” exclaimed the colonel, now more than ever annoyed. “It is impossible that a man of such low extraction should aspire to the hand of my daughter. The idea is too absurd!”

Harry Verner retired to rest that night under the comfortable belief that he had revenged himself on the man whom he had always disliked, and now envied, for his rapid promotion and success.

V.

The arrival of the “Hecate” relieved the “Vestal,” which was ordered to proceed at once to sea. Poor Alice received Captain Ripley with marks of sorrow in her countenance which alarmed him. “My father will not hear of it,” she exclaimed, giving way to a burst of grief; “but I told him, and I promise you, that I will marry no one else.”

“I know, I feel, and I am sure you will not, dearest,” said Pearce, tenderly gazing at her. “And be of good courage, I trust yet to do deeds and to gain a name to which those who now scorn me for my humble birth may be proud to ally themselves.”

Pearce had never before uttered anything like a boast, but his swelling heart assured him of what he could do, and his indignation at the contempt in which his father was held made him speak in a vaunting tone so different to his nature. The moment of parting arrived; Alice, unasked, renewed her promise, and Pearce hurried on board unwilling to encounter any of his ordinary acquaintances in the town. It was well for Harry Verner that he did not fall in with him. Before night the corvette was far away from Halifax. Pearce was not exactly unhappy, but he was in an excellent mood for undertaking any daring act which might present itself. Once more he returned to Jamaica, picking up a few prizes on the way. “Always welcome, Captain Ripley,” said the admiral, cordially greeting Pearce when he appeared at the Penn to report himself. “You’ve done so well in the sloop that we must get you into a smart frigate; you’ll not have to wait long for a vacancy, I dare say.” This commendation was sufficient to restore Pearce’s spirits. He hoped to do something before the corvette had to return home. There are two classes of people who hope to do something—one waits for the opportunity to occur, the other goes in search of it and seldom fails in the search. Pearce Ripley belonged to the latter class. Several more prizes were taken, and a considerable amount of damage done to the commerce of the enemy; but still the “Vestal” had not fallen in with an enemy the conquest of whom would bring glory as well as profit. Week after week passed away. It had been blowing hard. The wind dropped at sunset; the night was very dark and thick, an object could scarcely have been discerned beyond the bowsprit end. The island of Deserade, belonging to France, bore south-east by south, six or seven leagues, when, as day broke and the light increased, a ship was perceived close on the weather-beam, which in a short time was made out to be an enemy’s frigate. The breeze had by this time sprung up again and was blowing fresh.

“We may fight her or try to escape,” said the captain to Bonham, eyeing the frigate as if he would rather try fighting first.

“I should say that the odds being so greatly against us we ought to try to escape,” answered the first lieutenant; “but I speak my own sentiments, and I am sure that of all on board, if fight we must, we will all be ready to stand by you to the last. Victory does not always side with the biggest.”

Sail was accordingly made to the north-west, but no sooner had she shaped a course than the frigate under a cloud of canvas came tearing after her at a rate which proved that the “Vestal” had not a chance of escaping. The crew showed by unmistakeable signs that they expected to be captured, by going below and putting on their best clothes. Pearce called them aft, “Lads, we have served together for three years, and done many a deed to be proud of. Do not let the Frenchmen boast that they took us without our having done our best to prevent them. I purpose to fight that frigate if you will stand by me, and that I am sure you will.”

“Ay, ay, that we will, and would if she were twice as big, and sink at our guns before we strike,” shouted Dick Rogers, and their loud cheers expressed the sentiments of the rest. The corvette at once prepared for action, and as soon as all was ready she shortened sail to allow the frigate to come up, greatly to the Frenchmen’s surprise probably. The latter began firing as soon as her guns could reach the corvette. “Let not a shot be returned till I give the order, lads,” cried Ripley; “we must throw none away.” He waited till his carronades would tell with effect. “Now give it them, lads,” he shouted.

The heavy shot crashed against the side of the frigate in a way which astonished the Frenchmen. With wonderful rapidity the guns were run in, loaded, and again sent forth their death-dealing shower of iron, this time tearing through the frigate’s upper bulwarks, sweeping across her quarterdeck and wounding her masts. “Hurrah! we have knocked away her wheel,” cried Bonham, who had sprung into the mizen rigging to ascertain the effect of the last broadside; “she’s ours, if we are smart with our guns.”

The Frenchmen had just fired a broadside which had killed three of the “Vestal’s” crew, knocked one of her boats to pieces, and done other damage, but had not materially injured her running rigging. Firing another broadside in return, Pearce saw that by wearing sharp round he could pass under the stem of the frigate, and at the same time bring a fresh broadside to bear on her. The manoeuvre was rapidly executed, the effect was very great on board the enemy. The crew were seen to be hurrying to and fro as if in dread of some event about to occur. It was next seen that all sail was being made on the frigate. The men had deserted their guns. The British seamen plied the enemy with their carronades with still greater energy. The great masses of iron were hauled in and out as if they had been made of wood. Their only fear was that their antagonist would escape them. More sail was made on the corvette to keep up with him. To prevent the corvette from following, the Frenchmen again returned to their guns, and the frigate suddenly hauling up let fly her broadside. Pearce saw the manoeuvre about to be executed, and was just in time to haul up also to save the “Vestal” from being raked. The frigate’s shot, accompanied by a shower of musketry, came tearing on board. Hitherto one officer and four men had been killed on board the “Vestal,” and six wounded, including the master slightly—a heavy loss out of a sloop’s complement, but Pearce saw victory within his grasp, and resolved to persevere. The last broadside from the frigate told with fearful effect on the corvette. Her spars and rigging were much cut about; three more men wore struck, and the brave captain was seen to stagger back. Had not Rogers sprang forward and caught him in his arms he would have fallen to the deck. He was speechless, but he motioned to Bonham, who ran up to continue the fight. When an attempt was made to carry him below, he signified that he would remain on deck till the battle was won. The surgeon came up and stanched the blood flowing from his shoulder. The nervous system had received a violent shock, but he could not tell whether the mound would prove mortal, the surgeon reported. Still the battle raged. The French were again seen to quit their guns. The corvette followed up her success. It was observed that buckets were being hauled up through the ports, the frigate must be on fire; her foremast fell, the corvette ranged up alongside, the French ensign was still flying. Bonham was ordering another broadside to be poured in, when down came the enemy’s flag, and at that moment, Pearce recovering, joined in the cheer which burst from the lips of the British crew.

“Go and help the poor fellows,” were the first words the young captain spoke. The corvette’s boats which could swim were lowered and armed with buckets, the English seamen hurried up the sides of their late opponent. Her deck presented everywhere signs of their prowess, covered with the bodies of the slain, and the wreck of the foremast and rigging; the wheel had been shot away and three men killed at it. As a security Bonham, who had gone on board and received the commanding officer’s sword, the captain having been killed, sent him and three others on board the corvette, while he and his men set to work to extinguish the flames. The magazine was happily drowned, which was of itself a sufficient reason for the frigate to have struck, though the state of her masts and spars, and the number of her killed and wounded showed the skill and courage of her comparatively tiny opponent. The fire was at length got under, very much by the efforts of the Englishmen, who had to hint to the French that if they did not exert themselves they would be left to perish, as it would be impossible to get them all on board the corvette before the frigate would become untenable. The corvette and her prize having been put somewhat to rights, made sail for Jamaica. They had a long passage up, and the greatest vigilance was necessary to keep the prisoners in order. A plot was discovered for retaking the frigate, and Bonham had to threaten the French officers with severe punishment should anything of the sort be again attempted.

Pearce Ripley lay in his cabin unable to move. The hearts of the officers and men were deeply grieved, for the surgeon would not pronounce a favourable opinion. He was young, and had a good constitution. He might recover. The corvette succeeded in carrying her prize to Jamaica. The admiral himself came on board to see Ripley and to congratulate him on his achievement. “Your promotion is certain, Captain Ripley,” he said kindly; “and I should think his Majesty, when he hears of your gallantry, won’t forget to give a touch on your shoulder with the flat of his sword, eh. You will find a handle to your name convenient, and you deserve it, that you do, my lad.”

The admiral’s kindness contributed much to restore Pearce to health. While he remained on shore Bonham received an acting order to take command of the “Vestal.” Before Pearce had totally recovered he received his post rank with a complimentary letter on his gallantry. Bonham, at the same time, found that he was made a commander; the “Vestal,” having been upwards of four years in commission, was ordered home. Captain Ripley taking a passage in her. She escaped all the enemy’s cruisers, and arrived safely in Portsmouth harbour. She was, however, considered fit to go to sea again after an ordinary repair, and was recommissioned by Captain Bonham. Pearce was sent for by the First Lord of the Admiralty to attend the King’s levée. He was presented to his Majesty, that good old king who truly loved a sailor, and knew how to appreciate honour and valour. On kneeling to kiss his sovereign’s hand he felt a touch on his shoulder, and with astonishment, gratitude, and delight, heard the King say, “Rise, Sir Pearce Ripley; you are well deserving of knighthood.”

Pearce felt very much inclined to shake the King cordially by the hand, and to assure his Majesty that no reward could be more satisfactory. He did not, however, nor did he say why he was so pleased with the rank bestowed on him, but made the usual bow, and moved off to allow others to present themselves. There was one, however, waiting for him outside the palace, as fine and officer-like looking man as any of those present in admirals’ or post-captains’ uniforms—his father, and the knowledge of the intense delight his promotion gave him, greatly added to the satisfaction Pearce felt on the occasion. Sir Pearce Ripley was gazetted the next day to the command of a fine frigate, the name of which he soon made well-known by the gallant exploits he performed in her.

VI.

Two years had passed by. Colonel Verner, now a general, with his daughter, had returned to England, and they were spending some weeks during the summer at the house of a friend, Admiral Sir J. B—, in the Isle of Wight, in the neighbourhood of the then pretty little village of Ryde. Alice looked thinner and paler than formerly, but her beauty was in no way impaired, and the sweet smile which lit up her countenance—one of its chief charms when she spoke, was still there. She had accompanied her father and the admiral on a walk into Ryde. When some little distance from the village, they met a fine dignified-looking man, his silvery hair showing that his age was greater than would have been supposed from his florid, clear complexion. An undress naval uniform set off his fine figure to advantage. The admiral looked at him for a Element, and then shaking him cordially by the hand, inquired what brought him to Ryde.

“I have taken a cottage in the neighbourhood for my son’s sake when he comes home, for as I have quitted the service I shall always be ready to receive him,” was the answer.

“Oh, then we are near neighbours. Come over and dine with me to-day. I like to talk over by-gone days with an old shipmate,” said the admiral.

The stranger accepted the invitation, and after a little more conversation, he walked on.

“A distinguished man,” observed General Verner, when the admiral rejoined him.

“A right noble and brave man,” said the admiral, but made no further remark.

The stranger was in the drawing-room when Miss Verner entered, and was soon engaged in an animated conversation with her. She thought him somewhat old-fashioned in his phraseology, perhaps, and mode of pronunciation, but she had so frequently heard officers of high rank speak in the same way, that she was not surprised, and as he had seen a great deal of the world, and described well what he had seen, she was much interested. As she listened, she felt her interest increase, and became insensibly drawn towards the old gentleman. As there were many married ladies present, she was led out among the first, and so she did not see when he left the room, which might have given her an idea as to his rank, but she found herself sitting next to him at dinner. Her father was opposite, and appeared to be much interested in his conversation. According to the good old custom, the admiral drank wine round with all his guests. “Mr Ripley, will you take wine?” he said, addressing her companion in his kind friendly tone. She started, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She had not recovered from her confusion before the ceremony of wine-taking was over, and the old gentleman again addressed her. Could he be the father of Pearce? She had always understood that his father was a boatswain, and this old gentleman could not be that, or he would scarcely have been dining at the admiral’s table. Her father would make the inquiry probably of the admiral; if not, she must try to muster courage to do so. In the mean time she would ask her companion if he knew Sir Pearce Ripley. In a low and somewhat trembling voice she put the question.

“Indeed I do, young lady, and am proud to own him as my son,” answered the old seaman, fixing his clear grey eyes on her, as if he would read her heart. “I have a hope that you know him too, and that no two people love him better in the world,” he added in a whisper.

Alice felt her cheeks glow, and yet she was not annoyed. “Indeed you are right,” she said, in a low tone, which she hoped no one else would hear, for several people were speaking loudly, and there was a clatter of knives and forks.

“He will be in England again soon to refit, for he has allowed his frigate very little rest since he commanded her,” observed the old gentleman. “He, I hope too, will then get a spell at home, for since he went to sea at ten years of age, he has never once been ten days on shore at a time, ay, I may say, not a month altogether.”

Alice whispered her hope that he would remain on shore. After retiring to the drawing-room she looked anxiously for the arrival of the gentlemen. Her father and Mr Ripley entered together. The general soon came and sat down by her.

“A very agreeable old naval officer that is we’ve been talking to,” he remarked; “I did not catch his name, but the admiral tells me that he is a master in the service.”

Alice was pleased to hear this, but much puzzled. She managed to speak to the admiral when no one was near. He put on a quizzical look. “Now, young lady, if you had been inquiring about Sir Pearce Ripley, his son, I should not have been surprised,” he answered. “The fact is, my friend Ripley became a master late in life. He had served in the lower grades of the profession, and if the rules of the service had allowed it, he should have been made a post-captain. I cannot tell you all the brave things he has done. When in charge of a prize, he fought a most gallant action; he prevented his ship’s company from joining the mutineers at the Nore. On two several occasions, he saved the ship from being wrecked, not to mention his conduct on the first of June, and on numerous previous occasions. I placed his son on the quarterdeck, predicting that he would be an honour to the service, and so he is, and I am proud of him.”

While the admiral was speaking, Alice was considering whether she should confide her case to him, and beg him to intercede with her father, or rather to speak to him of Mr Ripley in a way which might overcome his prejudices. She almost gasped for breath in her agitation, but her resolution was taken, and without loss of time she hurriedly told him of her engagement to Sir Pearce Ripley.

“I am heartily glad to hear of it, my dear young lady,” exclaimed the admiral warmly; “he is worthy of you and you are of him, and that is saying a great deal for you. Hoity toity! I wonder my friend General Verner has not more sense; the idea of dismissing one of the finest officers in the service because he hasn’t a rent-roll and cannot show a pedigree as many do a yard long, and without a word of truth from beginning to end. If a man is noble in himself what does it matter who his father was? The best pedigree, in my opinion, is that which a man’s grandson will have to show. Better to have one noble fellow like old Ripley there for a father, than a line of twenty indifferent progenitors, such as nine-tenths of those who set such store by their ancestry can boast of.”

Alice very naturally agreed with the admiral, who was himself a man of much older family than her father. He attacked the general the next morning. He hated circumlocution and went directly to the point. “You object to your daughter marrying Sir Pearce Ripley because his father was a boatswain. I tell you I was for many years of inferior rank to a boatswain. I entered the navy as captain’s servant. What do you say to that? It does not signify what a man has been, it is what he is should be considered. Now, my dear general, just clap all such nonsense under hatches, and the next time young Ripley asks your daughter to marry him, let her, and be thankful that you have secured so fine a son-in-law and so excellent a husband for the girl.”

General Verner had not a word of reply to his friend’s remonstrance. The admiral, when he met Alice, exclaimed, “I’ve been pouring my broadsides into your father till I left him without a stick standing and every gun dismounted; if you give him a shot depend on’t he’ll strike his flag.”

VII.

The admiral’s house commanded an extensive view of the Solent, looking across to Portsmouth, down the channel towards Cowes and up over Spithead. One bright morning after breakfast, the admiral, as usual, with his eye at the telescope, was watching the ever-varying scene on the waters before him, when he exclaimed, “Two frigates standing in, and one is French, a prize to the other. To my eye the Frenchman seems the biggest of the two; I must send over and learn all about it.” He rang the bell, his old coxswain appeared. “Judson, take the wherry and board that frigate, and give my compliments and learn the particulars of the action, and if her captain can spare time I shall be very glad to see him. Here, give this note if—” The admiral spoke a few words in an under tone heard by no one else.

Judson hurried off. There was a fair breeze to Spithead, and back—a soldier’s wind. Alice watched the progress of the boat with great interest. She reached the English frigate, remained a short time, and was speedily on her way back. Before she had long left the frigate she was followed by another boat which overtook her as she reached the shore.

A short time afterwards, Judson appeared, and put a card into his master’s hand, “Say that I shall be delighted to see him when he can come up.”

“What about the action, Judson?” asked the admiral.

“Just the finest, sir, that has been fought during the war,” answered Judson. “He’ll be up here presently, and tell you more about it than I can.”

Scarcely ten minutes had passed by, when Judson announced “Captain Sir Pearce Ripley!” The admiral received the young captain with every mark of regard. “And now let me introduce you to my guests, General and Miss Verner; but, by the by, you know them, I think.”

Alice, lost to all sense of decorum, sprang forward to receive him. The general put out his hand in a cordial manner, and with many compliments congratulated him on his success. The admiral having listened to an account of the action, dragged off the general to see some improvements on the farm; the Indies of the family left the room, and Pearce Ripley heard from Alice’s own lips that her father fully sanctioned their union. He claimed a sailor’s privilege, and before a month had passed their marriage took place.

Bonham obtained his post rank, and though he had not the talent of his friend, he ever proved himself an active efficient officer. Harry Verner quitted the service, finding that, notwithstanding his connections, his merits were not appreciated, and that he was not likely to obtain his promotion. He soon afterwards broke his neck out hunting. Sir Pearce Ripley commanded several line of battle ships, and took an active part in three of England’s greatest naval victories. He in due course became an admiral, and was created a baronet, and his sons entering the navy rose to the highest rank in their noble profession.

Chapter Six.

Voices of the Night.

Prelude.

Pleasant it was, when woods were green,

And winds were soft and low,

To lie amid some sylvan scene,

Where, the long drooping boughs between,

Shadows dark and sunlight sheen

Alternate come and go;

Or where the denser grove receives

No sunlight from above,

But the dark foliage interweaves

In one unbroken roof of leaves,

Underneath whose sloping eaves

The shadows hardly move.

Beneath some patriarchal tree

I lay upon the ground;

His hoary arms uplifted he,

And all the broad leaves over me

Clapped their little hands in glee,

With one continuous sound—

A slumberous sound,—a sound that brings

The feelings of a dream—

As of innumerable wings,

As, when a bell no longer swings,

Paint the hollow murmur rings

O’er meadow, lake, and stream.

And dreams of that which cannot die.

Bright visions, came to me,

As lapped in thought I used to lie,

And gaze into the summer sky,

Where the sailing clouds went by,

Like ships upon the sea;

Dreams that the soul of youth engage

Ere Fancy has been quelled;

Old legends of the monkish page,

Traditions of the saint and sage,

Tales that have the rime of age,

And chronicles of Eld.

And, loving still these quaint old themes,

Even in the city’s throng

I feel the freshness of the streams,

That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams,

Water the green land of dreams,

The holy land of song.

Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings

The Spring, clothed like a bride,

When nestling buds unfold their wings,

And bishop’s-caps have golden rings,

Musing upon many things,

I sought the woodlands wide.

The green trees whispered low and mild;

It was a sound of joy!

They were my playmates when a child,

And rocked me in their arms so wild;

Still they looked at me and smiled,

As if I were a boy;

And ever whispered, mild and low,

“Come, be a child once more!”

And waved their long arms to and fro,

And beckoned solemnly and slow;

Oh, I could not choose but go

Into the woodlands hoar;

Into the blithe and breathing air,

Into the solemn wood,

Solemn and silent everywhere!

Nature with folded hands seemed there,

Kneeling at her evening prayer!

Like one in prayer I stood.

Before me rose an avenue

Of tall and sombrous pines;

Abroad their fan-like branches grew,

And, where the sunshine darted through,

Spread a vapour soft and blue,

In long and sloping lines.

And, falling on my weary brain,

Like a fast-falling shower,

The dreams of youth came back again;

Low lispings of the summer rain,

Dropping on the ripened grain;

As once upon the flower.

Visions of childhood! Stay, oh, stay!

Ye were so sweet and wild!

And distant voices seemed to say,

“It cannot be! They pass away!

Other themes demand thy lay;

Thou art no more a child!

“The land of Song within thee lies,

Watered by living springs;

The lids of Fancy’s sleepless eyes

Are gates unto that Paradise,

Holy thoughts, like stars, arise,

Its clouds are angels’ wings.

“Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be,

Not mountains capped with snow,

Nor forests sounding like the sea,

Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly,

Where the woodlands bend to see

The bending heavens below.

“There is a forest where the din

Of iron branches sounds!

A mighty river roars between,

And whosoever looks therein,

Sees the heavens all black with sin—

Sees not its depths, nor bounds.

“Athwart the swinging branches cast,

Soft rays of sunshine pour;

Then comes the fearful wintry blast;

Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast;

Pallid lips say, ‘It is past!

We can return no more!’

“Look, then, into thine heart, and write!

Yes, into Life’s deep stream!

All forms of sorrow and delight,

All solemn Voices of the Night,

That can soothe thee, or affright—

Be these henceforth thy theme.”

Hymn to the Night.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night

Sweep through her marble halls!

I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light

From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,

Stoop o’er me from above;

The calm, majestic presence of the Night,

As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,

The manifold, soft chimes,

That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,

Like some old poet’s rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air

My spirit drank repose;

The fountain of perpetual peace flows there—

From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear

What man has borne before!

Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,

And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!

Descend with broad-winged flight,

The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,

The best-beloved Night!

A Psalm of Life. What the Heart of the Young Man said to the Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

“Life is but an empty dream!”

For the soul is dead that slumbers.

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

“Dust thou art, to dust returnest,”

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,—act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;—

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labour and to wait.

The Reaper and the Flowers.

There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,

And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between.

“Shall I have nought that is fair?” saith he;

“Have nought but the bearded grain?

Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,

I will give them all back again.”

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

He kissed their drooping leaves;

It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

“My Lord has need of these flowers gay,”

The Reaper said, and smiled;

“Dear tokens of the earth are they,

Where He was once a child.

“They shall all bloom in fields of light,

Transplanted by my care,

And saints, upon their garments white,

These sacred blossoms wear.”

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,

The flowers she most did love;

She knew she should find them all again

In the fields of light above.

Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

The Reaper came that day;

’Twas an angel visited the green earth,

And took the flowers away.

The Light of Stars.

The night is come, but not too soon;

And sinking silently,

All silently, the little moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven,

But the cold light of stars;

And the first watch of night is given

To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams?

Oh, no! from that blue tent above,

A hero’s armour gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise,

When I behold afar,

Suspended in the evening skies

The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand

And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,

And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light,

But the cold light of stars;

I give the first watch of the night

To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,

He rises in my breast,

Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoe’er thou art,

That readest this brief psalm,

As one by one thy hopes depart,

Be resolute and calm.

Oh, fear not in a world like this,

And thou shalt know ere long,

Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong.

Footsteps of Angels.

When the hours of Day are numbered,

And the voices of the Night

Wake the better soul, that slumbered,

To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,

And, like phantoms grim and tall,

Shadows from the fitful firelight

Dance upon the parlour wall;

Then the forms of the departed

Enter at the open door;

The beloved, the true-hearted,

Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished

Noble longings for the strife,

By the road-side fell and perished,

Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,

Who the cross of suffering bore,

Folded their pale hands so meekly,

Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,

Who unto my youth was given.

More than all things else to love me,

And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep

Comes that messenger divine,

Takes the vacant chair beside me,

Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me

With those deep and tender eyes,

Like the stars, so still and saint-like,

Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,

Is the spirit’s voiceless prayer.

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,

Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,

All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died!

Flowers.

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,

One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,

When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,

Stars, that in earth’s firmament do shine;—

Stars they are, wherein we read our history,

As astrologers and seers of eld;

Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery,

Like the burning stars, which they beheld.

Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous,

God hath written in those stars above;

But not less in the bright flowerets under us

Stands the revelation of his love.

Bright and glorious is that revelation,

Written all over this great world of ours;

Making evident our own creation,

In these stars of earth,—these golden flowers.

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing,

Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part

Of the self-same, universal being,

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart.

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining,

Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day,

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining,

Buds that open only to decay;

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues,

Flaunting gaily in the golden light;

Large desires, with most uncertain issues,

Tender wishes, blossoming at night!

These in flowers and men are more than seeming,

Workings are they of the self-same powers,

Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming,

Seeth in himself and in the flowers.

Everywhere about us are they glowing,

Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born;

Others, their blue eyes with tears o’erflowing,

Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn;

Not alone in Spring’s armorial bearing.

And in Summer’s green-emblazoned field,

But in arms of brave old Autumn’s wearing,

In the centre of his brazen shield;

Not alone in meadows and green alleys,

On the mountain-top, and by the brink

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys,

Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink;

Not alone in her vast dome of glory,

Not on graves of bird and beast alone,

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary,

On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone;

In the cottage of the rudest peasant,

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers,

Speaking of the Past unto the Present,

Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers;

In all places, then, and in all seasons,

Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings,

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons,

How akin they are to human things.

And with child-like, credulous affection

We behold their tender buds expand;

Emblems of our own great resurrection,

Emblems of the bright and better land.

The Beleaguered City.

I have read, in some old marvellous tale,

Some legend strange and vague,

That a midnight host of spectres pale

Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau’s rushing stream,

With the wan moon overhead,

There stood, as in an awful dream,

The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,

The spectral camp was seen,

And with a sorrowful, deep sound,

The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there,

No drum, nor sentry’s pace;

The mist-like banners clasped the air,

As clouds with clouds embrace.

But, when the old cathedral bell

Proclaimed the morning prayer,

The white pavilions rose and fell

On the alarmed air.

Down the broad valley fast and far

The troubled army fled;

Up rose the glorious morning star,

The ghastly host was dead.

I have read in the marvellous heart of man,

That strange and mystic scroll,

That an army of phantoms vast and wan

Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life’s rushing stream,

In Fancy’s misty light,

Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam

Portentous through the night.

Upon its midnight battle-ground

The spectral camp is seen,

And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,

Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice nor sound is there,

In the army of the grave;

No other challenge breaks the air,

But the rushing of Life’s wave.

And when the solemn and deep church bell

Entreats the soul to pray,

The midnight phantoms feel the spell,

The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar

The spectral camp is fled;

Faith shineth as a morning star,

Our ghastly fears are dead.

Midnight Mass for the Dying Year.

Yes, the Year is growing old,

And his eye is pale and bleared!

Death, with frosty hand and cold,

Plucks the old man by the beard,

Sorely,—sorely!

The leaves are falling, falling,

Solemnly and slow;

Caw! caw! the rooks are calling,

It is a sound of woe,

A sound of woe!

Through woods and mountain passes

The winds, like anthems, roll;

They are chanting solemn masses,

Singing, “Pray for this poor soul,

Pray,—pray!”

And the hooded clouds, like friars,

Tell their beads in drops of rain,

And patter their doleful prayers;—

But their prayers are all in vain,

All in vain!

There he stands in the foul weather,

The foolish, fond Old Year,

Crowned with wild flowers, and with heather,

Like weak, despised Lear,

A king,—a king!

Then comes the summer-like day,

Bids the old man rejoice!

His joy! his last! Oh, the old man grey

Loveth that ever-soft voice,

Gentle and low.

To the crimson woods he saith—

To the voice gentle and low

Of the soft air, like a daughter’s breath—

“Pray do not mock me so!

Do not laugh at me!”

And now the sweet day is dead;

Cold in his arms it lies;

No stain from its breath is spread

Over the glassy skies,

No mist or stain!

Then, too, the Old Year dieth,

And the forests utter a moan,

Like the voice of one who crieth

In the wilderness alone,

“Vex not his ghost!”

Then comes, with an awful roar,

Gathering and sounding on,

The storm-wind from Labrador,

The wind Euroclydon,

The storm-wind!

Howl! howl! and from the forest

Sweep the red leaves away!

Would, the sins that thou abhorrest,

O Soul! could thus decay,

And be swept away!

For there shall come a mightier blast,

There shall be a darker day;

And the stars, from heaven down-cast,

Like red leaves be swept away!

Kyrie, eleyson!

Christe, eleyson!

Chapter Seven.

Earlier Poems.

These poems were written for the most part during my college life, and all of them before the age of nineteen. Some have found their way into schools, and seem to be successful. Others lead a vagabond and precarious existence in the corners of newspapers; or have changed their names and run away to seek their fortunes beyond the sea. I say, with the Bishop of Avranches, on a similar occasion, “I cannot be displeased to see these children of mine, which I have neglected, and almost exposed, brought from their wanderings in lanes and alleys, and safely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together in a more decorous garb.”

An April Day.

When the warm sun, that brings

Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,

’Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs

The first flower of the plain.

I love the season well,

When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,

Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell

The coming-on of storms.

From the earth’s loosened mould

The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;

Though stricken to the heart with winter’s cold,

The drooping tree revives.

The softly-warbled song

Comes from the pleasant woods and coloured wings

Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along

The forest openings.

When the bright sunset fills

The silver woods with light, the green slope throws

Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,

And wide the upland glows.

And when the eve is born,

In the blue lake the sky, o’er-reaching far

Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,

And twinkles many a star.

Inverted in the tide,

Stand the grey rooks, and trembling shadows throw,

And the fair trees look over, side by side,

And see themselves below.

Sweet April!—many a thought

Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;

Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,

Life’s golden fruit is shed.

Autumn.

With what a glory comes and goes the year!

The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers

Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy

Life’s newness, and earth’s garnitude spread out

And when the silver habit of the clouds

Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with

A sober gladness the old year takes up

His bright inheritance of golden fruits,

A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now

Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,

And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,

Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,

And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.

Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,

Lifts up her purple wing; and in the vales

The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,

Kisses the blushing leap, and stirs up life

Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,

And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,

Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down

By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees

The golden robin moves. The purple finch,

That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,

A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle,

And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud

From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings;

And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,

Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.

Oh, what a glory doth this world put on

For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth

Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks

On duties well performed, and days well spent!

For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves,

Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings.

He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death

Has lifted up for all, that he shall go

To his long resting-place without a tear.

Woods in Winter.

When winter winds are piercing chill

And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill,

That overbrows the lonely vale.

O’er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods,

The embracing sunbeams chastely play,

And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,

The summer vine in beauty clung,

And summer winds the stillness broke,

The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs

Pour out the river’s gradual tide,

Shrilly the skater’s iron rings,

And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,

When birds sang out their mellow lay,

And winds were soft, and woods were green,

And the song ceased not with the day.

But still wild music is abroad,

Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;

And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear

Has grown familiar with your song;

I hear it in the opening year—

I listen, and it cheers me long.

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, at the consecration of Pulaski’s Banner.

When the dying flame of day

Through the chancel shot its ray,

Far the glimmering tapers shed

Faint light on the cowled head;

And the censer burning swung,

Where, before the altar, hung

The blood-red banner, that with prayer

Had been consecrated there.

And the nuns’ sweet hymn was heard the while,

Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle.

“Take thy banner! May it wave

Proudly o’er the good and brave;

When the battle’s distant wail

Breaks the sabbath of our vale,

When the clarion’s music thrills

To the hearts of these lone hills,

When the spear in conflicts shakes,

And the strong lance shivering breaks.

“Take thy banner! and, beneath

The battle-cloud’s encircling wreath,

Guard it!—till our homes are free!

Guard it!—God will prosper thee!

In the dark and trying hour,

In the breaking forth of power,

In the rush of steeds and men,

His right hand will shield thee then.

“Take thy banner! But, when night

Closes round the ghastly fight,

If the vanquished warrior bow,

Spare him!—By our holy vow,

By our prayers and many tears,

By the mercy that endears,

Spare him!—he our love hath shared!

Spare him!—as thou wouldst be spared!

“Take thy banner! and if e’er

Thou shouldst press the soldier’s bier,

And the muffled drum should beat

To the tread of mournful feet,

Then this crimson flag shall be

Martial cloak and shroud for thee.”

The warrior took that banner proud,

And it was his martial cloak and shroud!

Sunrise on the hills.

I stood upon the hills, when heaven’s wide arch

Was glorious with the sun’s returning march,

And woods were brightened, and soft gales

Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

The clouds were far beneath me;—bathed in light

They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,

And, in their fading glory, shone

Like hosts in battle overthrown,

As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance,

Through the grey mist thrust up its shattered lance,

And rocking on the cliff was left

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft,

The veil of cloud was lifted, and below

Glowed the rich valley, and the river’s flow

Was darkened by the forest’s shade,

Or glistened in the white cascade;

Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,

The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

I heard the distant waters dash,

I saw the current whirl and flash—

And richly, by the blue lake’s silver beach,

The woods were bending with a silent reach,

Than o’er the vale, with gentle swell,

The music of the village bell

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;

And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,

Was ringing to the merry shout,

That faint and far the glen sent out,

Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,

Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.

If thou art worn and hard beset

With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,

If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep

Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,

Go to the woods and hills!—No tears

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

The Spirit of Poetry.

There is a quiet spirit in these woods,

That dwells where’er the gentle south wind blows;

Where, underneath the whitethorn, in the glade,

The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,

The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.

With what a tender and impassioned voice

It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,

When the fast-ushering star of morning comes

O’er-riding the grey hills with golden scarf;

Or when the cowled and dusky-sandalled Eve,

In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,

Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves

In the green valley, where the silver brook,

From its full laver, pours the white cascade;

And, babbling low amid the tangled woods,

Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter.

And frequent, on the everlasting hills,

Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself

In all the dark embroidery of the storm,

And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid

The silent majesty of these deep woods,

Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth,

As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air

Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards

Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades.

For them there was an eloquent voice in all

The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,

The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way,

Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds—

The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun

Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes—

Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in,

Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale,

The distant lake, fountains,—and mighty trees,

In many a lazy syllable, repeating

Their old poetic legends to the wind.

And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill

The world; and, in these wayward days of youth,

My busy fancy oft embodies it,

As a bright image of the light and beauty

That dwell in nature,—of the heavenly forms

We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues

That stain the wild bird’s wing, and flush the clouds

When the sun sets. Within her eye

The heaven of April, with its changing light,

And when it wears the blue of May, is hung,

And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair

Is like the summer tresses of the trees,

When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek

Blushes the richness of an autumn sky,

With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath,

It is so like the gentle air of spring,

As, from the morning’s dewy flowers, it comes

Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy

To have it round us,—and her silver voice

Is the rich music of a summer bird,

Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.

Burial of the Minnisink.

On sunny slope and beechen swell

The shadowed light of evening fell:

And, where the maple’s leaf was brown,

With soft and silent lapse came down

The glory, that the wood receives,

At sunset, in its brazen leaves.

Far upward in the mellow light

Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white,

Around a far uplifted cone,

In the warm blush of evening shone;

An image of the silver lakes,

By which the Indian’s soul awakes.

But soon a funeral hymn was heard

Where the soft breath of evening stirred

The tall, grey forest; and a band

Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,

Came winding down beside the wave,

To lay the red chief in his grave.

They sang, that by his native bowers

He stood, in the last moon of flowers,

And thirty snows had not yet shed

Their glory on the warrior’s head;

But, as the summer fruit decays,

So died he in those naked days.

A dark cloak of the roebuck’s skin

Covered the warrior, and within

Its heavy folds the weapons, made

For the hard toils of war, were laid;

The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,

And the broad belt of shells and beads.

Before, a dark-haired virgin train

Chanted the death-dirge of the slain;

Behind, the long procession came

Of hoary men and chiefs of fame,

With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,

Leading the war-horse of their chief.

Stripped of his proud and martial dress,

Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,

With darting eye, and nostril spread,

And heavy and impatient tread,

He came; and oft that eye so proud

Asked for his rider in the crowd.

They buried the dark chief, they freed

Beside the grave his battle steed;

And swift an arrow cleaved its way

To his stern heart! One piercing neigh

Arose,—and, on the dead man’s plain,

The rider grasps his steed again.

Chapter Eight.

Translations.

King Christian. A National Song of Denmark. From the Danish of Johannes Evald.

King Christian stood by the lofty mast

In mist and smoke;

His sword was hammering so fast,

Through Gothic helm and brain it passed;

Then sank each hostile hulk and mast,

In mist and smoke.

“Fly!” shouted they, “fly, he who can!

Who braves of Denmark’s Christian

The stroke?”

Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest’s roar,

Now is the hour!

He hoisted his blood-red flag once more,

And smote upon the foe full sore,

And shouted loud, through the tempest’s roar,

“Now is the hour!”

“Fly!” shouted they, “for shelter fly!

Of Denmark’s Juel who can defy

The power?”

North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent

Thy murky sky!

Then champions to thine arms were sent;

Terror and Death glared where he went;

From the waves was heard a wail, that rent

Thy murky sky!

From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiold,

Let each to Heaven commend his soul,

And fly!

Path to the Dane to fame and might!

Dark-rolling wave!

Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight,

Goes to meet danger with despite,

Proudly as thou the tempest’s might,

Dark-rolling wave!

And amid pleasures and alarms,

And war and victory, he thine arms

My grave!

Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral, and Peder Wessel, a Vice-Admiral, who for his great prowess received the popular title of Torden-skiold, or Thunder-shield, in childhood he was a tailor’s apprentice, and rose to his high rank before the age of twenty-eight, when he was killed in a duel.

The Celestial Pilot. From Dante’s Purgatorio, II.

And now, behold! as at the approach of morning

Through the gross vapours, Mars grows fiery red

Down in the west upon the ocean floor.

Appeared to me,—may I again behold it!

A light along the sea, so swiftly coming,

Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled.

And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little

Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor,

Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.

Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared

I knew not what of white, and underneath,

Little by little, there came forth another.

My master yet had uttered not a word,

While the first brightness into wings unfolded;

But, when he clearly recognised the pilot,

He cried aloud; “Quick, quick, and bow the knee!

Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands!

Henceforward shalt thou see such officers!

“See, how he scorns all human arguments,

So that no oar he wants, nor other sail

Than his own wings, between so distant shores!

“See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven,

Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,

That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!”

And then, as nearer and more near us came

The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared,

So that the eye could not sustain his presence.

But down I cast it; and he came to shore

With a small vessel, gliding swift and light,

So that the water swallowed nought thereof.

Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot!

Beatitude seemed written in his face!

And more than a hundred spirits sat within.

“In exitu Israel out of Egypt!”

Thus sang they all together in one voice,

With whatso in that Psalm is after written.

Then made he sign of holy rood upon them,

Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore,

And he departed swiftly as he came.

The Terrestrial Paradise. From Dante, Purgatorio, XXVIII.

Longing already to search in and round

The heavenly forest, dense and living green,

Which to the eyes tempered the new-born day,

Withouten more delay I left the bank,

Crossing the level country slowly, slowly,

Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance.

A gently-breathing air, that no mutation

Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead,

No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze,

Whereat the tremulous branches readily

Did all of them bow downward towards that side

Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;

Yet not from their upright direction bent

So that the little birds upon their tops

Should cease the practice of their tuneful art;

But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime

Singing received they in the midst of foliage

That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,

Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells,

Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi,

When Aeolus unlooses the Sirocco.

Already my slow steps had led me on

Into the ancient wood so far, that I

Could see no more the place where I had entered.

And lo! my farther course cut off a river,

Which, towards the left hand, with its little waves,

Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang.

All waters that on earth most limpid are,

Would seem to have within themselves some mixture,

Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal,

Although it moves on with a brown, brown current,

Under the shade perpetual, that never

Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.

Spring.

From the French of Charles D’Orleans, Fifteenth Century.

Gentle Spring!—in sunshine clad,

Well dost thou thy power display!

For Winter maketh the light heart sad,

And thou—thou makest the sad heart gay.

He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,

The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;

And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,

When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,

Their beards of icicles and snow;

And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,

We must cower over the embers low;

And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,

Mope like birds that are changing feather.

But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,

When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky

Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;

But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;

Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,

And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,

Who has toiled for nought both late and early,

Is banished afar by the new-born year,

When thy merry step draws near.

Song of the Bell. From the German.

Bell! thou soundest merrily,

When the bridal party

To the church doth hie!

Bell! thou soundest solemnly,

When, on Sabbath morning,

Fields deserted lie!

Bell! thou soundest merrily;

Tellest thou at evening,

Bed-time draweth nigh!

Bell! thou soundest mournfully;

Tellest thou the bitter

Parting hath gone by!

Say! how canst thou mourn?

How canst thou rejoice?

Thou art but metal dull!

And yet all our sorrowings,

And all our rejoicings,

Thou dost feed them all!

God hath wonders many,

Which we cannot fathom,

Placed within thy form!

When the heart is sinking,

Thou alone canst raise it,

Trembling in the storm!

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Heir of Kilfinnan"

Preface.

The following tale contains materials for a full-sized novel, but my readers probably will not object to have them condensed into a single modest volume.

The scene of a considerable portion of the story is laid on the coast of Ireland, where the peasantry mostly speak the native Irish, and I have therefore translated what my characters say into ordinary English rather than into the generally received brogue, which would be, coming from their lips, as inappropriate as Spanish or Dutch.

When English is spoken, it sounds somewhat high-flown, but is certainly purer than the language of the same class in England. Thus, my hero talks more like a well-educated young gentleman than a humble fisher lad. If that is considered a defect, I hope that it may be redeemed by the stirring incidents with which the tale abounds, and that old and young may alike find as much amusement as they expect in its perusal.

WHGK.

Chapter One.

The west coast of Ireland presents scenery of the most beautiful and romantic character. Here grey peaks rise up amidst verdure of emerald green; trees of varied hue come feathering down close to the water; yellow sands line the shores of many lonely bays; dark rocks of fantastic shape extend out into the ocean, while deep blue lochs mirror on their bosoms the varied forms of the surrounding heights. On the south-west part of the coast a wide bay is to be found. At the extreme southern end, up a deep loch, a castle, the seat of an ancient family, reared its towers high above the waters. The bay came sweeping round at some places with a hard sandy beach; then, again, the ground rose, leaving but a narrow ledge between the foot of the cliffs and the waters. Thus the shore extended on for some distance, forming a lofty headland, when it again sank to its former level. A reef of rocks ran out a considerable distance into the ocean, forming a natural breakwater to the bay. Here and there to the north were several deep indentations, in which fishing-boats and several coasting craft might find shelter. In some of these little bays fishermen had formed their habitations, mostly out of the wrecks of stout ships which had been cast on their rocky shores. In some of the coves or bays several huts had been congregated together, but a short distance north of the promontory which has been spoken of stood a single hut. It was strongly built of ships’ timbers and roofed with stout planks, kept down by heavy stones, so that, though the furious blasts which swept across the Atlantic blew against it, it had hitherto withstood the rough shocks to which it had been exposed.

The day was lovely; not a cloud dimmed the blue heavens, while the sun setting over the distant ocean shed a glow of light across the waters, rippled by a gentle westerly breeze. Several boats were approaching the shore. In one of them sat a lad. No other person was to be seen on board. The dark nets were piled up in the centre of the boat, at the bottom of which a number of fish, still giving signs of life, showed that he had been successful in his calling. Every now and then he looked up at the tanned sail to see that it drew properly, and then would cast his eye towards the shore to watch the point to which he was steering. He could scarcely have numbered twelve summers, though his figure was tall and slight. His trousers were rolled up above the knees, showing his well-turned legs and feet. His shirtsleeves were treated in the same manner, while the collar, thrown back, exhibited his broad and well-formed chest. His eyes were large and dark, and the hue of his skin gave indication that Spanish blood was flowing in his veins; while his dark locks escaping from beneath his fisherman’s red cap, gave a still more southern look to his well-chiselled features. His practical knowledge and activity seemed to have made up for his want of strength, for few boys of his age would have ventured forth to sea in a fishing-boat of that size by themselves. Another and a larger boat had been for some time steering a course to approach him.

“Ah! Dermot, me darlin’; and all alone too?” said a man from the boat which now overtook him.

“Yes! my mother was ill and unable to go off, so I went by myself; an’ see, Uncle Shane, I have had a good haul for my pains.”

“I see, boy, an’ sure I’m glad of it,” said the first speaker; “but you are scarcely strong enough to go off alone, for should a gale spring up you would be unable to manage that boat by yourself.”

“Och! an’ haven’t I managed her before now in heavy weather?” replied Dermot. “But suppose, Uncle Shane, I was lost, would you take care of my mother? She’s not so strong as she used to be; toil has worn her down, working hard for me when I ought to have been toiling for her.”

“I will,” answered Shane.

“Will you swear it, uncle, by the Holy Virgin and the blessed saints?”

“I will, Dermot, as I hope for mercy in the day of trouble. But why do you ask that question?”

“Because, uncle, as I was pulling up my nets I slipped and almost fell overboard. I thought that had my feet been entangled, as they might have been, I should have gone down an’ been unable to regain the boat. We none of us know what may happen: but could I feel that my mother would be protected from want, it would nerve my arm, and make me feel more ready for whatever lot may be in store for me.”

“Boy,” observed the elder fisherman, looking at his nephew, “you are thoughtful above your years; but the saints will protect you, and I will not forget to make an offering to Saint Nicholas, that he may watch over you.”

Thus conversing the old man and the lad steered their boats towards the shore side by side, the former hauling in his mainsail somewhat to lessen the speed of his boat. They parted to the northward of the promontory described, Dermot steering for the little cove in which stood the solitary hut already spoken of, while his uncle continued along the shore a little further to the north.

Dermot ran his boat between two rocks, at the end of which was a small sandy beach, where a capstan being placed he was enabled to haul her up out of the water. As he approached, a woman was seen descending from the hut. The same dark eyes and raven hair, though somewhat streaked with white in her case, which characterised the boy, was observable in the woman. Her figure was thin and wiry, giving indication of the severe toil to which she was exposed. She was dressed in a rough frieze petticoat, with a dark handkerchief drawn across her bosom, and the usual red cloak and hood worn at that time by most of the peasantry of the west of Ireland was thrown over her shoulders.

“Mother!” exclaimed the boy, “see, I have done well; I have had a better haul than we have got for many a day.”

“And may be, Dermot, we will have a better market too,” observed the woman. “It is said the Earl has come to the castle with many fine people, and they will be wanting fish to a certainty. It would be too late now to go, they would not see you; but to-morrow morning, as soon as the sun is up, you shall set forth, and to be sure they’ll be glad to buy fish of my Dermot.” The woman drew herself up as she spoke, and looked towards the boy with a glance of pride, as if she would not exchange him for any of the highest born in the land.

“How are you, mother?” asked Dermot; “have all those aches of which you were complaining gone away? Do you feel strong again?”

“Yes; the saints were merciful; I did not forget to pray to them, and they have heard me,” answered the woman.

With her, as with most of her countrywomen, superstition, if it had not altogether taken the place of religion, had been strangely mixed up with it; yet she spoke in a tone of simple and touching faith, at which no one with any feeling would have ventured to sneer.

Next morning, Dermot, laden with the finest of his fish in a basket at his back, set off along the shores of the bay towards Kilfinnan Castle. The approach to it was wild and picturesque. A narrow estuary, having to be crossed by a bridge, almost isolated the castle from the mainland, for the ground on which the old fortress stood was merely joined to it by a rugged and nearly impassable ledge of rocks. The castle itself was of considerable size and strongly built, so that it could well withstand the gales which, from time to time, circled round it. Dermot had but little natural timidity or shyness; yet he felt somewhat awed when, having missed the back approach used by the servants of the establishment, he found himself at the entrance-hall, in which a number of well-dressed persons were assembled on their way to the breakfast-room. Some passed him carelessly.

“Oh, here, papa, is a fisher-boy with such fine fish,” said a young and fair girl as she ran up to a tall and dignified man, who at that moment appeared.

“Why, boy, what brought you here?” asked the gentleman.

“To sell some fish; I caught them myself,” was Dermot’s answer. “They are fine and fresh. I will not bargain for the price, as I feel sure you will give me what they are worth.”

The gentleman seemed amused at the boy’s composure, and stepping forward looked into the basket which Dermot opened to exhibit his fish.

“You are right, boy. Send Anderson here,” he said, turning to a footman. “We will purchase your fish, and you may come whenever you can bring others as fine.”

Several ladies of the party seeing the Earl, for the gentleman who spoke was the owner of the castle, addressing the boy, came forward, and now, for the first time, remarked his handsome features and picturesque, though rough, costume.

The little girl begged that the fish might be taken out of the basket to be shown to her, and seemed delighted with the brightness of their scales and their elegant forms.

“Look after the boy, Anderson, and give him some breakfast,” said the Earl, as the head cook appeared, and Dermot, finding himself more noticed than he was ever before in his life, was conducted down below to the servants’ quarters. Although they were town servants, and would certainly have disdained to speak to a mere beggar-boy, or to a young country clown, there was something in Dermot’s unaffected manner and appearance which won their regard, and they treated him with far more kindness and attention than would otherwise have been the case.

Highly delighted with this his first visit to the castle, Dermot returned to his mother’s hut to give her an account of what had occurred. That evening she was sufficiently recovered to accompany him on their usual fishing expedition. Again they were successful, and the next morning Dermot once more made his appearance at the castle. He was received much in the same manner as on the previous occasion. His fish were exhibited before being taken below, and greatly to his astonishment a lady of the party begged that he would stand where he was, with his basket in his hand, while she produced her sketch-book and made a portrait of him. Dermot scarcely understood the process that was going forward, and was somewhat relieved when the breakfast bell sounding, the lady was compelled to abandon her undertaking.

“But I must have you notwithstanding, young fisher-boy,” said the lady. “You must come back after breakfast and hold one of those fish in your hand; I have only made the outline, and the drawing will not be perfect until it is well coloured.”

“He does not understand the honour that has been done him,” observed an elderly dame to the fair artist; “still he looks intelligent, and perhaps when he sees himself on paper he will be better pleased than he appears to be at present.”

Dermot scarcely understood all that was said, for though he spoke English very fairly, he could not comprehend the language when spoken rapidly.

Breakfast being concluded, he was again summoned to the hall, and to his utter astonishment he was made to stand with the fish in his hand, while the young lady continued her sketch. As a reward she exhibited it to him when it was finished. He blushed when he saw himself, for she was no mean artist, and she had done him ample justice. Indeed he looked far more like the Earl’s son, dressed in a fisher-boy’s costume, than what he really was.

“Could my mother see that picture?” he asked at length, “I am sure she would like it, she knows more about those things than I do, for I have never seen anything of that sort before.”

“What! Have you never seen a picture before?” exclaimed the young lady in surprise, “nor a print, nor a painting?”

Dermot shook his head—“No, nothing of the sort. I did not think that anything so like life could be put on paper.”

“Cannot you read?” asked the lady.

“No,” said Dermot, “I have no book. The priest can read, but there are few people else in this part of the country who can do so.”

“Oh! you must be taught to read, then,” exclaimed the young lady. “It is a pity that you should be so ignorant. Would you not like to learn?”

“Yes!” said the boy, looking up, “and to draw such figures as that. I should like to learn to place you on paper. You would make a far more beautiful picture than that is.”

The young lady smiled at the boy’s unsophisticated compliment. “Well, if you will come to the castle, I will try to teach you to read at all events,” she answered. “I should like such a pupil, for I am sure you would learn rapidly.”

“And I must help you, Lady Sophy,” said the little girl, who had been the first to draw attention to Dermot. “I am sure I should teach him to read very quickly, should I not, little fisher-boy? You would like to learn of me, would you not?”

“Indeed I would,” answered Dermot, looking at her with an expression of gratitude. “You are very gentle and kind, but I would not learn of those who try to force me.”

“When will you begin?” asked Lady Sophy.

“To-morrow. I long to gain the art you speak of,” answered the boy eagerly. “The priest tells me many things I have not known. Perhaps I shall be able to tell him some things he does not know.”

“So you wish to show this portrait to your mother?” observed Lady Sophy, in a kind tone. “I cannot trust you with it, but if you will tell me her name and where she lives, we will ride over some day and pay her a visit.”

“My mother is Ellen O’Neil, the Widow O’Neil, she is generally called, for my father is dead. She is a kind mother to me, and there are not many like her,” answered the boy with a proud tone, showing how highly he prized his remaining parent. “But our hut is not fit for such noble ladies as you are to enter,” he added, now gazing round the hall and for the first time comparing it with his own humble abode. “It is but a fisherman’s hut, and my mother and I live there alone. You could scarcely indeed ride down to it without the risk of your horses falling. If you will let me have the picture I will promise you faithfully that I will bring it back.”

“No, no!” answered the young lady, laughing; “perhaps your mother might keep it, and I want to have an excuse for paying her a visit. So we will come, tell her, and we shall not mind how small the hut may be.”

Dermot was at length compelled to explain where his mother’s hut was to be found, though he again warned the ladies that the approach to it was dangerous, and entreated them to keep well to the right away from the sea as they crossed the downs.

They promised to follow his injunction, and at length allowed him to take his departure. This he was anxious to do, as he knew that it was time to put off, to haul the nets which had been laid down in the morning.

Day after day, while the fine weather lasted and fish were to be procured, Dermot paid a visit to the castle, and each morning after breakfast was over, the young ladies insisted on giving him his reading lesson. He made rapid progress, and after a few days, they gave him a book that he might take home and study by himself.

Hitherto Lady Sophy and her friends at the castle, had not paid their promised visit to the fisherman’s cottage. At length, however, one evening just as Dermot and his mother had landed, they heard voices on the downs above their hut, and looking up Dermot espied the party from the castle. They were standing irresolute what path to take. He instantly climbed up the cliff by a pathway which speedily placed him by their side. He begged them to dismount, and undertook to conduct Lady Sophy and the little girl, whom he heard addressed as Lady Nora, down to the hut.

“I have brought the drawing as I promised,” said Lady Sophy, taking a portfolio from the groom who held their horses. “I will show it to your mother, and perhaps she will let me take hers also.”

There were other ladies and several gentlemen, and they expressed an intention of coming also down to the hut. Lady Sophy guessed that this would not be pleasant to the boy’s mother, and begged them to continue their ride along the downs, promising in a short time to rejoin them. Dermot was greatly relieved, for he knew his mother would be much annoyed at having so many visitors; at the same time he felt equally sure she would be pleased at seeing the two young ladies.

Widow O’Neil had just reached her hut with a basket of fish on her shoulders. As the young ladies entered, conducted by Dermot, she placed two three-legged stools and begged them to be seated, for there was no chair in the hut.

“You have come to honour an old fishwife with a visit, ladies,” she said; “you are welcome. If I lived in a palace you would be more welcome still. My boy has told me of your kindness to him. A mother’s heart is grateful. I can give nothing in return, but again I say, you are welcome.”

“We came to show you a drawing I made of him,” said Lady Sophy. “Here, see, do you think it like him?”

“Oh! like him!” exclaimed the widow, lifting up her hands; “indeed, like him, and far more like him who has gone—his father—whose grave lies off there in the cold dark sea. I would that I could possess that drawing, I should prize it more than pearls!”

“I will make you a copy,” said Lady Sophy, “on one condition, that you allow me to make a drawing of yourself.”

“Of me! of the old fishwife?” exclaimed the astonished widow. “There is little that would repay you for doing that, lady!”

The young lady smiled as she gazed at the picturesque costume and the still handsome features of the woman, although the signs of age had already come upon them. Her eyes were unusually bright, but her cheek and mouth had fallen in, and her figure having lost all the roundness of youth, was thin and wiry.

“Oh yes, you would make a beautiful picture,” exclaimed the young lady, looking at her with the enthusiasm of an artist. “Do sit still on that cask for a time with a basket of fish at your feet. You must let me draw you thus. Remember, if you will not, I cannot promise to make a copy of your son’s likeness for you.”

“As you will, ladies,” answered the fishwife. “The bribe you offer is great. As for me, it matters little what you make of me. You are likely to give me qualities I do not possess.”

Although she used appropriate terms, she spoke the English with some difficulty. It was unusual for any of the peasantry of that part of the coast in those days to speak English, and how she had acquired a knowledge of the language, and had been able to impart it to her son, it was difficult to say. Perhaps her husband might have spoken it, or her younger days might have been passed in some distant part of the country, and yet she had the characteristic features of the people in the south-west of Ireland, many of whom are descended from Spanish settlers, who had crossed over in ancient days from the coast of Spain.

Dermot stood by Lady Nora’s side, watching with looks of astonishment the progress made by Lady Sophy’s pencil. He hastened to bring her a cup of water that she asked for, to moisten her colours; still greater was his surprise when he saw the tints thrown in and gradually a very perfect portrait produced of his mother.

He clapped his hands with delight. “It’s her, it’s her,” he exclaimed; “I wish that thus she could always be. Oh, lady, if you give my mother a likeness of me, I must ask you to give me a copy of that portrait. It’s beautiful; it’s like her in every respect. If I were away from her, I should think it could speak to me.”

“Away from her,” said the woman, looking up and speaking to herself. “Oh, that so dark a day should ever arrive, and yet am I to keep him always by me, perhaps to share the fate of his father.”

The words scarcely reached the ears of those in the hut.

At length Dermot obtained a promise from Lady Sophy that she would give him a copy of the portrait she had just taken. He now accompanied her and her young companion to the spot where they had left the horses.

“You must promise to come to-morrow, Dermot,” said the Lady Sophy; “we wish to push you on with your lessons, for we shall not be here much longer, and we probably shall not return until next year.”

Chapter Two.

Dermot promised Lady Sophy to read all the books she had given him. When they left his mother’s hut he begged leave to accompany her and Lady Nora, in order that he might see them across the downs. He had discovered during his visits to the castle that the young Lady Nora was the Earl of Kilfinnan’s only daughter. He had a son also; a noble little boy he had heard. He was away at school in England; his father being fully conscious that an Irish castle in those days was not a place favourable to education. The Earl had a great affection for his boy, the heir to his title and estates. The former, indeed, should the young Lord Fitz Barry die without male descendants, would pass away, though the Lady Nora would inherit the chief part of his estate.

Lady Sophy was a relation of his late wife’s, for he was a widower, and she remained with him as a companion to his young daughter, though considerably older than she was. The rest of the persons seen at the castle were guests, with the exception of a lady of middle age, a Mrs Rollings, who acted as governess and chaperone to the young ladies.

Dermot continued his visits to the castle. Sometimes the Earl saw him, and seemed amused at the interest taken in him by his young niece and daughter. He observed also, that the boy was somewhat out of the common way, and he suggested that after they had left the west of Ireland, he should be sent to obtain instruction from a neighbouring clergyman, a friend of his, and the only person capable of imparting it.

At that time schools and missions were not known in the west of Ireland. The priests, almost as ignorant as their flocks, had unbounded sway among the population. Often the Protestant clergyman was the only person for miles round who possessed any education whatever. The peasantry were consequently ignorant and superstitious, and easily imposed upon by any one who chose to go among them with that object.

Lady Sophy was delighted with the suggestion made by the Earl, and insisted on at once carrying out the arrangement.

“Yes, indeed it is a pity that so intelligent a boy should be left in ignorance,” remarked the Earl. “Here is a five-pound note; do you take it from me to Mr Jamieson, and beg that he will do his best to instil some knowledge into the mind of the fisher-boy.”

There was a dash of romance, it must be owned, in the Earl’s composition, and he was besides a kind-hearted and liberal man. Dermot O’Neil might well have considered himself fortunate in having fallen among such friends.

Lady Sophy and Lady Nora instantly set off to call upon Mr Jamieson, whose vicarage was about three miles distant from the castle, though somewhat nearer to Dermot’s abode. The clergyman was rather amused at first with the account given him by the young ladies. He promised, however, to follow out the Earl’s wishes, and begged that Dermot might come to him directly they left the country; “And I shall be ready to undertake his education at once, Lady Sophy,” he said.

“No, no!” was the answer; “we cannot give him up yet; it is quite a pleasure teaching him. He already reads English with tolerable fluency, though we have not attempted yet to teach him to write. We must leave that to you.”

Dermot, with a grief he had not expected to feel, saw the party take their departure from the castle. The young ladies kindly nodded to him as their carriage rolled past the spot where he stood.

“There’s a bright light gone from amongst us,” he said to himself. “Did I ever before dream that such creatures existed on earth.”

He returned to his home in a mood totally strange to him. His mother, however, had reason to congratulate herself on the Earl’s visit, for it enabled her, from the payment she received for her fish, to provide in a way she had never before done for the coming winter. This made her the more willingly consent that Dermot should go over every day to obtain instruction from Mr Jamieson, the good clergyman, who was so pleased with the fisher-boy, that he took particular pains in instructing him, and not only was Dermot in a short time able to read any book that was put into his hands, but he also learned to write with considerable ease. His mind naturally expanded with the books given him to study, and as he obtained information, he became greedy for more.

Although Mr Jamieson had at first only intended teaching him the simple rudiments of reading and writing, he became so interested in the progress made by his pupil, that he felt desirous of imparting all the knowledge Dermot was capable of acquiring.

Thus the winter passed away. Dermot, in spite of wind and rain, or sleet or cold, persevered in his visits to the vicarage. He gained also an acquaintance with religious truth, of which before he had been profoundly ignorant. It was not very perfect, perhaps, but Mr Jamieson put the Bible into his hands, and he thus obtained a knowledge of its contents possessed by few of those around. Had the neighbouring parish priest, Father O’Rourke, discovered whither he was going, and the change that was constantly taking place in him, he would probably have endeavoured to interfere, and prevent him from paying his visits to the Protestant clergyman. Although he might not have hindered Dermot from doing as he chose, he probably would have alarmed his mother, who, though tolerably intelligent, was too completely under the influence of superstition to have understood clearly the cause of the priest’s interference. In a certain sense, to Dermot’s mind, the advantage he possessed was not so great as at first sight might appear. As he advanced in knowledge he became less and less contented with his lot in life, or rather the wish increased that he might be able to raise himself above it. By what means, however, was this to be accomplished? He had no claim upon the Earl, who, although wishing that he might be taught reading and writing, had not the slightest intention of raising him above his present occupation. Mr Jamieson gave him no encouragement; although perhaps, the idea had occurred to the worthy minister, that the boy was fitted for something above the mere life of an ordinary fisherman. Still the matter had not as yet troubled Dermot’s mind. It probably only occasionally passed through his thoughts, that there was an existence, even in this world, something above that to which it appeared he was doomed. Mr Jamieson had now resided for a considerable number of years at the vicarage. He came there with high anticipations of the amount of good he was likely to effect in that neighbourhood. By degrees, however, he found that his efforts to raise the people out of the state of ignorance in which they had been brought up were likely to prove abortive. The parish priest did not indeed offer him any open opposition, but he set an under current to work, which silently, though effectually nullified all the vicar’s efforts. Not one proselyte had he made, and at length he abandoned his previous intentions in despair of success, and consoled himself with the thought that at least he would perform thoroughly all the duties of his station. To such a conclusion many persons in his position have arrived, whether rightly or wrongly it need not here be said. Mr Jamieson had an only niece, who had of late years come to reside with him. She was no longer very young, but was a gentle, quiet woman, whose great desire was to do any good to her fellow-creatures which lay in her power.

Miss O’Reilly had been for some time aware that a severe affliction was about to overtake her. When she first arrived at the vicarage, she used to go among the neighbouring peasantry, carrying a basket to relieve the sick or starving, or to administer such comfort as she was able. She enjoyed the beautiful scenery by which she was surrounded. Now, however, she found that when she took a book the letters were dim and indistinct, while all distant scenes were shut out from her view, as if a thick mist hung over them. Blindness she felt was coming on. A journey to Dublin was in those days a long and tedious, if not somewhat dangerous undertaking. Still, at her uncle’s desire, accompanied by him, she performed it. But no hope was given by the oculist whom she consulted, and she returned home with the knowledge that in a short time she would require some one to lead her by the hand whenever she might wish to move from the immediate neighbourhood of the house.

Dermot had made frequent visits to the vicarage before Miss O’Reilly was aware who he was. One day he met her while she was trying to find her way a short distance from the house. He had seen her and knew who she was. Seeing her in doubt as to the path she was to take, he, with the native gallantry of the Irish, sprang forward and begged that he might be allowed to lead her.

“And who are you, boy?” she asked. “What brings you to the vicarage?”

Dermot told her his short history.

“You are then a pupil of my uncle’s?”

“Yes, his reverence has been teaching me, and I love to learn from him,” answered Dermot.

This led to further conversation, and Dermot told her of his mother, who lived down in the little cottage in Blackwater cove.

“And have you any brothers, sisters, or relations?” she asked.

“Except Uncle Shane, none that I know of,” said Dermot.

“Your mother, then, lives all alone.”

“Yes, since my father’s death, twelve years ago, she has lived by herself, with me alone to take care of, in her little hut.”

“And you never wish to leave your home, and go and see the great world?” asked Miss O’Reilly. Why she put the question it was difficult to say. It might not have been a very judicious one, as far as the boy was concerned, and yet it was but natural to suppose that a boy of Dermot’s character would wish to go forth into the great world, that he might inspect its wonders.

“It may be, lady; I may have wished to go and see the world, though not to leave my mother; for who would care for her if I was gone? Uncle Shane would, but he is old and couldn’t protect her for long. Besides you know that not a year passes but that some of the men on our coast lose their lives.”

“And does your mother know the truth? Can she read the Bible, boy?” asked Miss O’Reilly.

“No, she cannot read the Bible, but the priest takes care that she should know what he believes to be the truth, I am sure.”

“Your mother loves you?”

“Oh! indeed she does,” answered Dermot; “she would spill her heart’s blood for my sake, though she often sits melancholy and sad when alone, yet the moment I return, her eye brightens, and she opens her arms to receive me. Yes, lady, my mother does love me, that I know.”

“I should like to come and talk to your mother,” said the blind lady. “Will you lead me to her some day? I should not be afraid to descend the cliff with so strong an arm as yours to rest on.”

A few days after this, Dermot having finished his lesson with the vicar, met Miss O’Reilly close to the house, and expressed his readiness to take her to his mother’s cottage, the sea at the time happening to be far too rough to allow their boat to go forth to fish.

“I am ready to go with you,” said the blind lady; “but remember you must lead me all the way back, Dermot.”

“That will just double the honour, lady,” was the young Irishman’s reply. Dermot talked much of his mother to the blind lady, as he led her down to the cottage.

The widow’s voice pleased Miss O’Reilly, and all she said increased the interest she was inclined to take in her. Perhaps more than all, was that deep love which she felt for her only boy, and which had become, as it were, part of her being.

Dermot carefully conducted Miss O’Reilly back to the vicarage, and this was the first of many visits which she afterwards paid to the fishwife’s hut.

Dermot was never idle. He had no associates; indeed from his earliest days he had kept aloof from boys of his own age. It was not that he was morose, or proud or ill-tempered, but he appeared to have no sympathy with them, and thus, though possessed of many qualities which would have won him friends, he had not a single friend of his own rank or age in the neighbourhood. Whenever he was not out fishing, he was engaged with his book, either at the vicarage or at home.

He was thus employed one afternoon in his mother’s hut, when Father O’Rourke, the parish priest, made his appearance at the door.

“Come in, your reverence,” said the widow, placing a stool for him near the hearth; “it is a long day since your reverence has been seen down the cove.”

“May be you haven’t seen me often enough,” said Father O’Rourke, a stout broad-faced man, with a countenance of the ordinary low Irish type. “How is it that Dermot there has so many books? Ah! I have heard about his doings; he often goes up, I am told, to the Protestant minister’s. What good can he get by going there?”

“Much good, your reverence,” observed Dermot; “I have been learning to read and write, and gain other knowledge such as I had no other means of obtaining.”

“Such knowledge may be bad for one like you,” said Father O’Rourke; “there is no good can come from the place where you go to get it.”

“Pardon me, Father O’Rourke,” said Dermot, with spirit; “the knowledge I get there is good, and the gentleman who gives it is kind and good too. I will not hear him spoken against.”

“What, lad! do you dare to speak to me in that way?” exclaimed the priest. “You will be going over to the Protestants, and then the curse of Saint Patrick and all the holy saints will rest upon you,—you too, who are born to be a priest of the holy faith. Look; you were marked before you came into the world with the emblem of our faith, and if your mother had followed the wishes of her true friends, you would even now be training for the priesthood, instead of being a poor fisher-boy, as you now must be for ever, and nothing more.” The priest as he spoke seized Dermot’s hand, and bared his arm to the shoulder. There, curiously enough, above the elbow, was a red mark which might easily have been defined as a cross.

The boy drew away his hand indignantly: “I tell you, Father O’Rourke, I am as true a son of the Holy Church as ever I was. Mr Jamieson is no bigot; he gives me instruction, but does not ask me to turn to his faith, and yet, Father O’Rourke, I tell you, to my mind it is a pure and holy faith, whatever you may say to the contrary.”

The boy spoke boldly and proudly, as he again drew down the sleeve of his shirt.

Many years before, when the red mark on Dermot’s arm had first been seen by the neighbours, it was suggested that it was evidently placed there as a sign from heaven that he should become a priest, and that in all probability he would rise to be a bishop, if not a cardinal. When, however, Dermot grew a little older, and the idea was suggested to him, he indignantly refused to accept the offers made him. In the first place, nothing would induce him to leave his mother, and in the second, he had no ambition to become like Father O’Rourke, for whom it must be confessed, that at a very early age the boy had entertained a considerable antipathy. Even with the widow, though she was ignorant and superstitious, Father O’Rourke had never been a favourite; still when she could get so far as the chapel, she went to hear mass, and attended confession, as did her neighbours. The feeling which governed her was fear, rather than love for the parish priest. Father O’Rourke was excessively indignant at being thus addressed by the young fisher-boy. He turned from him, however, to his mother, and began to pour out his abuse on her head. He had not proceeded far, however, when Dermot again sprang to his feet.

“Father O’Rourke!” he exclaimed; “you may say what you like to me; you may curse me, and if you like you may threaten me with excommunication even, but do not lift up your tongue against my poor old mother. There are things a man can bear and some he ought not to bear, and I tell you, boy as I am, I will not have her spoken against. Your words may frighten her, and she may fancy that your curses may fall upon her head, but I tell you when uttered against a poor helpless widow, they will fall back on him who dares to speak them. There, Father O’Rourke, I have had my say, and I defy you.”

The priest had never before been spoken to in this manner by one of his flock, and he found no words to reply. At first he felt inclined to anathematise both the widow and her son, but doubts as to the effects it might produce upon Dermot restrained him, or perhaps a better feeling came into his heart.

“Very well, boy, remember I have warned you,” he exclaimed, “I have told you that by going to that Protestant minister, you may be led to turn heretic, and forsake our holy faith, and if you should, do not forget the heavy curses that will follow you. I do not wish you ill, nor do I wish your mother ill, but I cannot stand by and see one of my flock carried the downward way to destruction.”

Having thus delivered himself, Father O’Rourke left the hut and took the path up the steep glen, which led inland from the sea.

Often Dermot’s mind reverted to the days when the castle was inhabited, and he thought of the beautiful and kind ladies he had seen there, and of the fair little girl who had smiled so sweetly when she spoke to him. He felt the immeasurable distance between them and him, and yet he longed for their return, that he might gaze on them at a distance, and again hear their voices. He was generally too much occupied to go to the castle to inquire when the Earl was likely to return, because when not engaged in fishing, he was constantly at the house of Mr Jamieson. More than once he had ventured to ask him whether he thought the Earl was likely to come back again, but the minister replied that he was ignorant of the Earl’s movements, and had not heard that any orders had been received at the castle to make preparations for the reception of the family. The time was approaching when they had come on the previous year, and Dermot, though he scarcely acknowledged his feelings to himself, became more and more anxious for their arrival. After leaving Mr Jamieson, though the round was a long one, and he had to prepare his nets for the day’s fishing, he could not resist the temptation of going to the castle before he returned home. From his frequent visits during the previous summer, he was not a stranger there, and the housekeeper, pleased with his good looks and his unaffected manner, was not sorry to see him.

“Wait a bit, boy, wait a bit, and I think I can tell you when the ladies will come back and make another likeness of you,” she said, putting her hand on his head. “Ah! they will spoil you if we don’t take care, but do not be led away by them, boy. They look upon you, likely enough, as they do upon a pet dog, or any other animal, and when they are away, it is little they trouble their heads about you.”

These remarks were made in kindness by good Mrs Rafferty. She had heard all about the boy, and knew very well that if it became the custom to have him up at the castle, and to make much of him, as she thought was likely to be the case, he would inevitably be spoiled.

“When you come we will buy your fish, no fear of that, and take my advice, get a supply of the finest you can by to-morrow or the day after, and may be when you come there will be mouths enough at the castle to eat them.”

“What! are the family coming so soon then?” exclaimed Dermot, and a thrill of pleasure ran through his frame; “and the beautiful lady who draws so well, and all the others! I will go and catch the fish, never fear, Mrs Rafferty, and it will not be my fault if I don’t bring a basket of as fine as ever were caught up to the castle to-morrow.”

“I did not say ‘to-morrow,’ boy; I said the day after, and that will be time enough.”

Mrs Rafferty, to prove her kind feelings, took the boy into her own room, and placed before him several articles of food and delicacies, such as had never before passed his lips. She watched him while he ate.

“It is strange if there’s not gentle blood in that boy,” she remarked to herself, “I have heard what the young ladies think about it, and by the way he sits at table and eats, I would never believe that he is a mere fisher-boy.”

Dermot did not hear her remarks. Having finished his repast, he rose and wishing her good-bye, hastened home with the good news to his mother.

Chapter Three.

The widow and her son devoted the next day to an active supervision of their nets. In the evening a gentle westerly breeze, which had brought in their boat safely to shore, was still blowing, and Dermot having prepared the fish for the next day’s market, ascended to the downs above the cottage. As he gazed over the ocean, he saw under all sail, standing in for the shore, a beautiful ship. She had royals set, and studding-sails below and aloft on either side. It was evident she wished to come to an anchor before dark, and he concluded from the course she was steering, that she proposed bringing up in the bay, a reef extending out, on the north side of it, affording her sufficient shelter from the wind then blowing. Dermot watched the ship with intense interest. The masts seemed so tall, the canvas so white, and the yards extending so far on either side. On she came like a graceful swan, gliding over the azure bosom of the deep, surrounded as it were with the golden rays of the setting sun playing over the water in which she floated. Dermot had not believed that any vessel so beautiful was to be found on the ocean. She seemed so graceful, so fairy-like. As she drew nearer her sides appeared highly polished, and all about her wore an air of perfect order. A distant strain of music reached his ear from the deck. On a sudden men were seen swarming up her rigging. Every yard was covered. Now the studding-sails came in as if by magic. The royals and the topgallant sails were handed, the topsails were furled, the courses brailed up, and in a few seconds she was under bare poles, when her anchor was let go with a loud rattling sound in the securest part of the bay, showing that those on board were well acquainted with the coast.

As he looked down on the gallant frigate, for such she was, Dermot’s admiration increased more and more. He could not help wishing to be on board so fine a craft, and he determined to take the first opportunity of visiting her.

On his return to the hut, he told his mother of the arrival of the frigate.

“She comes as a friend, I hope,” remarked the widow; “it is not many years ago that I have seen vessels in this bay, which came with very different intentions.”

No one was seen, however, to land from the strange frigate, but the widow, on further consideration, resolved to pay a visit on board, in the hopes of disposing of the fish they had just caught, calculating that a further supply might be obtained for the castle the following day.

Dermot was glad of an excuse for going on board: as it was now too late to visit her, it was arranged that they should go off the first thing on the following morning. Although he and his mother could manage the boat by themselves, he did not know how she might be received on board; he therefore invited his Uncle Shane to accompany them, advising him to carry a supply of his own fish for sale.

Early the next morning the boat was alongside the frigate. The vendors of fish are generally welcomed by men-of-war’s-men, and they very quickly disposed of all they possessed; the only complaint of the sailors being, that they had not brought off enough vegetables and other fresh productions.

Dermot was invited on board, and as he showed his curiosity in all he saw, he was allowed to go over the whole of the ship. Great was his wonder as he examined her polished guns, the decks, white as snow, one below the other, the ropes on the upper deck so beautifully flemished down. The men were at breakfast, between decks. The tin mess utensils were spread out before them. Dermot was shown how the hammocks were hung up at night, and where they were stowed in the hammock-nettings in the day time. He gazed aloft at the symmetrical yards and ropes, and wondered at the perfect order which reigned around; so different to what he had been accustomed to in the small fishing-vessels and coasters, the only craft with which he was acquainted.

“Would you like to come to sea, lad?” said a rough sailor, putting his hand on Dermot’s shoulder; “you would make an active young topman in a few years. There’s something in you, I see. What do you say? Will you ship aboard us? I can answer for it you would get a berth, for our captain likes such as you.”

Dermot was pleased with the compliment paid him, though uttered in a rough way.

“Ah! if I had my heart’s wish, I would do as you say,” he answered; “but there’s one I cannot leave, and I do not think you would if you were in my place.”

“Who’s that?” asked the sailor.

“My mother, I am her only child,” answered Dermot.

“I ran away from my mother, and yet I was her only son,” replied the sailor, as he dashed a tear from his eye. “No, boy, I am not one to advise you to do as I did. I know not whether she is alive or dead, for never from that day to this, have I had the chance of returning home.”

The widow was highly pleased with the transactions on board, for whatever spice of romance there was in her, she never forgot the importance of making a good bargain for her fish. Shane was delighted, and undertook to return on board the next day.

Another successful expedition enabled Dermot to carry a supply of fish to Mrs Rafferty at the castle. His modesty induced him to enter by the back way, and on asking for her, after waiting some time, he was told he might go and see her in her room. The good lady told him that she expected the family every instant, and would take all the fish he had brought. Dermot hurried away, fearful that they might arrive while he was in the castle, and that he might lose the opportunity of seeing them. He sat himself down by the side of the road which the carriages must pass, in the hopes of gaining a glimpse of the lady who had taken his portrait, as well as of the fair little girl her companion. He thought very little of the rest of the party. At length, after waiting some time, his patience was rewarded by seeing the carriages approach. Not only were the ladies there, but they both saw him, and Lady Nora gave a half-nod of recognition, and then turned to her companion, as if to speak about him. Dermot would gladly have found any excuse for returning to the castle, but as this was impossible, he hurried home, hoping to be able to visit it the next day with a further supply of fish. On his way he saw a boat pulling rapidly from the frigate towards the landing-place under the castle walls. In her stern-sheets sat an officer, who by the gold epaulets on his shoulders and his cocked hat, he naturally concluded was the captain. Poor Dermot had very little chance after this of attracting the attention of Lady Sophy. The boat reached the shore, when the captain sprang out, and hurried up to the castle. He was received with great courtesy and respect by the Earl and his guests.

“You are indeed welcome, Falkner!” exclaimed the Earl, cordially shaking him by the hand, “we little expected having the pleasure of seeing you. What fortunate chance brings you into our bay?”

“We received information that there was some idea of a rising in this part of the country, and I was ordered to cruise off the coast,” answered the captain of the frigate. “Hearing also that you were about to return to Kilfinnan Castle, as it was in the way of duty, I took the opportunity of coming into the bay to visit you, and at the same time to make inquiries as to the truth of the report.”

“You are very welcome, Captain Falkner, and we are very happy to see you,” said the Earl, casting a significant glance towards Lady Sophy; “as to the rising, I rather think the Government has been misled; however, it is as well to be prepared, and the appearance of the frigate on the coast may prevent the people from committing any act of folly.”

“I hope so, indeed,” said Captain Falkner; “for the blood of too many of the misguided people has been shed already. They may bring much misery and suffering on themselves, and they may do a great deal of mischief in the country, but while England’s fleet and England’s army remain faithful, their wild schemes have not the remotest prospect of success.”

“No, indeed!” answered the Earl, in a somewhat scornful tone, “unless men of character and true bravery were to lead them, they will always be defeated as they have hitherto been. For my own part I have not the slightest fear on the subject. However, I repeat that I am not sorry that any excuse should have brought you into our bay.”

Captain Falkner after this received the welcome of the rest of the guests, with most of whom he was acquainted.

Lady Sophy blushed as she held out her hand, and the gallant captain took it with a look which showed there was a perfect understanding between them. He had already obtained a name which gave him rank among the bravest of England’s naval heroes. They before long found an excuse for walking out together on a beautiful terrace, which extended under the cliffs, beyond the castle to the south. The conversation need not be repeated, it was very evident, however, that Captain Falkner was an accepted suitor of Lady Sophy’s, although there were some impediments to their immediate union.

He told her that he expected to be on the coast for some time, for he still believed, in spite of the Earl’s assertions, that there was a considerable number of persons disaffected in that part of the country, who would be induced to rise, should a leader make his appearance among them.

“Although I may sail away for a few days at a time, I shall constantly be on the watch, and the thought that you may be placed in danger, will certainly not make me the less vigilant,” he observed, pressing Lady Sophy’s hand.

“But suppose you were to hear there would be a rising in this place, and another at some distance, to which would you then go?” asked Lady Sophy. “Would it not place you in a difficulty?”

“I tell you frankly, I would endeavour to forget in which place you were, and should steer for the one in which I believed my services were most imperatively demanded.”

“Yes, I am sure you would act thus,” she answered, casting on him a look of admiration and affection. “I do not value your love the less on that account, believe me.”

Captain Falkner had to return on board in the evening, but promised to visit the castle next day.

He arrived just as Dermot made his appearance with a basket of fish.

“Oh! that is the boy whose portrait you were admiring so much, Captain Falkner,” said Lady Sophy, pointing to Dermot as he was passing the hall-door.

“Come in, boy,” said another lady; “we wish to see if your portrait has done you justice.”

Dermot entered in his usual fearless manner, carrying his basket of fish. The portrait was produced, and another lady insisted that he should remain until she had taken a sketch of him for herself.

“By-the-bye,” said the Earl, “have you got any good by going to the minister, boy?”

“Yes, indeed I have, sir,” said Dermot warmly, “there is many a book I have learned to read, and though I found writing more hard, I am able to copy whatever Mr Jamieson gives me, and while he reads I can write after him. And there is history and geography and many more things he has taught me.”

“Ah, I must go over and thank him,” said the Earl. “And do you wish, boy, to continue under his instruction?”

“Indeed I do, sir,” answered Dermot.

“Oh, but we were teaching you,” exclaimed Lady Nora, who had just then come into the hall. “You must come and let Lady Sophy and me give you lessons as we did before.”

“Indeed I am honoured, ladies,” answered Dermot, with an air which none but an Irish boy, even of much higher rank, could have assumed. “Although I am grateful to the minister for all he has taught me, I should be thankful to receive further lessons from you.”

The Earl was somewhat amused at the thoughts of his little daughter giving instruction to the young fisher-boy. At the same time, good-natured and thoughtless, he made not the slightest objection. Indeed he never thwarted Nora in anything she had taken it into her head to wish for, and certainly he was not likely to do so in a matter so trifling as this.

Dermot appeared, as he had been invited, to receive his lessons, but was somewhat surprised to find that Lady Nora was scarcely as advanced in some branches of knowledge as himself.

“Indeed you have made great progress,” said Lady Sophy, who had undertaken to be the chief instructress. “If you persevere you will soon become as well educated as most young gentlemen of the day. I am acquainted with several, indeed, who don’t know as much as you do.”

These remarks encouraged Dermot to persevere, even with more determination than before. Every moment he could spare from his duties, he was now engaged in reading.

His poor mother looked on with astonishment that her boy should thus become so learned, and more than once it entered into her mind that it was a pity she had not allowed him to follow Father O’Rourke’s suggestion, and become a priest. “He would have been a bishop to a certainty,” she exclaimed to herself—“and only think to be a holy bishop, certain of heaven. What a great man he would have been made, a cardinal, and that he would have been, if His Holiness the Pope had ever become acquainted with him. I wonder now if it’s too late, but I’m afraid after what he said to Father O’Rourke that his Reverence will never give him a helping hand.”

Such and similar thoughts frequently passed through the mind of the poor widow. More than once she ventured to broach the subject to her son, but he shook his head with a look of disgust.

“If I am ever to be otherwise than what I am, I hope never to become like Father O’Rourke. No, no, mother I have other thoughts, and do not, I pray you, ever ask me again to become a priest.”

The next visit Dermot paid to the castle, he was detained longer than usual by another lady insisting on taking his portrait. His feelings rather rebelled against this. He had been flattered when Lady Sophy had first taken it, but he did not much like the idea of being made a figure for the exercise of other fair artists’ pencils, still his natural feelings of politeness prevented him from showing the annoyance he felt.

While the lady was proceeding with her work, he gathered from the conversation around him that some one of importance was expected at the castle, and he at length made out that the young heir—Lord Fitz Barry—was looked for during the afternoon.

Dermot had never seen him, for during the previous summer, he had not returned home, having remained with his tutor in England. He found that the carriage had been sent for the young Lord to the neighbouring town.

As soon as the ladies dismissed him, Dermot took his way along the road by which he would reach the castle.

He had not long to wait before he saw an open carriage with the Earl in it, and by his side a young boy bearing a strong resemblance to Lady Nora.

There were the same blue eyes and the fair complexion and rich auburn air possessed by his sister, at the same time there was a manly look and expression in his countenance—boy as he was—which at once won Dermot’s respect.

“Ah, he has the old blood of his family in his veins,” thought Dermot, “and when he comes to man’s estate, he’ll prove, I hope, the same kind-hearted, honest man that his father is.”

Well pleased with his morning visit to the castle, Dermot returned to his humble cottage. Did he ever draw a contrast between the two abodes? Yes, but he was not discontented with his lot. He loved his mother, and he knew that his mother loved him above all earthly things, and that she would not exchange him, even to dwell in that lordly castle. Still, as Dermot advanced in knowledge and in age, he could not help discovering that his mother was ignorant and prone to superstition. Indeed with pain he sometimes suspected that her mind was not altogether perfectly right. She would sit occasionally talking to herself, and now and then speak of strange events which had passed in her youth, of which she would give no explanation. He, however, quickly banished this latter idea, as too painful to be entertained. She loved him, what more could he desire? When he was anxious about her, he reflected that she had secured more than one friend in the neighbourhood. That his uncle Shane was devoted to her, and that the kind Miss O’Reilly had promised always to watch over her.

Many wild thoughts and schemes passed frequently through Dermot’s mind. He dared not at first give utterance to them, not even to himself, and he would have found it impossible to mention them to any human being.

Mr Jamieson, more than once, had spoken to him of the future, and hinted that if the way was open to him, he would scarcely fail, with the talents and application he possessed, of rising in life. It was very natural in Mr Jamieson to think this, for he knew that a fisher-boy’s existence on the west coast of Ireland was one of ill-requited toil, and of great danger. Holding this opinion, he felt that the boy would not change for the worse, and would certainly improve his position in whatever calling he might engage.

Chapter Four.

One afternoon, when it was blowing too hard to allow Dermot to put to sea in his boat, he had gone to the vicarage to obtain his usual instruction, carrying with him some fish he had caught, as a present to the vicar’s niece. After he had received his instruction and was about to take his departure, Miss O’Reilly called him back to thank him for the fish which he had brought her.

“By-the-bye!” observed Mr Jamieson, “Dermot can take the pony which I wish to send for young Lord Fitz Barry, and the cloak which he left here the other day.”

Dermot had not often ridden; but where is the Irish boy who would not undertake to mount the most fiery steed, if he was asked to do so?

He gladly promised to take the pony and cloak to the castle. It was already late in the day, but he observed that “that did not matter,” as it must be a dark night in which he could not find his way home. The pony was, however, in the field, and some more time elapsed before he was caught. Miss O’Reilly then bethought her, that Dermot had been a long time without food, and insisted on his taking some before he set off in that blustering evening. It was thus almost dark before he left the vicarage for the castle. He looked down on the bay: the frigate still lay at anchor there, the wind being still from the north.

“If the wind shifts a little more to the west, she will have to put to sea,” thought Dermot. “It will not do for her to remain in the bay with the wind blowing in from the west, and with such often rolls in here, enough to cast the stoutest ship high upon the beach, or to dash her to fragments should she touch the rocks.”

Dermot rode on, not, however, very fast, as the little animal was unwilling to leave his own home, not guessing the comfortable quarters to which he was bound. The wind brought up a heavy shower of rain and hail; Dermot was doubtful whether he ought to shelter himself under the young lord’s cloak. “Still,” he thought, “it will not be the worse for being on my shoulders, and I shall be wet through and well-nigh frozen before I reach the castle, if I am to sit on this animal’s back exposed to the storm.”

He wisely therefore, having overcome his scruples, put on the cloak, and continued his course as fast as the pony would condescend to go towards the castle.

Just as the frigate was hid from his view by some intervening downs, he thought he saw the men going aloft to loose the topsails, an indication of the ship being about to get under weigh.

“It is the wisest thing that can be done,” he thought to himself. “She can easily stand off until the summer gale is over, and run no risk of being driven on shore.”

He was already at no great distance from the castle, when suddenly from behind some rocks and bushes which lay near the road, a number of men sprang up and seized the bridle of his pony. He was too much astonished to cry out, or to ask what was their purpose in thus attacking him.

By the expressions that they uttered, however, he soon discovered that they were under the impression that they had got possession of the young lord.

“Now,” he thought to himself, with admirable presence of mind, “the best thing I can do is to hold my tongue, and just see what they intended to do with him. I would a great deal rather that they caught hold of me, to whom it matters not what harm they do, than the young lord. I would willingly save him for his sweet sister’s sake, and for his too, for he is a kind boy, with a gentle heart. I am sure of that. There is no pride or haughtiness about him. If there were, I should not feel disposed to serve him. No, I could not do that. Well, I will see what these men want to do with him. They will be rather surprised and enraged may be when they find whom they have got, instead of the young lord.”

These thoughts passed rapidly through Dermot’s mind, as he saw that he was surrounded by an armed band of men. They did not attempt to pull him from his pony, but turning round the animal’s head, they led him across the country inland at a rapid rate, a man holding the rein on either side with a firm grasp, to prevent the little animal from falling over the rough ground they were traversing.

Dermot firmly kept to his resolution of saying nothing. The night was so dark, that had it not been for his knowledge of the direction from which the wind blew, he would have been unable to guess where he was going. In a short time, however, he found the wind blew directly in his teeth. He knew that they must be travelling north, and also, from the character of the ground, that they had already passed beyond the vicarage, and that they could be at no great distance from his own home. Now they turned once more to the west, and he felt sure they were approaching the sea. The ground became more and more wild and rugged, and he guessed by feeling that they continued to ascend for some distance, that they had reached a range of wild hills which lay in that direction.

All this time he had kept his senses wide awake, nor did he allow himself to feel the slightest fear of what was likely to happen.

“No great harm can come to me,” at length he thought to himself; “and if it does, what matters it? There are those who will look after my mother, and I shall have saved the young lord from some plot which these ruffians have formed against him.”

All this time the people round him were speaking the native Irish, little supposing that their prisoner understood every word they said. He was at length able to gather from their conversation that they intended to hold the young lord as a hostage, threatening, if the demands they proposed making were not granted, that they would kill him in revenge.

At length, he was ordered to dismount, and he found himself led forward through a narrow passage, with rocks on either side, which conducted them into the interior of a cave. It was of considerable size, the roof and sides covered apparently with smoke, probably the result of the illicit distillery which existed, or had existed there. It was dimly lighted by a lamp fixed on a projecting point of the rock. This enabled Dermot to see that a number of arms were piled up along one side, muskets, pikes, and swords. There were two small field-pieces, and what he supposed to be cases of ammunition. Had the light been greater he would probably have been at once discovered. As it was, however, he was led forthwith to the farther part of the cave, where he was told to take his seat on a rough bed-place.

“We’ll be after bringing your food directly,” said a man, the first person who had spoken to him since his capture. “You will be quiet now, and not attempt to run away; for we should shoot you if you did without the slightest ceremony. You understand that? Or stay, if we were to bind one of your feet to the leg of this bunk, we should have you more secure, I’m thinking.”

Dermot, adhering to his resolution, said nothing in return, but allowed himself to be secured as the man proposed. He laughed, however, to himself at the thought of the ease with which he could immediately liberate himself should he wish to do so, and wrapping himself closely in the cloak, the better to conceal his figure and dress, should by chance a gleam of light fall upon him, he lay down on the bunk.

Other persons now continued to arrive, until the cave was full of men, the greater part of whom were peasants or small farmers; at least their comrades treated them with but little ceremony.

As Dermot, however, was watching what took place, he heard the men whispering to each other, “It’s him! It’s him; he’s come to lead us, no fear now.”

Just then a man appeared at the entrance of the cave. As he advanced with a confident, indeed somewhat swaggering step, towards the table in the centre, all the men rose from their seats and greeted him in various tones of welcome.

He told them that he had been narrowly watched, that he had had no little difficulty in escaping his enemies and their enemies, that he was thankful to find himself among them, and prepared to undertake any enterprise, however hazardous, which might tend to forward their great and glorious cause—the overthrow of their Saxon tyrants and the establishment of the Irish race as the lords and rulers of their country.

He said a great deal more to the same effect, which was eagerly listened to by the assembled rebels.

“Long life to the O’Higgins, he’s the boy for us,” resounded through the cavern, or at least words to that effect in the native Irish, the only language spoken by those present.

The O’Higgins spoke it, but Dermot remarked that he did so with some difficulty.

The conspirators seemed highly delighted at having made so valuable a prize, and began, in no subdued voices, to discuss their future plans and proceedings.

Dermot listened eagerly, anxious to catch every word that was uttered. He found that they were a band of United Irishmen, as the rebels were generally called at that time, and that in spite of the ill-success of their undertaking in the north, they proposed carrying out a rising in that part of the country. Their first object was to attack the Castle of Kilfinnan, where they hoped to find a supply of arms and a large amount of booty. They expected also to extract a considerable sum for the ransom of the prisoners they might capture in the castle, and, if not, they proposed putting them all to death, in revenge for the execution of their fellow-rebels, which had taken place in other parts of the country.

The chief impediment to their plan was the continuance of the frigate on the coast. They were anxious to devise some plan by which she might be drawn off to another part of Ireland, or induced, at all events, to put to sea. Some of the boldest of the party proposed collecting a flotilla of boats, and taking possession of her, in the belief that they could land her guns and other arms, and thus obtain the means of better competing with the royal troops.

These and many other schemes were freely discussed by the rebels. After some time another person entered the cavern. Dermot looked up and saw by the light of the lamp, which fell on his countenance, that the new comer was no other than Father O’Rourke. He and the O’Higgins greeted each other warmly. It was evident that they were looked upon as the leaders of the undertaking. The one active in a spiritual capacity, urging on the infatuated men the justice of their cause and promising them his own prayers and the protection of heaven, and telling them to go on and conquer; the other inviting them to follow him, and promising them the victory. Father O’Rourke particularly advocated the most energetic measures. He even advised that they should at once march towards the castle, and, exposing the young lord to view, threaten to hang him if the gates were not opened to admit them.

This plan was, however, overruled by others, who declared that the frigate still lay in the bay, and that whatever the Earl might do, their appearance on the shore would certainly bring the shot of her guns about their ears.

“And what are you afraid of, comrades?” exclaimed Father O’Rourke. “If they do, cannot I give each of you the blessed picture of Saint Patrick, and won’t that, worn about your neck, guard you from the shot of the enemy? Ah, if you knew the value of those blessed amulets, you would all of you be anxious to purchase them. No soldier should ever think of going into battle without such a safeguard. Have I not been offering up prayers day and night for the last month for your success, and are you such heretics as to believe that they have all been uttered in vain? No, trust me, let us go and attack the castle this night or to-morrow at farthest, and depend upon it, we shall gain such a victory as will make all the people in the country around rise up and join us. They only want to see a little success, and Ireland shall have her own again. What, boys! are we to be kept down by the red-coats, and the vile heretics who call George the Third king? No, I say again. Ireland for the Irish. May Saint Patrick and all the blessed Saints fight for us, and we will have true liberty once more in the green Isle of old Erin!”

While listening to the address of the priest, very similar to many others uttered then, and even at the present day, by the so-called pastors of the Romish Church in Ireland, Dermot was thinking over what he should attempt to do. He knew perfectly well from the way his feet had been tied to the bed, that he could liberate himself immediately; but how to steal out of the cavern without being observed was the difficulty; even should the chief body of the rebels go to sleep, it was not likely that they would leave the cavern without a guard. If he could escape, however, he thought his best plan would be to hasten off to the castle, to which he felt sure he could find his way, and give notice of the plans of the conspirators.

“The Earl probably does not dream of an attack being made on his residence, and will not certainly be prepared,” thought Dermot to himself. “Perhaps the rebels will steal towards the chief door and break it open before any one within can stop them. The frigate, too, if she has not sailed already, will very likely go away, or be misled by the treacherous information those people will send on board. Now, if I could steal away without their finding out who I am, they will not suspect that their plans are discovered as they know that the young lord would not understand what had been said.” Dermot’s great desire therefore was to escape from the cavern. He found that not only was it expected that the country around would rise and attack all the Protestant dwelling-houses in the neighbourhood, but that a French squadron with troops would come off the coast and support their cause.

This, altogether, was terrible news, and Dermot felt that it was most important it should be conveyed without delay to Kilfinnan Castle, the principal seat in that neighbourhood.

Dermot had never liked Father O’Rourke, and he had now still less cause to admire him. He guessed, too, from the character of the man, that although he would encourage the people round to rebel, he was not likely to run himself into danger. He was not surprised, therefore, after hearing him inflame the passions and ardour of his misguided countrymen, to see him quietly take his departure after uttering his blessing and promising them success if they would follow his injunctions.

We must now return to the vicarage. Scarcely had Dermot left the house on the pony, than Miss O’Reilly began to regret that she had allowed him to go. She went to the door and felt the blast blowing keenly from the north, and knowing the lateness of the hour, she feared that he would be benighted long before he could reach the castle. She would willingly have despatched some one to him, but she had no person to send.

While standing at the door, she heard a voice, singing one of the wild and plaintive airs of the country, down in the valley beneath the vicarage. She knew by the sounds that the singer was drawing nearer and nearer the house.

“It is poor mad Kathleen,” she said to herself, “though she has but a small amount of brains, yet she is fleet of foot, and would soon overtake the lad, and bring him back to the house. It would be better to do that, than let him go on with the pony he ill knows how to bestride.”

The song continued, and in a short time the singer stood in front of the vicarage.

“Well, Kathleen, what brings you here?” asked Miss O’Reilly, addressing her in a kind tone.

“What brings me here takes me wherever I list to go, my own free will,” answered the mad girl, who was still young, and possessed of an amount of beauty which made those who saw her feel even more sympathy and compassion than they might have done, had her appearance been less attractive.

“You are good and kind, Kathleen,” said Miss O’Reilly; “you would do me a kindness, I know, if I were to ask you.”

“That I would, lady!” answered the girl, in the broken Saxon which was spoken by not many of the peasantry in that part of Ireland; “I would do anything to serve you, just say what it is.”

Miss O’Reilly, in a few words, explained to Kathleen what she wished to have done.

“You know him, you know young Dermot O’Neil?”

“Oh yes, I know him well; he is a gentle lad and a good one, and I would gladly serve him, as I would you, lady.”

Miss O’Reilly again endeavoured to impress upon the wandering mind of the poor girl what she was to do, and then begged her to hasten off to overtake Dermot. However, neither she nor Miss O’Reilly were aware of the distance Dermot would have got before Kathleen could overtake him.

The mad girl went singing on as was her wont for some time, till suddenly she became unusually silent. She had not gone far when she heard the loud talking of a body of men approaching her.

“Those voices at this time of the evening bode no good,” she said to herself. “They are some of the rebels who they say are about the country. I never loved such. I will hide and watch to see what they are about.”

She accordingly concealed herself among the rocks and uneven ground with which the road was bounded. The tramp of feet approached, coming from the direction of the castle, and she saw some men leading a pony on which a lad was mounted, hurriedly proceeding towards the north.

From what she had heard from Miss O’Reilly, she at once concluded that the person she had seen in the hands of the insurgents must be Dermot himself.

“Now the next thing I have to do,” she thought, “is to follow and try to find out where they are taking him to. Surely they will not do him an injury, but still they have no right to carry him off; of that I am certain.”

Gathering her cloak around her, she quickly followed the footsteps of the party she had seen pass. She had to keep at a cautious distance, lest in crossing any open space, she might have been discovered, but where a person in their right mind might have hesitated, she went on fearlessly. The road was rough and up and down hill, but she continued her pursuit till the party suddenly came to a halt.

“Oh!” she said to herself; “I know the spot where they have gone to; shall I go on, or shall I go back to Miss O’Reilly and tell her how I have been defeated in fulfilling her directions?”

In spite of the distance she determined to follow the latter course.

The astonishment of Miss O’Reilly was very great when, at a late hour in the evening, Kathleen appeared and told her what had befallen young Dermot.

Miss O’Reilly instantly consulted her uncle, who fortunately was at home.

“There is something wrong going forward, at all events,” he observed. “But why the rebels should have made Dermot prisoner is more than I can say. However, perhaps you can persuade Kathleen to go back to the cave and endeavour to release him. I don’t know what else we can do. In the morning I will ride over to the castle and consult with the Earl. He should be informed that a rising of some sort is on foot through the country, though I do not suppose it is of much consequence.”

Kathleen was perfectly ready to undertake the release of Dermot if she could accomplish it, and she promised at all events to enter the cavern and to communicate with him.

“He is a wise lad, and it will be a wise thing to do as he bids me,” she observed.

“But you must be weary, Kathleen,” said Miss O’Reilly; “you will want some refreshment before you set out again to-night.”

“No, no, when the mind’s at work the body requires no food,” said the mad girl, and she burst forth in a wild song which showed the excitement under which she was labouring.

Chapter Five.

Without waiting for further directions, away went the mad girl over moorland and glen at a speed which, considering the darkness, scarcely a wild deer could have rivalled, and before long she stood at the entrance of the cavern. She waited for some time, in the hopes that the inmates would go to sleep, and that she could more easily find an entrance. Listening, she heard voices within, and that of Father O’Rourke above all the rest.

“Where the priest is, there there’s mischief,” she said to herself. “If he’s going to stay there’s little I shall be able to do.”

She had not waited long, however, concealed behind a rock, when she saw Father O’Rourke issue forth and take his way down the hill. She waited some time longer, then quietly entered the cavern, gliding past the table and up to its further end. The men, who were still awake, gazed at her with astonishment, wondering what had brought her there, but none ventured to speak to her. She was held in a sort of superstitious reverence by the ignorant peasantry; and seeing her fearlessly enter, they fancied that she had authority for coming among them. No one suspected, indeed, that she would not prove faithful to their cause, had she discovered their intention. Silently she passed up the cavern and sat herself down on a chest at the further end, where, concealed by the darkness, she yet could look forth on the objects lighted by the lamp, and make her observations.

She had not been there long before she discovered Dermot resting on his elbow on the bunk where he had been placed. She watched till those around her appeared to be asleep, and she then noiselessly glided up to where he lay.

“I have come to look for you, Dermot,” she whispered. “Have you any message to send to friends, or would you have me set you free? The message I might take, but if I were to try and set you free, I might be made prisoner myself.”

“I will send a message; that will be the safest plan,” said Dermot. “But how did you find me out?”

She told him briefly.

“Stay, I can take a leaf from one of my books,” he observed. “I will write it, it will be safer, and you will remember to deliver it, Kathleen, if you wish to do me and others real service.”

“Oh yes, Dermot, write, you may trust me; it is better than putting it into my poor mind, though I can remember if it is not overcharged,” she answered with a sigh. “But be quick, or some of these people will be suspecting us.”

Dermot sat up. He had fortunately a pencil in his pocket, and taking a leaf from one of his books, he wrote a few lines, addressed to the Earl, telling him of the intention of the rebels to attack his castle, and also of their purpose of getting the frigate out of the way.

The note may not have been well written or very well expressed, but it was clear and to the purpose. After signing his name he added, “Oh, trust me, my lord, I would come myself but I am a prisoner, and I pray heaven that this may reach you in time to be of service.”

Kathleen placed the note in her bosom, hoping that she had not been observed.

“Now hasten away, Kathleen,” whispered Dermot. “You can do as much good as I could have done had I been free, and providing those in the castle are preserved I care not what happens.”

Kathleen returned to her former seat and began chanting one of the airs she was generally heard singing, and then, once more gliding down the centre of the cave, she took her departure unquestioned by any of the rebels. Again in the open air she quickly descended the mountain, dark as it was, and in spite of the roughness of the way, she hastened forward at a rapid speed towards Kilfinnan Castle. All was silent as she approached the gates. In vain she walked round and round, she could find no means of making herself heard. The inmates, unsuspicious of danger, were all at rest. She looked down into the bay. The frigate was not there. “All my labours will be of no avail,” she thought to herself, “if I cannot let the good lord know what is threatened.”

She had walked some way under the castle walls, when, looking up, she saw a light in a window. Instantly she gave forth one of her wild songs. Some of those within who had heard of the famed Banshee were fully persuaded that it was a phantom visitor singing outside the gates, indicative of the speedy death of some one of consequence within. At length the window opened.

“Who’s there?” asked a feminine voice. “Surely it is some mortal, and not a spirit from another world.”

“I’m sure it is,” said another voice.

“It’s the poor girl Miss O’Reilly was telling us about. What is it you want, Kathleen?” asked the speaker in a tender tone.

“Is it you who calls me, my lady?” answered Kathleen from below.

“Yes, it is I; what brings you here at this hour of the night?”

“A message—a paper for the Earl, my lady,” said the mad girl. “It is from one who would serve him, and it is of great importance he told me. I cannot say more now; but if you will let me into the castle I will place it in your hands, and tell you all I know.”

“Come round to the front door,” said a voice, which was that of Lady Sophy. “We will come down with a light, and admit you.”

Some time was occupied by the young ladies in putting on their dresses, and then arousing the Earl with the information that a message of importance was brought for him, they hastened down stairs.

At first, from the incoherent way in which poor Kathleen spoke, Lady Sophy and Nora could not understand what had occurred. At length the truth dawned upon them, and by the time the Earl appeared, they were able to explain to him what they had learned.

He at once clearly understood that Dermot had been seized by those who intended to carry off his own son, and he felt not a little grateful to the young fisher-boy for the way he had behaved in the matter. He saw likewise that no time was to be lost, and that it would be necessary both to send off messengers to procure troops from the nearest place where they were quartered, and also immediately to put the castle into a state of defence. He regretted the absence of the frigate, and could only hope that she might return sooner than it had been Captain Falkner’s intention of doing.

In vain Lady Sophy pressed poor Kathleen, after her exertions, to remain and rest at the castle.

“No, no,” she answered; “I will be back again at my home. If I am absent, they will suspect that I have taken a part in this matter; and though they can do me no harm, they may injure those I love.”

The poor girl could scarcely be persuaded to take any refreshment; and at length, having eaten a little which Lady Nora brought her, she hastened away towards the vicarage, singing in her usual strain as she went.

The Earl quickly aroused the inmates of the castle. Messengers were sent off as he proposed, and all the people in the neighbourhood who could be trusted were summoned to come within the walls to aid in its defence. There were a few guns planted on the battlements, but they were more for show than use, that part of the country having hitherto been tranquil, and no idea being entertained that they would be required. There were, however, muskets and pistols in the armoury, and pikes, and numerous old weapons of warfare which were stored there, more as an exhibition on account of their antiquity than for use. Still, the gates were strong, and it would require no small amount of force to break them open.

The preparations for the defence occupied a considerable time; the lower windows had to be barricaded, and the doors strengthened by stout bars. A few holes were left for musketry in different parts, and a supply of large stones was brought up from the beach below to serve as missiles, should the rebels approach near enough to make them useful.

The first streaks of daylight were appearing in the sky before all these preparations were made. Soon after, while the little garrison were resting from the toil they had undergone, the tramp of feet was heard approaching the castle.

Chapter Six.

Towards morning Dermot was roused from the bunk on which he had been placed by the man who had before spoken, and an intimation given him that he must rise and prepare to move.

He again saw the person who had been called O’Higgins marshalling the rebels, giving various directions, and finally putting himself at their head, as in regular order they marched away from the cavern.

On being led out of the cave Dermot was placed on the pony and led between two men, and was conducted at a rapid pace towards the south. He knew this by finding the wind still in his back, and catching a glimpse through the gloom of the distant sea.

“They must be going back to the castle,” he thought, “and are about to make the attack they have been threatening. I hope Kathleen arrived in time; if not, those beautiful young ladies and the kind Earl will fall into their hands. Oh, that I could have got away and made sure of giving them warning in time; and yet I do not think the people in the cave slept through the night, and I should have been found out to a certainty. Even now, I don’t think they know who I am, and they still believe they have got the young lord. Well, they may hang me in their rage when they find out who I am, and it cannot be helped. Kathleen will scarcely have failed in giving the notice I sent. But then, if they kill me, oh, what grief for my poor mother. That is the bitterest thing in the matter: for her sake, if I thought there was a chance of escaping I would make the attempt; but if God thinks right to call me out of the world, He knows what is best. Still something may occur by which I may hope to escape, though I know these men about me are ready for any bloody work. What fearful oaths I heard them swear, and we know too well what dreadful things have been done in other parts of the country. The young and the fair, and the old and the helpless, have been murdered by their cruel hands. A fearful thing is this civil war. I used not to think much of it once, but I do now. And oh, that sweet young Lady Nora and her cousin, to think of the horrors to which they may be exposed.”

Such were the thoughts which passed rapidly through Dermot’s brain in spite of the danger to which he himself was exposed. He heard the people as before speaking round him in the native Irish, but he took good care to make no remarks; indeed, he felt sure that should he speak, his voice alone might betray him. Had they indeed seen him in daylight they might have suspected, in spite of the cloak which covered him, that he was not the young lord. At length he knew by the appearance of the country, and the expressions he heard uttered round him, that they were drawing close to the castle, though they had arrived by a more inland route than that which he usually took. He judged that some hundreds of people comprised the force of rebels. They were armed in a variety of ways, but a considerable number had muskets and pistols. He discovered also that the two small field-pieces which he had seen in the cavern had been brought with them. Not knowing the moderate powers of such pieces of ordnance, he was afraid that the insurgents with them would batter down the walls. This made him feel more alarmed than ever for the safety of his friends.

The rebel force now drew up close round the castle, and a consultation was held among the chiefs as to how the attack should be commenced.

Dermot was led up on his pony close to where the leaders were assembled holding their consultation of war. One of them, with more sagacity than the rest, suggested that before they began the attack they should demand the surrender of the fortress, threatening that if this was not agreed to, they would immediately put to death the young lord whom they had in their power.

One of their number was accordingly selected to act as herald, and directed to proceed to the front gate, and to demand a parley. The man thus honoured was a broad shouldered Celt, evidently more accustomed to dig than to perform the part for which he had been appointed. He was furnished, however, with a stick and white handkerchief fastened to it, to act as a flag of truce, and urged to proceed at once on his mission.

He evidently did not like the task imposed on him, for Dermot heard him explain that he was doubtful whether he could muster a sufficient amount of Saxon to speak to the garrison.

“Never fear that,” was the answer; “there are many who know Celtic inside, and they’ll not fail to understand you.”

While these arrangements were being made the dawn broke. The herald appeared before the gate, and was considerably astonished when told, in reply to his demand, that the Earl declined holding any communication with men in arms against their sovereign. “But if we hang the Earl’s son if they don’t let us in, what will he say to that?” asked the herald.

“You will commit any outrage at your own peril,” was the answer. “The Earl knows that you would not dare to hang his son, even if you had him in your power. Do you expect to escape the vengeance of the whole nation should you venture to commit any such atrocity. Go back from whence you came; the Earl and all within this castle set you at defiance.”

The herald, unwilling to go back to his companions with such an answer, again asked if such was their ultimate resolution.

“Yes. You will only bring destruction on your own head if you remain where you are; and we again tell you, we defy you,” answered the person within.

At last the herald returned to the council of war, which was still sitting. The two guns were now brought forward and placed on an elevated situation, for it had not occurred to their possessors that the only service they could render would be to batter in the gates of the castle. The men who had muskets made their appearance in the front rank, thus to produce a more imposing effect. While these arrangements were being made some of the men had been cutting down young trees in a plantation close by. These they now fixed in a mound near the spot where the guns were posted, and to their tops they secured a cross beam. A rope was then produced.

“We shall have to hang the boy if the Earl does not give in,” Dermot heard some of the people round about him observe.

“I would gladly have escaped the work,” remarked another. “Yet if it must be done, it must be.”

Dermot watched these proceedings, and it would have been unnatural if he had not felt a sensation of horror creeping over him. Should he endeavour to save his life by declaring that he was not the Earl’s son. It naturally occurred to him to do this, and yet it would probably no longer avail him. He nerved himself for the fate which seemed inevitable. The preparations had been seen from the castle.

“If you commit murder,” shouted a voice from one of the turrets, “you will bring down the vengeance of heaven and of your country on your heads.”

The chiefs continued their consultation. The discussion appeared to be a warm one. Some of them got up and walked about, shaking their fists at the castle.

“It must be done!” he heard several exclaim; “it will strike terror into the hearts of our Saxon persecutors. The boy must die. If we let him escape they would declare that we were afraid, and that would make them tyrannise more than ever over us.” Several men now came to Dermot and led him towards the gallows which he had seen erected. At the same time an attempt was made to fire the guns placed on the height, but neither of them went off.

“The powder is bad,” Dermot thought to himself; “will it all be like that?”

It was a curious thought at such a moment. He had nerved his heart for the worst.

“Again we ask, will you yield the castle?” exclaimed several voices from the height.

“No, but if you injure that boy, vengeance will overtake you,” was the answer.

The men uttered a hoarse laugh with some fearful oaths.

“We shall soon see that. Bring him forward. Now, boy, are you prepared for heaven? You will be there in a few minutes. But who are you?” exclaimed several voices.

Before Dermot could reply, the cloak he had hitherto worn fell from his shoulders, and his dress and appearance showed that he was a very different person to the young lord, whom they fancied they had captured.

None of those present, however, seemed to know him. “If he belongs to these parts he must understand what we have said,” exclaimed O’Higgins, “and if so, he may have gained more of our secrets than he should know, a sufficient reason, if there were no other, to hang him. Who are you?” again asked O’Higgins; “say, boy.”

“I am the son of Widow O’Neill,” he answered, without trepidation, in the native Irish in which he was addressed, “and I am her mainstay and support. If you hang me you will bring the malediction of Heaven, and the widow’s curse will rest upon you. If I know your secrets, I am not about to divulge them; I am too much of an Irishman to do that, if I give you my promise that I will not.”

This answer seemed to have gained the good opinion of some of the bystanders, but suddenly a man who recognised Dermot sprang up from among them.

“He has become a young heretic; he goes to the house of the Protestant minister, you can never trust him after that,” he exclaimed.

“He knows our secrets, and it is dangerous that he should possess them,” observed two or three of the leaders, “and it is evidently necessary to put him out of the way.”

Again there was a warm discussion among them, and the remarks of most of the speakers were evidently averse to him.

“He must die—he must die!” exclaimed several voices, and Dermot found himself once more hurried close up to the gallows.

The brutal fellow who had been selected to act as herald, provoked by the reception he had met with, undertook to act as executioner. Dermot’s arms were bound tightly behind him, and he was again placed on the pony from which he had dismounted. The rope was secured to the beam, and the savage remorselessly prepared to adjust it round his neck.

Chapter Seven.

In another minute the young boy would have been put out of the world by his savage countrymen, when a loud cry was heard, and a woman was seen rushing towards the spot. A red cloak was over her shoulders; her long dark hair streamed in the wind.

“Who is it you are going to kill? Hold, hold, you savages!” she exclaimed in native Irish. “Why, that is my own boy, the son of my bosom. What harm could one so young and innocent as he is have done to you? Which of you will dare to take the widow’s only child from her? Which of you will dare to commit a crime at which the most cruel of savages would hesitate? Dark curses will rest upon your bodies here, and on your souls for ever, if you dare to do so foul a deed. Would any of you wish to bring down the bereaved widow’s maledictions on your heads? Let the boy go; he would never wish to harm one of you; a true-hearted Irish lad.” She rushed forward, no one venturing to stop her. Like a tigress she flew at the man who held the rope in his hand, and cast it off the neck of her son. “Now let him go,” she exclaimed, throwing out her arm; “I defy you all. Would any one dare to touch him?” With frantic gesture she released his arms which had been bound behind him. “Now let the minister’s pony return to its home; he is far too good a beast to serve any one of you. Come with me, Dermot,” she exclaimed, as the boy threw himself from the animal and stood by her side. Shielding her son with her cloak, she led him forward, stretching out her arm as if to drive back any who might venture to stop them, and unmolested they took their way towards their home.

The same men who appeared thus abashed and confounded in the presence of a weak woman, now, at the order of O’Higgins, began with all the ferocity of wild beasts, to assault the castle. Again and again they fired their field-pieces with no apparent effect. The men with muskets, however, kept up a hot fire against every part of the building where they thought a bullet might enter. The besieged, however, did not reply to their fire. Not a single person in the castle was to be seen; all apertures were closed, and the shot fell harmlessly against the stone walls.

This determined silence somewhat disconcerted the rebels, who had expected resistance, and hoped to find some point which they might more easily assail. At length one of their leaders, with more military genius than the rest, proposed bringing the guns down to the front gate. In vain, however, the shots were fired against it; the gates were of iron backed by wood, and the shots made no impression on them. It was then determined to assault the castle by attempting to scale the walls, and the men eagerly set to work to form ladders out of the neighbouring woods. This, however, occupied some time, for although there were plenty of workmen, they had few tools or nails, and after two hours’ labour, scarcely two dozen ill-constructed ladders had been formed. With these, however, a band of daring men might possibly gain the battlements.

The object of the assailants was suspected by those within; they prepared accordingly to repel the attack whenever it might be made.

It appeared to the leader of the rebels that by assaulting the south side of the castle they were most likely to prove successful. Thither accordingly he led the main body of his men, while another party continued to assail the front gate, and the remainder, concealed among the walls and rough ground outside the castle, kept up a hot fire on the battlements. At length the assailants, jumping down into the ditch, placed their ladders against the walls. Up they began to climb with loud shouts and imprecations on the heads of its defenders.

Unless this last attack should be met by a very determined resistance, there appeared every probability of their succeeding, for could they once gain a lodgment on the walls, they might easily drive the small number of opponents who were likely to be within before them. A determined band at last led the way, and reached the summit of the walls. They were there met, however, by a party of the defenders of the castle, led by the Earl himself. Unaccustomed to the use of swords, the assailants were ill-able to defend themselves, as they attempted to step upon the parapet, while the fire which their friends kept up from the opposite side of the bank, killed several of them, though the bullets failed to strike the defenders; they were therefore quickly hurled down again, and the leading men, falling, struck the others who were attempting to ascend, when all were precipitated into the ditch together, the ladders being dislodged, and thrown down upon the wounded and struggling mass. They had, however, too nearly succeeded to abandon their project. They retreated with their ladders, which were soon repaired, when with others in the meantime constructed, a still larger force attempted to scale the walls.

Had we followed the widow and her son, Dermot would have been heard expressing his satisfaction at seeing the white sails of the frigate, which had so lately quitted the harbour, once more approaching the shore, aided by a strong breeze from the north, which still continued to blow. The insurgents were fortunately too much occupied in their attack on the castle to notice her; she was, however, seen by its defenders, and this greatly encouraged them in their resistance. Again the rebels began to climb up their ladders,—this time fully believing they were sure of success. Already a large number were near the summit threatening vengeance on the heads of all who opposed them, when there suddenly arose a cry in their rear, of “the red-coats! the red-coats.”

“Ay, and the blue-jackets too!” shouted out a loud voice.

“On lads, and drive the rascals into the sea.” At this moment a strong party of blue-jackets, headed by Captain Falkner, was seen darting forward, while a body of marines followed with fixed bayonets ready to charge. The rebels did not stop to encounter them. Those who were on the ladders leaped hastily down, crushing many below them, and then attempted to seek safety in flight. The marines and blue-jackets advanced in double quick-time, clearing all before them. Very few of the rebels offered resistance, and those who did were immediately cut down. Many were taken prisoners, O’Higgins among them, and the rest throwing down their arms, headed by the rest of their chiefs, fled as fast as their legs could carry them into the country. They were pursued for some distance, when, unwilling to destroy more of the misguided men, Captain Falkner ordered the pursuit to cease, and returned with his followers to the castle. He was received with warm thanks by the Earl. It was extraordinary that not a single person had been hurt within the walls of the castle, though the Earl acknowledged had the rebels once succeeded in gaining the battlements, he could scarcely, with his small garrison, have hoped to defend it against the numbers which would have assailed them. Captain Falkner told him that after he had left the bay, a fishing-boat came alongside with only one man in her, who gave him the information of the proposed rising. Although he did not believe that the castle would be attacked, he had in consequence been induced to return as quickly as possible to an anchorage in the bay, and he was thankful that he had not come back too late. Part of the marines remained on shore to strengthen the garrison of the castle, and strong parties were sent out in all directions, to ascertain what had become of the rest of the rebels. A considerable number of the misguided men were captured, but most of their leaders, as is often the case under similar circumstances, managed to effect their escape. The state of the country made it dangerous to send the prisoners overland to Cork, they were, therefore, placed on board the Cynthia, to be conveyed there by sea. O’Higgins had contrived to divest himself of part of his dress before he was captured, and, owing to this circumstance, he escaped being recognised as one of the leaders of the rebels. Had Dermot been called upon to do so, he would, of course, have been able to identify him; but, fortunately for him, no one thought of summoning the fishwife’s young son to give evidence, and he was, therefore, allowed to remain quietly at home.

O’Higgins took the name of Higson, and asserted that he was a pedlar travelling through the country, producing a licence in confirmation of his statement, but had been compelled by the rebels to join them. Several of the other prisoners were found ready to swear to the truth of this statement. He, however, was found guilty; but instead of being condemned to transportation to Botany Bay, was allowed the privilege of entering as a seaman on board a man-of-war. He accepted the alternative, hoping before long to make his escape. He, however, was too narrowly watched to succeed in his object; and after being sent on board a receiving ship, was, curiously enough, transferred to the Cynthia, on board which frigate we shall soon again hear of him.

From the information Captain Falkner received he had reason to believe that this first attempt of the insurgents having so completely failed, and so many having been made prisoners, or killed, a further rising in that part of the country would not be attempted. Still the disturbed state of the district prevented the ladies from riding about the country as had been their custom, and the Earl would not allow his young son to go to any distance from the walls, nor even a short way without a strong escort.

Young Fitz Barry consoled himself, therefore, by frequent visits on board the frigate, where he soon became a great favourite with the officers. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I wish my father would let me become a midshipman. I would rather go to sea, than follow any other profession in the world.” Those were, perhaps, the most palmy days of England’s navy. It was the time when her greatest heroes were flourishing, and the profession was looked upon as among the noblest a youth could follow. The oftener Fitz Barry visited the frigate, the more anxious he became to belong to her. The midshipmen, at first, encouraged him rather as a joke than in earnest; but as they loved the profession themselves, they were somewhat flattered by finding that the Earl’s son wished to join it also. On going on shore one day, he told his father that he had made up his mind to become a sailor. The Earl at first laughed at him, but he had never been in the habit of thwarting his son, and when Fitz Barry assured him that he should pine and perhaps die, unless he was allowed to have his will, the Earl declared that he was a very obstinate boy, but would not throw any objection in his way. Still, as he was not certain that his father was in earnest, he went to Nora and Sophy, to get them to assist in pleading his cause. Lady Sophy having herself made up her mind to marry a sailor, thought that there was not a finer profession to be followed, and Nora, who loved Fitz Barry with all her heart, could not think of doing otherwise than as he wished. Besides, she confessed that a ship was a very beautiful thing, and that she thought her dear brother must be happy on board, for little did the young ladies know of the toils and dangers, the hardships and the sufferings to which sailors are exposed, whatever their rank. They had read to be sure of wrecks, of noble ships sinking or being burned, of men being castaway on desert islands, with little or no food on which to subsist, of boats long floating on the ocean, till one by one those on board had died of starvation or thirst, or from the exposure they were doomed to endure. To them all was bright and attractive, and Fitz Barry, therefore, by dint of importunity, at length prevailed upon his easy-going father, to allow him to join Captain Falkner’s beautiful frigate, the Cynthia, provided that officer would take him. That matter he had left in the hands of his cousin, Sophy, and he had no doubt that she would induce the captain to receive him on board. He was perfectly right in his conjectures, for the captain, as many other captains would have been, was very ready to receive an Earl’s son among his midshipmen. It was necessary for the frigate to remain for some weeks after the late rising, to ascertain that all was quiet before she could venture to quit the bay.

There was time, therefore, for Barry to be fitted out for sea, and at length, just before the frigate sailed, he was received on board and rated as a midshipman. He was good-natured and unaffected, was intelligent and zealous in his new profession, had, moreover, plenty of money, and these qualities soon made him a favourite with most of the officers on board.

Captain Falkner having landed his prisoners at Cork, and remained there till their trial was concluded, proceeded on to Plymouth, where the young midshipman was to be provided with the remainder of his outfit. The Cynthia was employed for some months as one of the Channel fleet, and during that time had to pay several visits to the coast of Ireland. Captain Falkner did not fail to look into Kilfinnan Bay, and accompanied by Fitz Barry, to pay a visit to the castle. Great was his satisfaction at finding that the family were still there, as he had thus the opportunity of enjoying the society of Lady Sophy. Alas, they little thought how long would be the separation they must after this endure. Barry happened to inquire of his sister what had become of the young fisher-boy who was so nearly hung instead of himself, and he was told that he had disappeared from the place, and that no one knew what had become of him. Such indeed was the case. Not long after the attack of the rebels on the castle, one evening when the widow expected Dermot to return, he did not make his appearance. In vain she waited the livelong night; no Dermot came back to her. She watched and watched, now she went to the cottage door and stopped to listen; now she hastened down to the boat, that, however, was still moored in its accustomed place. She took her way up to the downs. In vain she called on Dermot; no answer came to her calls. She returned home to mourn and to wonder what had become of her boy. He would not have left his mother without telling her. He loved her too well, she was sure of that, and yet who could have carried him away? Had the rebels done so? That seemed but too likely, for they were too often wont to wreak their vengeance on the heads even of those who could do them no further harm. The morning came and found her still sitting at the open door, waiting for the return of her boy. The sun rose over the rugged hills and shed his rays down into the glen, tinging the points of the rocks on either side, and casting a bright glow over the ocean; still Dermot did not appear. She determined to go forth and search for him, but whither should she go? He might have gone to the castle, but they surely would not have detained him beyond the night, and he must soon then come back. She waited all day, but when the night came on he had not appeared. Weary and sad she sat down on the bench by the fireside, and there at length fell asleep. She awoke by being conscious that some one was present, and looking up saw by the light of the log which still blazed on the hearth, the figure of poor mad Kathleen sitting before her.

“You are sad, widow—you are sad,” exclaimed the mad girl; “it is waiting for your son you are; and do you think that he will ever return? It may be he will, but you will have many weary years to wait until then.”

“What do you know of my boy?” exclaimed the widow. “Tell me, Kathleen, tell me, girl, has any harm happened to him?”

“No; the harm is that he was weary of home, and has gone far away, so I understand, if my poor brain has not misled me. Here, see, he gave me this, and told me to bring it to you. It will tell you far more than I can; it speaks words, though I cannot understand them.”

“No more can I,” cried the widow in a tone of grief. “Oh, that he should have gone away and left his poor mother; but maybe in these lines he will have told me why he has gone and when he will come back. Still I do not know that I could have borne the parting from him even had he gone with my consent. But those lines, girl, let me have them; there are others can read them though I cannot. I wish it were the day, that I might go forth and find some one to help me.”

The widow took the paper which the mad girl gave her; it was a letter of considerable length. As Dermot knew that his mother could not have read it herself, he must have trusted to her finding some person to perform that office for her.

The widow begged Kathleen to rest in her hut that night, hoping that she might, during the time, gather some more information from her about her son. All she could learn, however, was, that she had met Dermot on the way to the south, some distance beyond the castle, and that he had given her that letter, which he intended otherwise to have sent by the post. Poor Kathleen then launched out in his praises, and declared that she had never seen a lord his equal in these parts. The widow’s first impulse was to go and seek for Father O’Rourke, the person to whom the peasantry, whenever they had any document to be read, generally resorted. She remembered, however, his dislike to Dermot and the words of anger with which they had parted from each other, and she therefore felt a repugnance to let him see what her Dermot might have said to her. “Then there is the blind lady,” she thought to herself; “she cannot see to read, however. Then there is the sweet young lady who came here from the castle one day, and the little girl, the Earl’s daughter, but they are too grand to care for what a poor boy like Dermot has to say. I will go, therefore, to Mr Jamieson, and get him to read the letter. He is kind and gentle too, and may be he will give me a word of comfort about my boy. Still I cannot understand why Dermot should have gone away without saying a word of farewell to his poor old mother.”

Kathleen, for a wonder, gladly consented to rest at the widow’s cottage till the next morning. They then together took their way to the vicarage. The widow found Mr Jamieson about to leave the house, yet he kindly stopped to hear what she had to say to him. She presented the letter, and telling him that she had only received it on the previous evening, begged him to read it to her. He at once recognised the handwriting of his pupil.

“Ah, Widow O’Neill,” he exclaimed, “I find by this that your son is away, and you must be prepared not to see him for some time. I scarcely like to say that the lad has acted wrongly in what he has done. He tells you, Mrs O’Neill, how he loves you, that he would die for you, and that his great object is to go into the world, and to make a fortune, and come home and support you. He says that he could not bring himself to go through the pain of wishing you farewell. He would rather go away without saying a word about it, or letting you know what were his intentions, for he is sure you would not have prevented him, and he would do anything to save you and himself from the agony of the parting moment. I believe him, widow. I am sure that he has a gentle and a loving heart, and that he speaks the truth when he gives that as his reason for going away without seeing you. Yet it was to save you, rather than himself, for he must have known when he left his home, that he was gazing his last at you for many a day. Of one thing I am certain, that his heart will not change, his love will not alter, and that wherever he goes, you will be the chief person he will always think of, and that he will look forward to seeing you again, as the greatest joy which can be allowed him on earth.”

The good minister believed that he spoke the truth, when he thus attempted to comfort the bereaved mother. The widow returned home feeling more consoled than could have been expected, for the loss of Dermot. Kind Miss O’Reilly continued to pay her frequent visits, and while the young ladies remained at the castle, they rode over under an escort several times to see her. They heard with surprise of Dermot’s departure, and at first were inclined to think him hard-hearted and ungrateful, but so ably did the widow defend her son, that they soon agreed with her it was but natural a boy like Dermot should seek to see more of the world than he could in that remote part of Ireland.

The Cynthia had been stationed for some months on the Irish coast, when she stood for the last time into the bay, before taking her departure.

As Captain Falkner had had an opportunity of letting the Earl know his purpose, a large party were collected at the castle, to bid him and the young hero farewell. Those were the days of profuse Irish hospitality; the gentlemen with their wives and families for many miles around had assembled.

The morning was spent in all sorts of sports, and the evening in conviviality. Frequently a stag was turned out from a neighbouring thicket, when a long run, sometimes across rivers, up and down hills, by the borders of lakes, and over the roughest imaginable ground, took place. Many falls were the consequence, in spite of the sturdy character of the horses, and the admirable riding of the men, but few were present who had not seen a companion dislocate his shoulder, and not unfrequently terminate his career with a broken neck. It was not unusual to see a hundred horses stabled in the castle at a time, some of them belonging to the Earl, but a considerable number to his guests, and the profuse hospitality of those days demanded that all the attendants should be well cared for within the walls of the castle. The dinner hour was somewhat early, that a longer period might be devoted to the after carousal. The cellars usually contained numerous hogsheads of claret, whilst stronger wines and whisky were on hand for those of less refined tastes. But the Irish gentleman rather prided himself on the quantity of claret he could imbibe, and yet be able to retire with steady steps to bed, or if necessary to mount his horse and return home by cross roads without breaking his neck, or finding himself at sunrise just waking out of sleep in a dry ditch.

Although the Earl himself did not over indulge in the pleasures of the table, he had been too long habituated to the custom to discourage it in others, and thus his legitimate income was inadequate to supply the expenses of the profuse hospitality he kept up.

The ladies retired early from the table, when the slight restraint their presence imposed being removed, the bottle began to circulate even more freely than before. Songs were sung, toasts were given, and the health of the young heir of Kilfinnan was drunk with uproarious cheers. “May he be as fine a man as his father, and an honour to the noble profession he has chosen, though faith! I’d rather he followed it than I myself,” exclaimed a red-nosed squire from the lower end of the table, “May he live to see his grandchildren around him, and may the old castle stand as long as the round world endures.”

“Sure a finer young sailor never placed foot on the deck of a man-of-war,” echoed another landowner of the same stamp. “May he come back a captain at the least, and take the lead in the field in many a hard day’s run.” Similar compliments were uttered in succession for some time. Fitz Barry took them very quietly, indeed he at length became utterly weary of the proceedings. In truth also, the thoughts of leaving home and his sweet young sister and his cousin Sophy, whom he loved like one, made him somewhat sad, and little able to enter into the conversation going forward. He did not, however, allow either Sophy or Nora to discover how much he felt.

The next morning, farewells over, he went on board the frigate, without much prospect of returning home for three years or more. As she under all sail stood out of the bay, he cast many a lingering glance at the old castle, and the well-known bold outlines of the shore. At Plymouth, to which port the frigate had been ordered to proceed, several fresh hands were entered to make up the complement of her proper crew. They were of all descriptions, but Captain Falkner soon discovered that there was scarcely a seaman among them. Officers in those days, when men were scarce, had to form their crews out of the most heterogeneous materials. He was receiving a report of them from his first lieutenant. “Here is a fellow, sir. He has been sent to us from the tender, and has entered under the name Higson, and says he is an Englishman, though he is evidently Irish by his tongue, and the cut of his features and general appearance from head to foot. He knows little enough of a seaman’s duties, but is a stout, strong fellow, and we may in time lick him into shape. I am advised to keep an eye on him while we remain in harbour, lest he should take French leave, and forget to return on board.”

“We must keep him,” answered the captain; “we are bound for the West Indies, you know, and shall require every man we can lay hold of.”

This settled the point—O’Higgins the rebel leader, or rather Higson, as he called himself, was regularly entered on the books of the Cynthia. He, in vain, made several efforts to escape; once he narrowly escaped, being shot in the attempt. He had jumped into a boat at night, and was pulling away from the ship when he was overtaken, and being brought back was put into irons till the frigate sailed. Had he been in Cork harbour, he would have had little difficulty in effecting his purpose. Hearing, however, that a son of the Earl of Kilfinnan was on board, he consoled, himself with the reflection that he should have an opportunity of wreaking his vengeance on the head of the midshipman. How the lad had in any way given him cause of offence, none but a distorted imagination could have supposed. He had certainly attempted for a very indefinite object of his own to burn down the Earl’s residence and to murder the inhabitants, and because he had been foiled in the attempt, captured and punished, he persuaded himself that he was fully justified in desiring to kill or injure the Earl’s unoffending son. Such, however, was the style of reasoning in which so-called Irish patriots of those days, and, perhaps, in later times, were apt to indulge.

At length, powder and stores having been received on board, and two or three gun-room officers and several passed midshipmen having joined, the Cynthia made sail, and standing out of the harbour, a course was shaped for the West Indies, her destined station.

The frigate had been for some time at sea, and during a light wind she fell in with a homeward bound merchantman. These were the days of the press-gang, and under such circumstances every merchantman was visited, that the seamen on board who had not a protection might be carried off to serve in the Royal Navy. This was a cruel regulation, but, at the same time, it seemed the only feasible one to our forefathers for manning the king’s ships. Often good men were thus picked up, but more frequently bad and discontented ones. The merchant ship was ordered to heave to, and the second lieutenant, with a boat’s crew armed to the teeth, went on board. The whole of the crew were directed to come upon deck. Their names were called over, and three able seamen were found who did not possess a protection. They were immediately ordered to go over the side into the boat.

“Are there any others who wish to volunteer on board?” asked the lieutenant. There was some hesitation among them, when two youngsters stepped forward in front of the rest. The master endeavoured to prevent them from speaking; but the lieutenant telling them to say what they wished, they at once begged that they might be allowed to join the frigate. They were both fine active-looking lads, and seemed cut out to make first-rate seamen. The lieutenant eyed them with approbation.

“You will do, my lads,” he observed. “In a couple of years or less, you will make active top-men.”

The master was very indignant at being thus deprived of part of his crew; but he had no remedy, and was obliged to submit.

“A pleasant voyage to you, Captain Dobson,” said the lieutenant. “You will manage to find your way up Channel without these few men I have taken from you, and depend upon it they will be better off than they would have been spending their time at Wapping until all their money was gone;” a truth which even the master could not deny.

The merchantman sailed on her way, and the boat having returned on board the frigate, was hoisted up again, when her sails being trimmed, the Cynthia once more stood on her course. The new-comers soon made themselves at home with the crew. Those who watched the lads might have seen an expression of astonishment pass over the countenance of one of them when he found himself on board the Cynthia. Soon after this they were brought up before the first lieutenant, to undergo the usual examination. He soon finished with the men, who had the ordinary account to give of themselves. One of the young lads said he belonged to Dartmouth in England, and that having run away from home he had joined the merchantman, from which he had volunteered, and he was entered by the name of Ned Davis.

“And what is your name, my lad?” he asked, turning to the youngest of the two.

“Charles Denham, sir,” he answered.

“That is an English name, and you speak with an Irish accent.”

“My mother was an Irish woman,” answered the lad, with a blush on his face.

“And who was your father, then?” asked the lieutenant.

“Sir, I came on board to serve his Majesty, and I hope to do so faithfully,” replied the lad, as if he had not heard the question put to him.

“There is some of the true metal in that boy,” observed the first lieutenant, turning to an officer near him. “I must keep an eye upon him. He will make a smart seaman in a short time. He is just one after the captain’s own heart.”

The young volunteer did not hear these observations, or they would have given him the encouragement of which, he somewhat felt the want. The lads were told their numbers and the mess to which they would belong. Ned Davis and Charles Denham returned together to the lower deck. They found, after they had been some time below, that the crew were far from satisfied with their officers. They discovered that the ringleader was a certain John Higson, who was ready to find fault with everything that took place. He was what is generally called at sea, “a king’s hard bargain,” or in other words, not worth his salt. He was one of those men who do a great deal of mischief on board a ship, and are generally known by the name of “a sea lawyer.” The two lads, however, seemed resolved to do their duty in spite of anything that might occur. They had before, it appeared, heard Captain Falkner spoken of, and knew he had the character of being a just officer, though somewhat strict. It soon appeared, indeed, that he had a very unruly ship’s company to deal with, and one that required a good deal of management to bring into order. Had it not been for Higson, and other men like him, this might easily have been accomplished; but whatever was done Higson was sure to put a wrong interpretation upon it. Still, the best men found themselves well treated, and spoken kindly to by their officers. By degrees flogging decreased, though occasionally some were brought up to suffer that punishment. In those days an officer might order it to be inflicted on any one of the crew, and sometimes this was done for slight offences. Captain Falkner, however, reserved it for those who seemed determined to neglect their duty, or to get drunk, or act disrespectfully to their officers. Higson was himself too clever ever to get punished, though more than once he was the cause of others becoming sufferers. At length the West Indies were reached, and the frigate brought up in Kingston Harbour, Jamaica.

Unfortunately, Captain Falkner was taken ill, and it became necessary for him to go and reside on shore. The first lieutenant, though a kind officer, had not the talent of his superior, and thus the ship once more fell into the condition in which it had previously been. It being found that Captain Falkner did not recover, the admiral of the station ordered the Cynthia to put to sea under the command of the first lieutenant. She cruised for some time in search of an enemy, but none was to be found, and sickness breaking out on board, a good many of the men were laid up in their hammocks. Meantime, young Lord Fitz Barry had become a great favourite with his brother officers on board. Indeed, from his youth he was somewhat of a pet among them. He was not a little made of by the first lieutenant and the other officers, not so much because he was a lord, but because he was a kind-hearted, generous little fellow. He had, however, been imbued by his captain with very strict notions of duty, and, young as he was, when sent away with a boat’s crew he kept them in as strict order as any of the older midshipmen could have done. On one occasion when sent on shore to bring off wood and water from an uninhabited part of the southern shore of Saint Domingo, some of his boat’s crew insisted on going up into the interior. His orders had been not to allow them to go out of sight of the boat, and should any person appear from the shore, immediately to shove off and return to the ship. When, however, they were told by Fitz Barry to remain where they were, they laughed at him, and began to move off into the country. He instantly drew a pistol from his belt, and hastened after them, threatening to shoot the nearest man if they did not instantly return. Still they persevered, and according to his threat, the young lord fired his pistol, and hit one of the mutineers in the arm, and immediately drawing a second pistol, he threatened to treat another in the same way. This brought the mutineers to reason, and turning round they sulkily followed him towards the boat. Here the wounded man insisted on having his revenge, and tried to persuade the rest of the boat’s crew to throw the young lord overboard. The two lads who had come on board from the merchantman had been appointed to the boat, both of them by this time being strong enough to pull an oar. They, however, instead of siding with the rest of the crew, had remained in the boat, and declared that if a hand was laid upon Lord Fitz Barry, they would denounce the rest to their commander.

“And we will heave you youngsters overboard with him,” exclaimed the men, enraged at being thus opposed.

“At your peril,” answered Charles Denham; “I am not one to be cowed by your threats. The man who was shot only got his deserts, and it will serve you all right if Lord Fitz Barry reports you when he gets on board.”

This plain speaking still further enraged the rest of the boat’s crew. At the same time, unless they had been prepared to kill their young officer and the two lads, they had no resource but to submit. They had pulled off some little distance from the shore when they again threatened to throw all three overboard, unless they would promise not to report them. This Lord Fitz Barry refused to do.

“No,” he said, keeping the other pistol in his hand. “It is for me to command you. You disobeyed orders and now must take the consequences.”

He reflected that if he returned and let their conduct go unpunished, it might lead to still more serious disobedience. He, therefore, as soon as he got on board, reported the whole affair to the commanding officer, at the same time taking care to praise the two lads who had so bravely stood by him. The consequence was, that the whole of the boat’s crew were brought to the gangway and severely flogged.

Chapter Eight.

The effect of the severe, though just, punishment inflicted on the boat’s crew who had misbehaved themselves under the command of Lord Fitz Barry was to produce much ill-will among a considerable number of the crew, increased, as before, by Higson’s instigations. The officers were not aware, however, of what was taking place. The men, although sometimes exhibiting sulky looks when ordered about their duty, continued to perform it as usual. The two young volunteers, it appeared, had been better brought up than the generality of seamen. Both, from their earliest days, had been accustomed to offer up a prayer before turning in at night. This practice on board a man-of-war it was very difficult, if not almost impossible, to keep up. They agreed, however, that they would steal down when they could to the fore-part of the orlop deck, and there, in a quiet corner near the boatswain’s store-room, they might have the opportunity of kneeling down together, and offering up their prayers in silence. This practice they had continued unsuspected for some time. In those days such a thing was almost unheard of on board a man-of-war. At the present time, however, there are not only many praying seamen on board ship, but prayer meetings are often held, and a very considerable number of some ships’ crews are now able to join them. On one occasion, after it had been blowing hard, and the lads had been aloft for a considerable time, they were both very weary, and after kneeling down and offering up their prayers as usual, they leaned back, sitting on the coils of a cable, with the intention of talking together. In a short time, however, both fell asleep. How long they slept they did not know, but they were awoke by hearing voices near them. Without difficulty they recognised the speakers. Higson was among the principal of them. They listened attentively. Had they been discovered, they felt sure, from what they heard, that their lives would have paid the forfeit. It was proposed to seize the ship and put the officers on shore, or should they offer any resistance to kill them, as had in another instance been done, and then after going on a buccaneering cruise, to carry the ship into an American port and sell her, the men hoping to get on shore to enjoy their ill-gotten booty.

A few years before this a large portion of the English fleet had mutinied, but they had had many causes of complaint; still their crime was inexcusable. Most of the ringleaders suffered punishment, and the crews were pardoned. This lesson seemed to be lost, however, upon Higson and his associates. They had inflamed each other’s minds with descriptions of the pleasures they would enjoy on shore, and of the hardships they had at present to undergo. The young lads dared not move. Every moment they expected to be discovered. Some of the mutineers, more sanguine than the rest, expressed their determination to wreak their vengeance upon those who had chiefly offended them, and young Lord Fitz Barry, with several others, were singled out to undergo the punishment of death. The first lieutenant also was to be among their victims. The lads could not tell what hour it was, nor how long they would have to remain in their present position. They dreaded that the mutineers would instantly go on deck and carry out their nefarious plans. Young Denham’s chief wish was to hurry off and warn those who had been chiefly threatened. “If the officers have time to show a bold front, the men will not dare to act against them,” he thought; “but if they are taken by surprise, the mutineers will treat them as wild beasts treat the animals which they have caught in their clutches, and will be sure to tear them in pieces. If they once get the upper hand, they will kill them all, just as they did in the ship I have heard of, when scarcely one officer was allowed to escape.” At length they heard the morning watch called, and not till then did the mutineers leave the place. The lads waited till they believed that everybody was on deck, and then cautiously climbing up the ladder, stole away to their own hammocks. As the middle watch was only then turning in, they were not observed, and they lay there till they concluded that all those surrounding them had gone to sleep. Denham then proposed going and warning the officers. Ned Davis begged that he himself might go.

“No,” said Denham, “I will go alone and tell the commander what I have heard.”

Denham had scarcely got as far as the door of the captain’s cabin, now occupied by the first lieutenant, when the sentry stopped him.

“You cannot pass here,” he said, putting him back as he, in his eagerness, pressed on.

“But I tell you I have a matter of importance to speak to the commander about,” said Denham boldly. “It will be at your own risk if you stop me.”

“You can tell one of the other officers in the gun-room,” said the sentry.

“No; it is for the commanding officer alone,” responded Denham. “I will speak to him only.”

Just then the first lieutenant himself appeared at the door.

“I want to speak to you, sir,” said Denham eagerly.

“Come in. What is it about?” inquired the first lieutenant.

“If you will go where no one else will hear me, I will tell you, sir.”

The lieutenant retired into the inner cabin.

“Now, what is it, my lad?” he asked.

Denham then told him of the plot to which he had become privy, for taking the ship from the officers. In later days such information would have been laughed at, but unhappily in those days such occurrences had become too frequent to allow the commanding officer to disbelieve his statements.

“Stay here, my lad,” said the first lieutenant, “if you go forward again, and the men suspect you of having informed against them, you will be among the first victims.”

Arming himself with a brace of pistols, and taking his sword in his hand, he went into the gun-room. He here aroused the officers, and telling them what he had heard, ordered them immediately to repair on deck, sending some of them to call up the midshipmen and the warrant officers. The marines were then ordered to muster on deck under arms, while several of the petty officers whom it was known could be trusted were also called aft; a guard was then placed over the magazine, and the two after guns were hauled in and trained forward. These preparations were made so suddenly and so quietly that even the watch on deck were scarcely aware of what was going forward. There was no time to lose, for while those preparations were going on, Ned Davis, who had been on the watch, made his way aft with the information that a number of the men were collecting together forward, armed with all the weapons they could lay hold of, and that from the threats they were uttering they evidently intended to make a sudden dash aft, in the expectation of surprising the officers before they had left their berths. It was very evident that they would have done so had it not been for the warning conveyed by Denham.

When the sun, as it does in those latitudes, suddenly burst above the waters, and darkness rapidly gave place to daylight, the officers and the marines were found drawn up on the quarter-deck, and the mutineers who, at that moment, made a sudden rush aft along the main deck, found themselves confronted by a body of marines, who issued from the gun-room; others who came along the upper deck also saw that their plot was discovered, and that they had not a hope of success. The drum then beat to quarters, and all hands were summoned on deck. The first lieutenant now stepping forward, exclaimed, “What is it you want, my lads? if you are treated with injustice, say so. If you have anything else to complain of, let me know, but, as you see, your mutinous intentions are discovered, and let me tell you that those who are guilty will receive the punishment which they merit.” Not a man spoke in return for some time. At length several coming aft, declared they knew nothing about the intentions of the rest, when it was found that the mutineers consisted chiefly of the Irish rebels who had been put on board at Cork, and of a few smugglers and gaol-birds who had been won over by Higson.

“Some of you will grace the yard-arm before long,” observed the first lieutenant, “but I intend to give you another trial. I have no wish that any man should die for this day’s work, however richly some of you may deserve it. Those who prove faithful to their duty will find that they are rewarded, and those who act as traitors to their king and country will discover, too late, that they will not go unpunished. Now pipe below.”

The mutiny which at first threatened such serious consequences, by the determination of the first lieutenant was then happily quelled, and the ship soon after returned to Port Royal. Here Captain Falkner was found sufficiently recovered to resume his command. The men soon discovered that he had been informed of the mutiny. He told the men so in very explicit terms. Adding—

“You have brought disgrace on yourselves, men, and on the ship, in a way which makes me ashamed of you, but I hope before long, that we shall fall in with an enemy, and that then I shall find you wipe it out, by the gallantry of your conduct.” The men on hearing these words, cheered their captain, and from that day forth he had no cause to complain of the general conduct of the ship’s company. They were continually on the look-out for an enemy’s cruiser. Several merchant vessels were taken and sent into port, and a small brig-of-war was captured, without having fired a shot in her own defence. The midshipmen were always encouraged by their captain to exercise themselves by running aloft over the masthead, and sliding down by the different ropes which led on deck. Sometimes the game of follow my leader was played; the most active lad leading the way. Now to the mizen-mast-head, next to the main-topgallant-mast-head, and so on to the foremast, and finally, perhaps down to the bowsprit end. Now like monkeys, they were seen to run out on the yard-arms, and it seemed wonderful that they could, at the rate they went, escape falling. On one occasion, during a game, both the midshipmen and the ship’s boys were thus amusing themselves. Several of the top-men were on the main-top-mast yard. A sudden splash was heard. “A man overboard!” was the cry. Quick as lightning a ship’s boy was seen gliding down a backstay. As he touched the hammock-nettings, instead of jumping down on deck, he plunged overboard.

“A shark! a shark!” was heard, uttered in tones of horror by several voices on deck. The order was given to lower a boat. Gratings and oars and spars were hove overboard. A short way from the ship, a young fair face was seen floating upwards, while Charles Denham, who it appeared had sprung overboard, was striking out rapidly towards him. The attention of all on board was directed to the spot. Had it not been for fear of the voracious monster of the deep, many might have jumped overboard to assist, still they shouted and kept throwing in things, to distract, if possible, the attention of the shark, from the lad in the water. Denham knowing well the enemy he had to contend with, continued striking the water with all his might with his feet, as he swam forward, shouting at the same time. But young Lord Fitz Barry, for it was he who had tumbled overboard, lay perfectly unconscious, and it seemed too probable would become a prey to the monster. Already its dark fin was seen not far off, but the boat had now touched the water, and an eager crew was pulling towards the lads. Denham’s hand was already under the head of the young lord, whom he supported, while he struck out with his feet and other hand. A shark, however ferocious, will seldom attack a person who is in constant movement, and by his shouts and splashing, Denham thus contrived to keep the monster at a distance. The boat approached. Those in the bows leant over to drag in the young lord.

“Never mind me,” exclaimed Denham, as he helped to lift him into the boat.

“But we must mind you,” answered a man, “or that brute will have you even now.”

Denham’s hands were on the gunnel of the boat, when the black fin, at a short distance off, disappeared under the water. A strong, tall topman was standing in the boat. He leaned over, and seizing Denham in his arms lifted him up; but scarcely had his feet got above the surface, when the monster’s enormous pair of jaws were seen to rise close to it. Young Denham was saved, but few have run a greater risk of losing their lives. In the meantime the young lord lay unconscious in the bow of the boat.

“We must get him on board at once,” exclaimed the officer who had come in her. “He is alive though, and must be put under the doctor’s care.”

The boat immediately returned on board.

It was found that Lord Fitz Barry had fallen upon his side when dropping into the water, and that the whole of that part of his body was for the time paralysed. Still, in a short time he returned to consciousness, but some time elapsed before he had recovered. His chief anxiety seemed to be to express his gratitude to the lad who had saved him. Denham modestly replied that he had only done his duty, though he was not insensible of the young lord’s kind feelings.

When Lord Fitz Barry was sufficiently recovered the captain invited him, as was the custom, to dine at his table, and the subject of his fall was alluded to.

“If you can do me a favour, sir,” he observed, “and in any way reward the boy who saved my life, I should indeed be grateful. There is something in him which prevents me from venturing to offer him money. I am sure he would prize promotion of some sort more than anything else. He seems to me as he walks the deck to be superior to all the other lads, and to be more like a gentleman than any of them.”

“We will keep an eye on him, Fitz Barry,” answered the captain, with a smile. “I have watched him on many occasions; and if I understand rightly, this is not the first time he has rendered you a service. What do you say? Shall we place him on the quarter-deck? What would your messmates say to that?”

“There is not one of them who would not be pleased, sir,” answered the young lord. “They all think well of him; and since that boat affair, when, I believe, if it had not have been for him, those villains would have hurled me overboard, they have all wished that he would get some reward.”

“He was the lad, sir, who gave me the information of the intended mutiny, so that really, I believe, he was the means of preserving all our lives, and preventing fearful disgrace being brought upon the service,” observed the first lieutenant.

“Well, I do not like to make such promotions in a hurry,” answered the captain; “but from what I have heard of the lad, if he is found to possess a fair amount of education, I shall be very glad to offer him the opportunity of being placed on the quarter-deck.”

“But he looks to me such a clever fellow,” said Lord Fitz Barry, “that I am sure he would soon learn to read and write, if he cannot now.”

The captain talked the matter over for some time with the first lieutenant, and it was arranged that the young volunteer should forthwith be placed in the midshipman’s berth. To Fitz Barry’s infinite satisfaction, next morning, after divisions, while all the officers were assembled on the quarter-deck, Charles Denham was summoned aft.

“Charles Denham is, I believe, your name,” said the captain. “You have on more than one occasion done good service since you joined this ship, besides which, your general conduct is unexceptionable. The other day, at the risk of your own life, you saved that of young Lord Fitz Barry. Now, I believe, had it been the youngest boy in the ship, you would have done the same; but Lord Fitz Barry is very anxious, as I am, that you should receive some mark to show you that your conduct is appreciated. He is not able to reward you himself, I therefore ask you whether for the future you would like to walk the quarter-deck as an officer. Through his Majesty’s bounty you will have the means of doing so, and I shall have myself the satisfaction of aiding you to support your new rank. To no one else need you be indebted, and I hope in a short time that you will, by obtaining promotion, be independent of any aid beyond what you yourself can obtain.”

Then turning to the midshipmen, he asked them whether they would be glad to receive the young sailor among them as a messmate. Three cheers was the answer given by the warm-hearted lads.

“We are very sure that he will not only do us credit, but gain honour for our berth,” exclaimed several of them; and again they cheered their new messmate warmly.

It would be impossible to describe Denham’s feelings, and perhaps few among them knew how anxious he had been to obtain the rank which was now bestowed upon him. But few days had passed since Denham had put on a uniform, and walked the quarter-deck as a midshipman, and yet in manner and appearance he was fully equal to any of his messmates. He carried on all his duties with the air of a young officer, and evidently understood them thoroughly. By his manners and conduct on all occasions, he quickly won his way in the esteem of his messmates, while his rise did not excite the envy of those below him. Ned Davis did not appear to wish to leave the position he himself occupied. Indeed, he seemed rather anxious to be an humble follower of the young midshipman than to be raised to an equality with him.

Some months had passed away, and several very gallant actions had been performed by the officers and crew of the Cynthia, mostly in cutting-out expeditions, when Denham behaved with great gallantry. As he was much stronger, and more active than Fitz Barry, he always constituted himself the protector of the young lord whenever it was his duty to take a part in any of these expeditions.

On one occasion the frigate was off one of the French islands, and in a harbour protected by a fort on either side, several privateers and other armed vessels were discovered at anchor. As they were craft likely to do much damage to English merchant shipping, Captain Falkner resolved, though it was an undertaking of considerable risk, to cut them out. He stood off from the land towards evening, so as to give the Frenchmen the idea that he had gone away altogether. As evening approached, however, he once more stood back for the harbour. They hoped to avoid the observations of the sentries in the forts. Full directions were given to officers in charge of each boat. The larger vessels were to be assailed first, and two boats were to board one vessel on either quarter at the same moment. Mr Evans had directed Denham to attack the same vessel that he proposed boarding. There were six boats, so that three privateers would be attacked simultaneously. Mr Evans judged, by this means, that the enemy’s attention being distracted, they would be prevented from coming to each other’s assistance. A light breeze blew out of the harbour, which would enable them, as soon as the cables were cut, to carry the vessels off without difficulty. Not a word was spoken. The muffled oars sent forth no sound till the boats pulled up before the forts. Denham’s heart beat high. He knew that he should now have an opportunity of distinguishing himself, especially under the eye of the first lieutenant, who had hitherto always proved his friend. Gradually, through the gloom of night, the masts and spars of the vessels to be attacked rose up before them. Leaving the line, he followed the boat of the first lieutenant towards a large brig which lay moored furthest out in the harbour. They were on the point of hooking on when shouts arose from her deck. They found that they were discovered; but this did not hinder them from an attempt to board. Before the Frenchmen could tell which part of the vessel they were about to attack, they sprang up the sides of the brig, and threw themselves on board. Part of the French crew having had no time to arm themselves, fled before them to the fore-part of the vessel, where, however, having rallied, they again rushed aft, and a furious hand-to-hand encounter took place. Fitz Barry had followed Denham on board, and the young lord, pistol in hand, was advancing by the side of his messmate. Led by Mr Evans, the English crew dashed forward till they reached the forecastle, where the French, apparently determined to resist to the last, fought bravely. Once more they pushed the English hard. Pistol-shots were rapidly exchanged, and the clash of cutlasses was heard, echoed from the decks of the other vessels, which were now also fiercely attacked. Some of the French crew who had gone down below now appeared on deck fully armed, and it appeared very doubtful whether even English courage, and English determination, would succeed in overcoming the enemy. The struggle continued. Again the enemy, led by a huge Frenchman, who appeared to be one of their officers, drove back the English some feet along the deck. He had singled out Mr Evans, the first lieutenant, apparently with the intention of cutting him down, being evidently himself a first-rate swordsman. Already the English lieutenant’s guard was thrown down, and the Frenchman had lifted his cutlass and was about to bring it down on his head, when Denham sprang forward and discharged his pistol at the Frenchman. The bullet struck him on the right arm and the weapon fell to the deck. Mr Evans, recovering his sword, gave him a thrust, which sent him backwards among his men. The fall of their leader discouraged the French, who giving way, the English found themselves in possession of the brig. The cable, as had been agreed upon, was immediately cut. Hands were sent aloft to loose the fore-topsail, and the head of the prize coming round, she was steered out towards the mouth of the harbour. Denham now had time to look around and ascertain what had become of Lord Fitz Barry, who was nowhere to be seen. He made inquiries of the men to learn when they had last seen him. No one knew. They had observed him on deck standing close to his brother midshipman, but after that, no one could give an account of him. Denham began to be greatly alarmed, fearing that the young lord had been thrown overboard, or that he might in the mêlée have fallen down below; but at that moment he was unable to make any further inquiries; for, as the mouth of the harbour was approached, the forts on either side opened their fire on the prize. Although the brig offered a better mark than the boats would have done, still, as the night continued very dark, and no noise was made on board, the gunners in the forts could not ascertain in which direction to fire. The French prisoners were as eager as the English to keep quiet, because the shots which fell on board were as likely to injure them as to hurt their captors. The same reason perhaps prevented them from attempting to regain the vessel while the English were engaged in steering her out of the harbour. At length she was got clear and stood for the frigate, which now showed a bright light for her guidance; the firing having given her notice that the exploit had been attempted, although Captain Falkner, at that time, could not have told whether it had been successful or not. Mr Evans now directed that the lantern should be lighted, in order that the French prisoners might be secured, and that it might be seen what damage had been done to the vessel. While going round the decks with a lantern, Denham discovered between the guns the form of his young messmate. A feeling of dread came over his heart. Could he have been killed and fallen down there? He lifted him up, and anxiously examined his countenance.

“Speak, speak. Fitz Barry,” he exclaimed eagerly. “Do tell me if you are hurt, or where you have been wounded.”

“Yes, I am hurt, somewhat badly I am afraid,” answered Fitz Barry, at length, in a faint voice. “I was thrown down there by the Frenchmen we were fighting with, and I was unable after that to move. I did not like to cry out, remembering that we were passing the fort; and soon after that, I suppose, I fainted.”

“I thank heaven that you are able to speak thus,” said Denham, “and we shall soon be on board the frigate, and the doctor will look to your hurts.”

Mr Evans had the satisfaction of observing two other vessels following him out of the harbour, while a bright light which burst forth some way up it showed that the other boats had had time to set some merchantmen on fire. War is a fearful thing at all times, but more sad even is it when it compels the destruction of private property.

No one, however, would have objected to the destruction of privateers. It is pretty well agreed they partake more of the character of pirates than honourable combatants; their only object is to rob the merchantmen of the enemy, so as to become themselves the possessors of their rich freight. They do not fight for honour or glory, and they care as little for the good of their country. It is true, however, that the privateers, by injuring the commerce of the enemy, frequently make that enemy more anxious to come to terms, but in most cases both parties are engaged in the same infamous system; both equally suffer, and both increase the horrors and sufferings of warfare.

When morning dawned, the prizes were found collected round the frigate. Denham’s first care was to get the wounded young midshipman conveyed on board, that the doctor might immediately look at his hurts. He did not attempt to conceal his sorrow and anxiety. He seemed to feel that it was from his carelessness by some means or other the poor lad had been injured. Mr Evans had a very different account to give of him, however, and at once generously informed Captain Falkner that it was to his nerve and courage that he himself owed his life.

The Frenchmen were removed on board the frigate, and an English prize crew being placed on board each of the prizes, they and their captor steered a course for Jamaica. Captain Falkner offered to place Denham in command of one of the prizes, but his anxiety for young Lord Fitz Barry made him beg that he might be allowed to remain on board the frigate.

A considerable time had passed since the arrival of the Cynthia on the station. A season dreaded by all navigators of those seas was now approaching—the hurricane season. Fearful is the devastation often produced on shore and on the ocean at that period. Not many years before several line of battle ships and other vessels had either foundered with their crews, or had been driven on shore, where the larger number of the men belonging to them had perished. Captain Falkner was anxious, therefore, to get back without delay to Port Royal harbour. They were, however, within a couple of days’ sail of Jamaica when the frigate was becalmed; during the middle of the day, although a thick mist overspread the sky and hid the rays of the sun, the heat was excessive. Below the ship was like an oven, on deck not a breath of air was to be obtained. The men, in their white shirts and trousers, moved languidly about, literally gasping for breath. The sails hung uselessly down against the masts, and the frigate’s head went slowly round and round, now pointing in one direction and now in another, though it was difficult to say by what power she was moved.

The heat affected young Barry greatly. Denham sat by his side whenever he could leave his duty on deck, anxiously watching his friend. Ned Davis also came where the wounded midshipman lay, and begged that he might be allowed to take Denham’s place by his side. It was curious to observe how Denham had won the lad’s affection and admiration. There seemed to have been no previous tie between them; they had met, it was understood, for the first time as shipmates on board the merchantman from which they had volunteered, and it was possible neither of them knew much about each other’s previous history. No nurse could have administered the medicine prescribed by the doctor with more care and regularity than did Denham and his volunteer assistant.

“I hope I shall not die,” said Fitz Barry, taking his hand, “I want very much again to see my kind father, and my dear little sister Nora, whom I have told you about, and my cousin Sophy; and do you know, I think I shall see them before long. The last letter I got from home, my father told me that he expected to obtain an appointment as governor of one of the West India islands. It is not a thing he would have accepted under ordinary circumstances, but the truth is, I suspect, that it has been very expensive living in Ireland for the last few years, and he thinks it will be wise to economise a little. I do not know much about these things; he has supplied me liberally with money, and that is all I have to think about. I believe Captain Falkner expects to see him out here, for he spoke of him the other day, and you know, I do not mind telling you, that I believe our skipper is going to marry Sophy one of these days. I am sure you would like her and my sister if you ever were to see them. I do not know which you would like best. Nora is a very sweet little girl, or at least, by the bye, she must have grown since I left home a good deal. She is older than I am rather, and so fair and gentle, but she has not the spirit of Sophy, or her cleverness; Sophy is a wonderfully clever girl, she draws so well. She used to make such beautiful portraits of people. However, I must not praise her too much, or you may possibly be disappointed.”

Denham told Fitz Barry that he should very much like to be introduced to his relations; “but you know,” he observed, “I am afraid they will think very little of me when they hear that I was a boy before the mast. I tell you, Barry, we are messmates, and therefore it is right that we should be equal; but from what I have learned, that will not do on shore; people think there a good deal about the difference of rank, and if I was to make my appearance among some of those great people, they might treat me in a way that I should not at all like. I have become very proud, I am afraid, since I have been placed on the quarter-deck, not for myself, perhaps, so much, but for the honour of the rank I bear, for the cloth, even though I am as yet but a midshipman.”

Fitz Barry smiled faintly, and answered languidly, “O, no fear of that; I am sure my father and Sophy are not a bit proud; and as to Nora, I don’t think she has a particle of that sort of thing in her; so when they come, you must promise to let me make you known to them.”

Denham did not wish to appear to refuse his friend, at the same time he resolved not in any way to push himself forward. The conversation appeared to be doing Fitz Barry good. Though severely injured by the thrust of a pike in his side, and a blow on his head, which had knocked him down, the doctor assured Captain Falkner that he did not consider the boy’s life in any peril.

Captain Falkner and Mr Evans were holding a consultation on the deck. Directly afterwards the latter shouted, “All hands on deck, and shorten sail.”

The men came rapidly tumbling up from below, some looking round astonished at hearing the order, seeing that the dog-vane was still hanging up and down the rigging. They sprang immediately aloft and the sails were rapidly furled.

“Starboard the helm,” shouted the lieutenant, gazing round the horizon as he did so. “Closely reef the fore-topsail,” he added; “man the fore-topsail braces.”

The fore-topsail was the only sail now set. At that instant a dark line was seen sweeping rapidly over the water. As it approached it seemed to rise as it were above the surface and break into feathery-topped seas. On it came. A fierce blast struck the ship on the starboard side, and she heeled over till the guns on the other side dipped in the water. Quickly recovering herself, however, the fore-topsail being braced sharp up, her head “paid off” before the wind. Once more the topsail was squared, and away she flew before the wind. Wonderful was the change. A few minutes before the sea appeared as smooth as polished glass; now it was one mass of broken waves, leaping and dancing madly around. On flew the frigate. The captain and master went below to examine the chart, and to see the direction in which she was driving. It might have availed them little, however, for it seemed impossible to steer her during the fierce gale which blew in any other direction than directly before it. On she went, the wind rapidly increasing; the seas rose higher and higher, and in a short time a fierce hurricane was raging. The stern-ports were secured, the hatches were battened down, and every preparation made to prepare her for the worst. Probably in a short time she would not be able to run before the gale.

“We have a clear sea before us,” observed the captain to the master, as they leaned over the chart to which the former pointed; “that, unless the wind shifts, gives us a better hope of escaping. The ship, too, considering the number of years she has been at sea, is in a good state, and I do not think we need fear her springing a leak.”

The master seemed to agree with Captain Falkner, and once more they together returned on deck.

Denham, all the time he had been in the West Indies, had never encountered such a hurricane. He gazed with admiration, allied with awe, on the vast seas which now rose up on every side around them. The stout frigate was tossed about as if she had been a cockle-shell, yet on she flew unharmed, now sinking into the deep trough of the sea, now rising to the summit of a mountainous billow.

“I wish Fitz Barry had been able to come on deck; he was saying the other day how he should like to witness a real hurricane,” he observed to one of his messmates.

“Oh, Fitz Barry fancies a great many things; but I wonder whether he would like the reality of this,” was the answer.

“He has as brave and true a heart as ever lived,” answered Denham warmly. “Depend upon it, there is more in him than some of you suppose.”

“Considering that he is a lord he is all very well,” answered Denham’s messmate. “In my opinion he has been over-petted and spoiled.”

The frigate flew onward on her course. Provided none of her rigging gave way, and no leak was sprung, it seemed probable she would escape without any misfortune. But everything at the present moment appeared to depend upon the rigging and the seaworthiness of her hull. Still the captain and his officers often looked anxiously around. The fury of the hurricane was evidently increasing; it had not yet got to its height. The fore-topsail had hitherto stood, but as it tugged and tugged away it seemed as if it would fly from the bolt-ropes. The first lieutenant anxiously watched it. Should it be carried away it was scarcely possible that another could be set, and though the ship might still scud under bare poles, there was a great risk of her broaching to, and if so, the seas breaking over her sides might disable her completely. Suddenly there was a loud clap like that of thunder, and what looked for the moment like a white cloud was seen carried away before the blast. It was the fore-topsail which had been blown from the bolt-ropes. The few shreds that remained were quickly wrapped round and round the yard, whence it would be no easy matter to cut them. Still the ship went on under bare poles. At length night approached, and as darkness came on the danger was greatly increased. Even flying as she was before the wind those on board could scarcely keep their feet, and more than one remarked, “What must it be for poor people on shore? Why, half the plantations in Jamaica will be carried away.”

“Worse still for those at sea who are on a lee shore,” observed Mr Evans. “Let us pray that we may not find ourselves in that position.”

The men generally behaved very well during the awful scene, but there were some skulkers who went below to hide themselves away. Among them was John Higson. He had been bold and boasting in fine weather, but he now showed himself to be the coward he really was. The second lieutenant, going his rounds on the lower deck, found him stowed away, hoping to be out of sight, with two or three others of the same character. He instantly ordered them up on deck to do their duty, though they very unwillingly obeyed.

“Do you think that the hurricane will soon be over, master?” asked Captain Falkner.

“Not for some hours, I fear,” answered the master. “I have known such a one as this last twenty-four hours at least, and wonderful was the mischief it did in that time. However, as long as we can keep her from broaching to, we shall do well enough.”

While he was speaking there was a fearful crash. Loud shrieks were heard. The main-yard had been carried from the slings, as it fell crushing several persons who stood below it.

Several of their messmates rushed to the spot to aid them. Four or five were killed, and others were sadly mangled. Still the frigate drove on.

“A sail ahead,” shouted the look-out.

Glasses were turned in that direction, and a large ship was seen now sinking in the trough of the sea, now rising to the summit of the waves.

“She is a line-of-battle ship, I think,” said Mr Evans to Captain Falkner, “and from the way she is rolling I fear she is in a bad condition.”

The blast which had carried away the frigate’s main-yard appeared to be the last effort of the hurricane. The wind began to subside almost as rapidly as it commenced. In a short time, although the sea continued raging fiercely, the wind had dropped to a moderate gale. The wreck of the yard having been cleared away, sail was once more made on the frigate, and she steered towards the line-of-battle ship. As she approached every indication was observed that she had suffered fearfully in the hurricane. Her ensign was hoisted reversed. The bowsprit and fore-topmast were gone, as was the mizen topmast, while it seemed as if in an instant the main-topmast would follow the other masts. All the quarter boats seemed to have been carried away, and as the frigate drew nearer a signal was hoisted, which, on being interpreted, was—

“Come as close as you can; we have passengers on board, and are expecting every instant to go down.”

The roughness of the sea rendered the passage of boats between the two ships very dangerous. Still Captain Falkner determined to risk them with the ordinary boats’ crews; though, in such cases, volunteers are often called for. He immediately answered the signal—

“We will send boats; be prepared to lower your passengers into them.”

The first and second lieutenants went each to take command of a boat, and Denham was directed to take charge of one in the place of one of the other officers who was ill. While the boats were passing between the two ships, two men were employed in each to bale out the water which broke into them.

Chapter Nine.

We must now take a glance at the events which had occurred on the shores of Kilfinnan Bay since young Dermot O’Neil left his mother’s cottage.

The Earl had continued his course of hospitality, or extravagance, as it should more correctly have been denominated, such as was too much the custom among most Irish gentlemen of those days, declaring that although his affairs at that time were in a rather embarrassed condition, he could not afford to commence a system of economy. His table, as usual, was amply spread, and the members of the neighbouring hunt pretty frequently in the season collected at the castle, which during the summer months was seldom otherwise than full of guests. Lady Nora, who was now growing into a beautiful young woman, saw with regret the lavish expenditure in which her father indulged, knowing very well from what she had heard, that it was more than his income could afford; still he always contrived to supply Barry amply with money, and Nora was allowed every luxury she could wish for. Her tastes, however, were very simple, though in her visits with her father to the gay Irish capital, she was compelled, much against her will, to mix in its frivolous society, when at the castle she was content to take her usual rides about the country, often with no other attendant than a young lad on a rough pony to hold her horse, should she wish to alight.

Lady Sophy still continued to be for the greater part of the year her constant companion. Occasionally, they looked in upon Mr Jamieson, the minister, and his blind niece, Miss O’Reilly. They did not forget either the old fishwife, the Widow O’Neil. Whenever they saw her, they did not fail to inquire about her son; but she shook her head, with a melancholy look.

“He will come back some day, I know he will. He promised me he would; but he does not write to me—he sends me no messages. Perhaps, as he knows I cannot read, he thinks it will be no use writing; but, oh, he loves me dearly; and it is for no want of love he does not write. He will come back to me, dear young ladies, some day; and, oh, with what pride I shall have to bring him to you. He will be a fine, strong lad by that time. Maybe you would not know him. He must be altered greatly since the day you took his picture, when he was a young fisher-boy.”

Mr Jamieson, however, was more surprised than any one else at not hearing from Dermot. He had been fully prepared for Dermot’s going away, but he did not for one moment suppose, from what he knew of the lad, that he would not have kept up a correspondence with his friends at home. Still, he had received no letter, and had seen none from him to any one else, since the epistle brought by mad Kathleen a few days after his departure. Had it not been for this, he would have supposed he had met with some foul treatment from the rebels, or that some fearful accident had befallen him. Still, whenever Miss O’Reilly spoke to the widow, the old woman expressed her firm belief that Dermot was living, and would most assuredly come back to her. That thought seemed to keep her alive, and to give her strength of mind and body to go through her accustomed duties. Sometimes, however, it appeared to the blind lady, when she listened to the old woman, that her mind was not altogether right, for she spoke of strange things she had seen and done in her youth, the meaning of which Miss O’Reilly could not comprehend. She could not, however, listen to her speaking of Dermot without feeling touched by the deep love which formed, as it were, a part of her being, for her young son. There was one person, however, who could have given more information about the matter than anybody else, if he had chosen—that was Father O’Rourke. For purposes best known to himself, he had gained an undue influence over the authorities at the post-office, and thus he had the means of examining any letters which he thought it worth his while to look into. Though such a thing might be impossible at the present day, at that time it was easy of execution.

On one occasion when he was glancing over the letters, he found one, the superscription of which he examined carefully. Taking it aside, he broke it open.

“O, and so you recommend your mother to go and listen to the counsels of the heretic minister. Is that your idea, Master Dermot?” he exclaimed to himself. “We shall see how that is carried out. And you declare your love to her; and you vow that, Heaven protecting you, you will return, you trust, with wealth in your pockets, and that you will place her above want; and you hope that she has accepted the faith which you yourself now profess.”

The priest literally ground his teeth with anger. “You warn her to beware of one, your right and lawful spiritual adviser, do you? She shall, at all events, remain faithful to the true Church. I will take care she does not set eyes upon that heretic, Mr Jamieson. Well! well! you think yourself clever at forming a plot; but I will soon show you that I can counteract it. You tell her that you will write to Mr Jamieson, do you? I will take care he does not get a letter either. Is my authority thus to be set at defiance by a—well, no matter what you are. I know more of your affairs than you do, or than your poor, ignorant, half-witted mother does herself; though she is cunning enough to hide away those documents which would, could I find them, place you and her, and some other persons, too, entirely in my power. I’ll find them still, however, some day; but that English minister, by teaching you to read, has made the management of the business far more difficult than it would have been. However, I’ll not be baulked. We see what folly it is to let any but the priests and the wealthy classes to be taught to read. They would be managed ten times more easily than they will be in a short time, if this sort of thing goes on. Ah! I was thinking of that, lad. You may be clever, Master Dermot, but I will prove to you that there is one here cleverer than yourself. Did I know where to write you, I would soon prove that; but, ere long, I doubt not that another of your letters will come under my inspection, and then I will quickly settle the matter.”

Such were the thoughts—for they were not words—which passed through the mind of the Romish priest. Poor Dermot! little did he think what was to be the fate of the loving letter he had written to his mother, the first he had had the opportunity of inditing after he had left the shores of England.

Days, and weeks, and months passed on and the widow had heard nothing of her son. The priest, however, after watching month after month, at length found a letter, which seemed to give him infinite satisfaction. Its contents need not be revealed; but Father O’Rourke had at length found the means, so it appeared from his ejaculations, by which he could communicate with Dermot.

The day arrived when the Earl and his family were to quit Kilfinnan Castle. Their neighbours and friends, and the surrounding peasantry, turned out to bid them farewell.

Numberless were the expressions of affection and regard given utterance to, as persons of all ranks came forward to pay their adieux to the Earl, but more especially to Lady Nora, and her cousin, Lady Sophy. Lady Nora shed many tears. She was bidding farewell to the spot she loved, where the gentle mother whom she could just recollect had breathed her last, and round which were centred all the pleasant recollections of her youth. She was going to a strange land, to a country where she had heard of pestilence stalking forth in the noonday, and her heart sank within her, to think of the dangers to which her father might be exposed. Yet one thing consoled her—she hoped there to meet her brother, who was still, she knew, on the station, though a report had come that the ship was about to leave it.

Among the guests were Mr Jamieson and his blind niece. The Earl shook them warmly by the hand. “If anything happens to me, Jamieson, remember I charge you to look after my young boy. He is a good and a brave youth, but he requires a friend; and Nora, Miss O’Reilly, I would rather you had charge of her than anybody on earth, and yet I am afraid she is growing too old to be under the guidance of any one; I suspect, too, she could only be led by the hand of love. She is a dear, sweet girl, and I often think if I am taken away, what is to become of her in this cruel world. Jamieson, I need not conceal from you that I believe my affairs are cruelly disarranged. It is hard work, you know, to get in the rents, and of late years, my steward has told me, and I believe him, that it has been harder than ever. I do not like to press the tenants; I never yet had a distress executed, but without it I am afraid there are some of them who will never be ready to pay.”

“Trust to our merciful Father, my dear lord,” answered Mr Jamieson. “Do your duty and try to serve Him. There is no use denying it, you are not free from blame for this state of things, and I am very certain, that may be said of the greater number of landlords of this country, so the only advice I can give is to retrench for the future, and when you come back, to set manfully to work to get your affairs in order.”

“Thank you, Jamieson, I think your advice is excellent,” said the good-natured Earl; “farewell, I will try and follow it out.”

Numbers of gentlemen, and farmers, and peasantry, accompanied the carriages of the Earl and his party on horseback, as they took their way towards Cork, whence the line-of-battle ship which was to take them on board was to sail.

Chapter Ten.

We must now return to the West Indies. At length the frigate’s boat reached the line-of-battle ship. Numbers of persons were looking through the ports. Denham’s boat was one of the first on the starboard side.

“We must lower the ladies first,” said a voice from the entrance port. “Stand ready to receive them, there is no time to be lost.”

“All right,” answered Denham, looking up.

At the same moment a chair was lowered from the entrance port. In an instant, the occupant, a young lady, was released and placed in the boat. Again the chair ascended, and another was lowered in the same way. Denham, giving one glance at her countenance, saw that she was fair and young, and having placed her in security, he had to attend to those who followed. Three others were immediately lowered together.

“Now, my lord,” said the voice of an officer, “you must go into the boat.”

“No, no, not till all the females are out of the ship,” was the answer.

“They are being placed in the other boats; there is no time to be lost; let me entreat you to descend,” said the officer.

“Well, if I must go, I will obey you,” answered the nobleman who had been addressed, “but I trust all on board here will escape.” As he spoke he was lowered down into the boat.

“Come, some of you youngsters, follow him,” said a voice; “there will be but little time for the boats to make many trips between the ships; come, I say, obey orders.”

At that moment five or six young midshipmen came tumbling into the boat, which now being more than sufficiently laden, pulled back to the frigate.

“I am very glad you are here, Lord Kilfinnan,” said one of them, “and I hope Lady Nora has not been very much frightened. It has been terrible work though, and I am afraid the old bark will not swim much longer.”

“Give way, my lads, give way,” shouted Denham to his crew; “we must be back before the ship sinks, or I am afraid many a fine fellow will lose his life.”

The men rowed as hard as they could, and in a short time they again reached the frigate. No time was lost in handing up those on board.

“Whom have we here?” asked Captain Falkner.

“Lord Kilfinnan, and his daughter, and niece,” answered Denham, “and several other ladies and midshipmen. But we must be back to the ship, for they expect every moment that she will go down.”

“Mr Evans,” said Captain Falkner, “we must get out the launch and pinnace; the sea is calm enough now to allow us to do so.”

While the rest of the boats already in the water, having put those they carried on board the frigate, pulled back to the line-of-battle ship, the larger boats were cleared and hoisted out, though not without the risk of being stove alongside. The smaller boats had already made a couple of trips before they were ready to shove off for the ship. At length away they pulled, but as they reached the side of the ship the cry arose, “She is sinking—she is sinking.” Numbers of the brave fellows who had hitherto preserved their discipline now threw themselves headlong into the boats. The marines still remained drawn up on deck, where they had been posted to preserve order. Already all the boats were full almost to sinking, and with their living freight they proceeded slowly back to the frigate; she, meantime, had been drawing nearer and nearer the ship. Still the vast fabric floated above the waves; many yet remained on board. The gallant marines stood as if on parade; the officers who had refused to quit the ship clustered on the quarter-deck. Who could have believed that all knew that in not many moments the planks on which they stood would be engulfed by the waves, yet so it was; British discipline triumphed above the fear of death.

With frantic haste the men in the boats sprang up the side of the frigate, in order that they might speedily return to the ship. Already they were half way between the two vessels when the line-of-battle ship lifted high her bows above the water, then down she plunged, still with many human beings standing on her decks, numbers, alas! sinking never to rise again. The boats dashed forward into the midst of the vortex caused by her sudden descent. It seemed for a moment that they also would be drawn down by it. On every side were human beings, some already dead it seemed, others crying out for assistance, while some, refusing to express their fears, were striking out boldly for life towards the boats. There were but few, alas! of the brave marines; it seemed as if they must have grasped their muskets to the last, and gone down with those heavy weights in their hands. Eagerly the boats pulled backwards and forwards among their fellow-creatures still floating in the water; as rapidly as they could they pulled them on board, till at length all who appeared alive were rescued. But it was too certain that a very large number both of officers and crew had gone down in the sinking ship.

Such has been the fate of many a gallant crew in every part of the world. The survivors were carried on board the frigate, and treated with every kindness which the officers and crew were able to bestow. The gallant captain of the line-of-battle ship, two of his lieutenants, and several inferior officers, with nearly half of the marines, were lost. The frigate having once more hoisted her boats on board, made sail for Port Royal.

The Earl of Kilfinnan, on discovering the name of the frigate by which he had been rescued, inquired at once for his son. His cheek turned pale when he did not see him with the midshipmen of the ship. The truth was told him that he had been wounded.

“But he is doing well, my lord,” said the surgeon to whom he was speaking; “before long I hope he will be able to return to his duty.”

Lady Sophy could with difficulty conceal her feelings when she heard that Captain Falkner commanded the ship to which she had been conveyed, while it would be impossible to describe the satisfaction which she experienced. Nora insisted at once on going down and seeing poor Barry, who was still unable to leave his cot. At first he would scarcely believe who it was who stood before him, and for some time he fancied himself in a dream, and asked whether he had not got an increase of fever.

“O no, dear Barry,” answered Nora, “in a short time you will be well, and it will be a good excuse for you to come and live on shore with us. I hear the place we are going to is very beautiful, high up on the side of a mountain, far above all the mists and vapours which bring the yellow fever into this part of the world. And papa, you know, is to be the governor, so that he will not feel the change from Kilfinnan Castle so great as he might have done, for, of course, the people will treat him with great respect, and that you know he likes, although he does not talk about it; and we shall have horses to ride about the country, and plenty of people to attend upon us, and there are a number of curious fruits and animals, and creatures of all sorts which we shall have to see. Now I fully expect to be very interested, and so must you be, Barry, and I daresay Captain Falkner will occasionally come and see dear Sophy, and that will make her very happy.”

Thus Nora ran on in her light-hearted way, anxious to raise her brother’s spirits. She felt somewhat sad, however, when she looked at him, for the bright glow in his cheeks was gone, and he looked pale and thin, that she began to fear he might be worse than the doctor said he was. After the hurricane the frigate had a fine passage to Port Royal. There, having landed all her supernumeraries by the orders of the admiral, she once more sailed to carry the Earl to his destination. He was received with the usual honours of a Lieutenant-Governor, and carriages were in waiting to convey him to his country seat, on the side of the mountain which had been described by Nora. It was a lovely spot, with streams gushing down from the side of the steep heights above the house, while the wide terrace in front afforded ample room for exercise.

Far below the white buildings of the chief town was to be seen the intermediate country, covered with the richest tropical vegetation, while in the distance was the deep blue sea, dotted here and there with the white sails of vessels of various sizes. Barry of course had leave to accompany his father on shore, and he begged that his friend Denham should be allowed to pay them a visit.

“He has been watching over me so carefully while I was sick on board, that it would seem ungrateful in me if I did not ask him to come with us. Besides, he is so excellent a fellow—so brave, and daring, and generous. I do not mean to say in the matter of money, because he has none of that, for he was only a few years ago placed on the quarter-deck, but I mean in his behaviour. He never takes offence, and never thinks ill of anybody, and he will never allow any of the younger fellows to be bullied by the elder, whom he is strong enough to keep in order, and there are not many who can beat him in any way.”

The next day, accordingly, the Earl wrote a note to Captain Falkner, requesting that Mr Denham might be allowed to pay him a visit. Captain Falkner, who had been much pleased with the conduct of the young midshipman, was glad to accede to the Earl’s request, and told Denham to prepare for a visit on shore. Denham made some excuse with regard to his outfit.

“Oh, I will settle all that,” answered the captain kindly, “I must be your banker, remember, and just go on shore at once, and we will get Mr Truefit to rig you out in the course of a few hours. They do not take long to do that sort of thing out here.”

Thus all difficulties were overcome, and the following day Denham found himself on his way to the new Governor’s house.

Chapter Eleven.

As soon as Denham approached the Government house, Barry, who had seen him from the window, hastened forward to meet him, and after the first greetings, said that he must introduce him at once to the Earl, and his sister, and cousin.

“You will like the girls,” he whispered to Denham, “you must be entirely at your ease with them, remember, they are not fine, they have no nonsense about them, just as girls should be; if they were otherwise, I, for one, would not own them. I have no idea of girls giving themselves airs.”

Saying this, Barry led Denham into the drawing-room. The young midshipman seemed to have the habit of blushing, for in spite of all he could do, the colour mounted to his cheeks when he made his bow, a very graceful one, by-the-bye, to the two young ladies. He conversed with ease, but the subjects of his conversation, as far as he selected them, were entirely confined to the scenes he had witnessed in the West Indies, or to a few books which he had the opportunity of reading since he had been on board the frigate. As to England, or any other part of the world, he seemed to know nothing whatever, as far at least as his own experience went. He did not speak either of his family or of any friend he possessed, and they soon came to the conclusion that he was either a foundling or an orphan, without any relation whom he wished to own. Still they were very much pleased with his general conversation.

Captain Falkner, in the evening, came up to the Government house, and he then said that the Admiral had directed him to take a cruise for a few weeks, and that, at the end of the time, he would come back for his midshipmen. He was able, however, to remain at anchor two or three days, and, as will be supposed, he spent most of his time on shore in Lady Sophy’s company. No one could watch the two without agreeing that they were admirably matched. She, gentle and intelligent, and affectionate; he, frank and brave, and open-hearted in his manner and bearing. He was known, too, as a just, brave, high-spirited officer, and a very first-rate seaman, and more than that, to be a God-fearing and religious man.

The two midshipmen, it should have been remarked, when last at Jamaica, had passed their examination, which gave them the rank of masters’ mates, as they were called in those days. They had been for some time on shore when, a mail arriving, the Earl presented Denham with a long official-looking letter. Denham eagerly opened it. His heart beat quicker than usual; the colour rose to his cheeks, and his eyes beamed with pleasure, for he found that the document announced his being raised to the rank of lieutenant. The Earl seemed to be aware of the fact, and soon after addressed him as “Lieutenant Denham.”

“But has not Barry also got his promotion?” asked Denham, looking at his friend.

“Yes,” answered Barry, “I am a lieutenant too, but I do not feel as you do, because I am sure I have not deserved it. You have done all sorts of gallant things, and I have done nothing.”

The Earl laughed.

“Well,” he said, “provided those who deserve promotion obtain it, the Admiralty do not object to raise a few who have less to boast of.”

“But I am sure you would have done all sorts of gallant things if you had had the opportunity,” said Lady Nora, turning to her brother with a smile.

“I hope this will not remove me from the Cynthia,” said Denham; “I should indeed be sorry to quit Captain Falkner and my old shipmates.”

“I think not,” answered the Earl. “From what I hear from the Admiral who writes to me on the subject, the first lieutenant of the Cynthia has been promoted, and another officer has left the ship, so that you two will get the vacancies. I hope in the course of another month or so she will return from Jamaica, and that Barry will rejoin her with renewed health.”

The father’s hope buoyed him up, while Denham could not help acknowledging that he saw his friend every day growing weaker and weaker. It was evident that the injuries he had received in the cutting-out expedition had been more severe than had been supposed, and that his system had received a shock from which it had never recovered. Nora, too, was scarcely aware of the danger of her brother. Lady Sophy, perhaps, had suspected it, but could not bring herself to speak of it to her cousin. Barry himself declared that he felt better every day, though he showed, by his disinclination to take exercise, that he was much weaker than he was ready to acknowledge.

At length the frigate came back, and the two young lieutenants rejoined her. When, however, Lord Barry came on board, the surgeon kindly told him that he thought he would be better off by remaining on shore a little longer with his father. The surgeon saw that a great change had taken place in him.

Barry declared he was fully capable of doing his duty, but the surgeon persisted in advising him to return home.

“I am sure a little more rest will do you good,” said Captain Falkner, looking at him compassionately; “we will manage to have your duty done on board, and we must hope that in a short time you will be sufficiently recovered to resume it yourself.”

The Earl was somewhat surprised at seeing Barry return, but Captain Falkner, who accompanied him, endeavoured to tranquillise his mind; and though he could not honestly say his son would recover, he remarked that youth and a good constitution often enable persons to gain strength when otherwise it might be hopeless.

The Cynthia was ordered to cruise about the Windward islands; a dangerous locality, but where she would have many places to visit. Captain Falkner observed that he should frequently have to call off the island, and that he hoped to see the Earl and his family whenever he did so.

It would be difficult to describe the beautiful scenery of the island now placed under the government of the Earl. The ground is broken into hills and valleys, and here and there lofty mountains rise, towering high up into the blue sky. Good roads, however, are cut across the island in every direction, and thus not only were the young ladies able to drive about, but they also had the pleasure of taking long rides to many scenes of beauty, accompanied by Barry, who, though he did not appear to recover his strength, was still able to sit on horseback. A number of planters were settled about the island, many of whom were men of education, and all were glad to offer hospitality to the Earl and his sick son. The Earl hoped by travelling about, and by amusing Barry’s mind, to assist in the restoration of his health. They had on one occasion gone to a planter’s house at the back of the island, a day’s journey from the Earl’s country residence, and situated near the sea.

The spot was a very beautiful one. In the background rose ranges of mountains, feathered to their very summits with green foliage. On one side of the grounds were plantations of coffee and sugar. The sandy beach stretched like a line of silver along the edge of the blue water, fringing the cane-fields, which formed a broad expanse of vivid green behind them. Along the coast were lovely little coves and bays, enlivened by neatly laid out mansions of the planters, while numerous fishing and passage-boats, with their raking masts and latteen sails, added life and animation to the scene. A bright and sparkling stream, which found its way down from the mountains above, passed through the plantation, and added much to the refreshing coolness of the scene in that warm climate. A broad verandah ran round the house, on one side of which or the other shade could be obtained at all times of the day. A couple of days had been spent very pleasantly at this abode, when one evening, just as the sun was about to sink through a rain cloud into the distant horizon, an old whiteheaded slave came hurriedly into the presence of his master.

“What is the matter, Caesar,” asked Mr Jefferson, the planter. The old man shook his head.

“Very bad, very bad.”

“Speak, boy; have you lost your wits?” exclaimed the planter impatiently.

“No, massa; but me hear there come one hundred Caribs and many white men, and a whole lot of negroes, to burn the house this night and the plantations; and they swear that they will kill all the people.”

At first the planter was inclined to laugh at this information, so indeed was the Earl; but, on a further examination, the statements of the negro were so clear—and he was so well able to explain how he obtained his knowledge—that they began to think more seriously.

“It is too late now,” observed the planter, “for your lordship to attempt to return to the town; indeed, you would be very likely to fall in with these rebels; but I have several trusty slaves on the estate who I am sure would be ready to lay down their lives for my sake. I will send Caesar to summon them into the house, and as I know that we can make a better stand here than at the residences of any of the other planters, I shall be able to persuade several of them to come here with their families, and assist in the defence of the place.”

“In the mean time we must send off for assistance,” observed the Earl; “I am perfectly ready to agree to your proposition; indeed, I should be very unwilling to attempt to travel with my two young ladies and son at this hour; besides which we should probably be watched, and if we were so, we should eventually be captured by these people. But what could have caused them to think of rebelling?”

“Probably, my lord, emissaries from France have landed on the island, and also there are several discontented settlers of other nations, besides Caribs and blacks, who are always ready for a disturbance, in the hopes of gaining something during it.”

“However,” observed the Earl, who in his youth had been a soldier, “we must make preparations for defending the place; I have had a little experience of that sort of thing in Ireland, and I suspect there is not much difference between the characters we shall have to deal with and those I have been accustomed to in my native country.”

Mr Jefferson, as he had proposed, immediately sent out three of his most trusty household servants, with notes to the neighbouring planters, inviting them to take refuge in his house, while the other servants of the establishment were at once ordered to come in. A number of trees from the neighbouring woods were forthwith cut down and brought into the house, to assist in barricading the windows and doors. Every available board, tops of tables and chests were broken up to close all the entrances, loop-holes being cut in them through which muskets could be fired at the advancing foe. Neither Lady Sophy nor Lady Nora seemed much alarmed at seeing the preparations.

“It reminds me very much of our younger days,” observed Lady Sophy to her cousin. “You remember what work there was in defending the old castle, though that appeared to us to be a far better place to defend than this is. Still as our friends do not appear to be alarmed I do not see why we should be.” Lord Barry seemed aroused by the exertions he was called on to make, and set to work with zeal in assisting in fortifying the house; all languor had disappeared, and he was now full of animation. In a short time the gentlemen who had been summoned arrived at the house. Most of them came attended by servants well armed, and several who had families brought them also, not forgetting to bring, at the same time, a supply of provisions. They all knew that some time might elapse before they could get assistance. Indeed, if, as was not improbable, there was a general rising of the Caribs and blacks on the island, the small number of troops stationed in the garrison would be fully occupied in attempting to put them down, and perhaps none could be spared to come to their relief. None of the party, however, appeared alarmed. They held the people it was expected would attack them in too much contempt not to feel perfectly secure with the preparations they had had time to make. The Earl’s chief annoyance arose in not having himself received information of the intended rising, as, of course, he felt himself responsible for the well-being of the country. He, however, took care to exhibit no doubt or hesitation, and did his utmost to keep up the resolution of those collected about him. It should have been said, that the day after the Cynthia left the harbour, a boat with several men had contrived to escape from the side of the ship.

It happened in the following manner. During the latter part of the middle watch, while the night was excessively dark, there was a shout of a man overboard. The wind was light. A boat was ordered to be lowered, and to pull in the direction in which the man was supposed to have floated. There was no cry, however, though a splash was heard, and fears were therefore entertained that he had sunk, or had become the prey of a shark. There was far more confusion than usual on board at the time, and several voices were heard exclaiming, that he was crying out, and that the sound came from a different direction to that in which the first boat had gone. Without waiting for orders, another boat was immediately lowered. It was known that several men had jumped into her, and shoved off without an officer. When it was, as on the present occasion, a matter of life and death, this was not of much consequence. Away the boat pulled from the ship, and no officer took upon himself to call her back. At length, however, it appearing certain that the man must have sunk, or, what was too likely, been carried off by a shark, the boats were recalled on board. One only returned. In vain the other was summoned. No answer was made to the repeated calls of the boatswain. A gun was fired; still, after waiting a certain time, the boat did not return. It was strange that no one could tell in which direction she had gone. It was scarcely possible that any accident could have happened to her; for, even if she had filled with water, the men in her would certainly have cried out. The ship at the time was supposed to be about five or six leagues from the land, which had been seen at sundown over the weather quarter. Since then the wind had been very light, and the ship had made but little way. The natural conclusion to which Captain Falkner came was, the boat must have pulled on shore, and made several tacks in that direction. A strong gale, however, coming on in a short time, he was unable to beat up to the island; and after making an attempt for some hours in vain, having despatches on board, he was obliged to bear up for his destination. He intended, however, on his return to make inquiries for the boat, in case she should have reached the shore. Now, it happened that the mutineer, Higson, had managed to win over six of the men to assist him in escaping from the ship. At his suggestion a log had been thrown into the water, and the cry was raised that a man was overboard. This done, he had no great difficulty in leaving the ship. While in harbour he had had frequent communications with various persons disaffected to the Government. He had by chance fallen in with one of them when he was on shore, and this led to his communication with others. Believing that the larger portion of the population would join in a rebellion, he entertained the idea of making himself of some importance in the country, fully believing that assistance would be gained from the French or Dutch, and that the people might make themselves independent of England. With this object in view, he determined to leave the ship. His success was complete, and he managed before dawn to land safely on the island. Here the boat was broken up, and a cave by the shore being found, the fragments were piled up in it and completely consumed; thus he hoped all trace of his landing was lost. He had some difficulty in finding the people with whom he had before communicated, but at length they met, and he at once entered seriously into the plans which had been proposed for overpowering the British troops, and taking possession of the country. He knew where the Earl was living, and entertaining a personal grudge against him for the part he had played in sending him on board a man-of-war, he resolved on wreaking his vengeance in the first place on his head. On visiting the governor’s country-house he discovered that the Earl had gone to the plantation of Mr Jefferson, and he immediately determined, with such aid as he could collect, to attack it, in the hopes of at once either capturing the Earl or destroying him and his family. Happily, having to deal with people with whom he was little acquainted, his plans were not kept so secret as they might otherwise have been, and the faithful old Caesar thus got information respecting them.

Chapter Twelve.

Some hours passed quietly away at Mr Jefferson’s country-house after all the preparations had been made for the reception of their expected assailants, and yet no enemy appeared.

Higson and the other leaders had some difficulty in bringing up their forces to the attack. They had discovered that the house had been fortified, and they were well aware that a victory could not be obtained without a considerable loss to themselves. Higson had been on shore for some weeks before these preparations were made. Sometimes his mind misgave him, especially when he saw that the British troops in the garrison were thoroughly disciplined, and always on the alert, and that even a regiment of black troops, whom it was hoped might be gained over, refused to desert their colours. The conspirators had then, not without considerable risk, to send to the French and other enemies of England to obtain their assistance. This was readily enough promised, but they were told that they must themselves commence the rebellion, and that then ample assistance would be forthcoming. At length Higson and his associates gained courage, and they hoped by an attack on Mr Jefferson’s house, and by the capture of so many persons of consequence, to obtain an influence over the rest of the people of the island, which would at once give them the upper hand.

Several hours of the night had passed away; Lady Sophy and Lady Nora, with the rest of the ladies, were advised to lie down, it being hoped, that perhaps after all, an attack might not be made. Scouts were, however, sent out to watch for the approaching enemy. At length two of them came hurrying back, announcing that they heard the approach of feet up from the sea. This was the most assailable side of the house. The stream, which has been spoken of with its precipitous banks, circled round two sides, while a high cliff, the summit of which was inaccessible, formed another side of the grounds. In front also, the ground sloped rapidly down, so that unless by steps, which had been strongly barricaded, no one could approach up from the sea, even on that side, without considerable difficulty. The Earl and his friends at length observed through certain look-out places, which had been formed on the roof of the upper story, that a large body of men were scaling the hill in a somewhat irregular manner. At first they came on in silence, but on a warm fire being opened upon them, they gave vent to loud shouts and shrieks, and rushed as rapidly up the hill as the nature of the ground would allow them. At the same time a number of persons in the rear lighted torches, which they bore in their hands, and shook them wildly about, as if to terrify those they came to attack. Perhaps also, they believed that by this means they would distract the attention of the besieged, and prevent them taking a steady aim at those in the front. The sight of the torches raised in Mr Jefferson’s mind an apprehension which he had not before entertained. He knew too well the combustible nature of his dwelling, and that if it entered the minds of the rebels, they might without difficulty set the house on fire.

“If they do,” he thought, “we must retreat by the back of the house and defend ourselves under the cliffs. We may still perhaps be able to hold our own against these fellows until assistance comes, but the poor ladies, I tremble for them.”

He did not, however, express these apprehensions to the Earl, but, like a brave man, did his best to encourage those around him. As the enemy approached, they opened a fire at the doors and windows of the house, but as these had been well barricaded, the bullets fell harmlessly against them. A considerable number of the rebels were soon struck down, either killed or wounded. Those in the house did not fire until the enemy approached near. The greater number of them were good marksmen. All knew, likewise, that they fought for their lives, and for the lives of those most dear to them. At length Barry proposed sallying out and endeavouring to put the enemy to flight.

“The time may come for that by and by,” said Mr Jefferson. “In the meantime let us be content to hold our own till assistance can arrive from the town, or till the rebels have discovered that they are incapable of overcoming us.”

The men who were waving the torches had hitherto not ventured near the house, but had contented themselves with springing here and there and attempting to dazzle the eyes of the besieged party. Higson, who had himself hitherto kept under shelter, now began to fear that his allies would give way, and the attack would altogether fail. He knew the nature of buildings in the West Indies; and finding that the little garrison were not likely to be overcome by the present mode of attack, he determined to set fire to the house, and then to seize those who were likely to prove most valuable to him, as they were escaping from the burning building. He immediately issued an order to the men with torches to rush forward, at the same time directing others to collect all the dry brushwood they could find, and to pile it up in the verandah. Those, however, who first advanced were received with so hot a fire that several were killed or wounded, and the rest sought safety in flight. Again and again Higson urged them to renew the attempt, and finding this did not avail, he ordered the main body to retreat, greatly to the relief of the garrison. The whole body of their enemies were seen descending the hill, and they began to congratulate themselves that they had gained an easy victory. No one had been killed within the house, although several had been struck by bullets which had found their way through the loop-holes or the too thinly planked windows.

The Earl and his friends were not left long in doubt about the intentions of the rebels. In a short time they were seen rushing up the hill again, numbers bearing bundles of reeds and other combustible substances, and others flaming torches in their hands. In spite of the hot fire with which they were received, they dashed forward and threw the bundles into the verandah. Several fell in the attempt, but the great mass persevered, and the men with the torches now advancing, cast them amidst the heaps of brushwood. In a few seconds the whole was in a blaze. The woodwork of the building soon caught fire, and it became evident to the besieged that the house would not long be tenable. Still, as long as any could remain on the front side, they continued to fire at the rebels.

Mr Jefferson now called a Council of War, and explained to his friends the plan he proposed for effecting their escape. The Earl agreed that the undertaking was feasible, though they might be exposed to far greater peril than they had hitherto been; still it was the only one, since the house could no longer be held, for when once the flames had gained entire possession of it, the negroes and Caribs would probably make a dash forward through the fire and put all they could meet with to death. Hitherto none of the rebels had ventured to go round to the rear of the house. Indeed, when any had tried to pass by either of the sides, they had met with so warm a fire that even the boldest had not dared to proceed, while many had been struck down in the attempt.

“We must place the ladies in our centre and retreat to the cliff,” said Mr Jefferson.

Lord Fitz Barry and three or four of the men agreed suddenly to burst open the door, and then lead the way in the direction Mr Jefferson had indicated. The plan was adopted, while some of the men continued to fire down upon their assailants.

The ladies were carried safely out, surrounded by an armed party, to the rear of the house. Not until they had been placed in comparative safety did the rest of the men withdraw from their now almost untenable position. At length the whole front of the house was in flames. The fire soon caught the rest of the building, and scarcely had the last defender left it, than the combustible roof fell in with a loud crash. The negroes shouted and shrieked with glee when they saw this, and rushed forward, as had been anticipated, in the hopes of gaining an easy victory over their now defenceless opponents.

Many of them were severely burnt, as they dashed forward into the building, and were glad again quickly to retreat. Not till the whole edifice was one blazing heap, did they discover that the inmates had escaped them. By the light of the flames which continued burning brightly, the negroes perceived the Lieutenant Governor and the planters with their families posted at the side of the cliff.

For some time, warned by the treatment they had received, they hesitated to advance, but at length Higson, animated by the success which had already attended his efforts, rushed forward, calling to his men to follow him, and made a dash towards the Earl. He thought that if he could once get him into his power, the victory would be gained. The negroes were perfectly ready to follow when others led, and thus a band of shouting, shrieking wretches, advanced close to where the European party had taken shelter. Already many had begun to climb the heights, and a stout, black ruffian had actually got so close, that he was able to lay his hand upon the Earl’s shoulder. Higson shouted to the man to drag forward the Governor, in order to make him prisoner. At that moment Fitz Barry, seeing the danger that his father was in, sprang forward to his rescue, and with a blow of his cutlass, compelled the man to let go his hold. In the meantime, however, Higson, with the runaway seamen, whom he had persuaded to follow him, made a dash at that part of the terrace where the ladies were collected. The dawn had now broken, so that they were soon found without the light from the burning house. Lady Nora, seeing the approach of the ruffians, cried to her brother for help. He, however, found himself surrounded by a number of blacks, who pressed him so hard that he was unable to reach her. In the meantime the planters continued to fire down upon their assailants, the great body of whom were kept at bay. Higson at length turned, and ordered more of his followers to come to his assistance. He had already seized Lady Nora, well satisfied that should he fail to capture the Earl, she, at all events, would prove a valuable prize. Two other ladies were also carried off, and in vain did their defenders attempt by a bold dash to rescue them. Higson, elated at his success, and at the same time fearful lest the bullets which were flying about might strike any of his captives, and probably glad himself to avoid them, made a wide circuit to gain the sea-shore.

He was already separated from the main body of the insurgents, when suddenly he was startled with a loud shout close to him, and before he could turn round to defend himself, he was attacked by a body of seamen, led on by a lieutenant. The increasing light revealed to him several of his late shipmates, and the new lieutenant, Mr Denham. Surprised by the attack, for the boat’s crew had sprung upon them from behind a thicket, Higson and his companions at once let go their captives. A blow from the cutlass of one of the men brought him to the ground, while the rest of his party—more than one half were either killed or wounded—sought safety in flight. They were not far from the sea-shore. “You must allow me, Lady Nora, to place you with the other ladies on board the boat,” said Denham. “You will there be in safety, and the crew will row off to a short distance, while I, with the rest of my men, go to the rescue of your father, and the remainder of the party.” To these plans Lady Nora willingly agreed, and in a few minutes she found herself with her friends on board a man-of-war’s boat, which, with four men, pulled off out of gun-shot from the shore. Anxiously she watched what was taking place, as far as she could see. Still the firing continued, and Lieutenant Denham and his party hurrying again up the hill, she soon lost sight of them amongst the woods. Deep was her anxiety for her father and brother, and Lady Sophy, who remained with the planters and their friends, while she could not help feeling anxious for the risk to which the young lieutenant and his small party of men were exposed, in the presence of so large a body of rebels.

The outhouses and other buildings on the estate had now caught fire, and their flames showed the insurgents still clustering round the side of the hill, though the continued discharge of musketry in the far distance, made her hope that the Earl and his party were still defending themselves. Now the fire of the English party seemed to slacken; now more dark forms were seen climbing up the hill. Then again, the defenders of the height increased their fire, and even at that distance she fancied she could hear the shouts of the combatants. At length her attention was drawn off the scene, by hearing one of the crew exclaim, “Here comes the frigate,” and she saw rising above a woody point on one side of the bay, the snow white sails of the Cynthia, as close-hauled she stood along the land. The sound of the firing must have reached her. She immediately hauled into the bay. The anchor was dropped, the sails furled, and several boats were seen to come off from her side. In a short time the boats approached, and the men informed the officers in them of the orders they had received from Lieutenant Denham, adding that they had three ladies in their boat. “Take the ladies to the frigate,” answered one of the officers; “give way, my lads, there is no time to be lost.” The boats dashed on. Nora thanked Heaven for their arrival, hoping by this means those she dearly loved might be saved, as well as those friends, whose hospitality they had been enjoying. The boats quickly reached the beach, and the men, all well armed, dashed forward up the hill, led by their officers. Attacking the enemy fiercely in the flank, the latter, who had apparently not seen their approach, were taken by surprise. Those who resisted were cut down, the rest taking to flight along the shore. No one stopped to look behind him or see what had become of his neighbour. The seamen quickly scaled the heights, and reached the spot where the Earl and his party still held their position. Unhappily several had been badly wounded, among whom were two of the ladies, and three or four planters, while others had been killed. Of the insurgents, a very considerable number had been struck down. The wounded now began to utter loud shrieks and groans, to excite the commiseration of their conquerors. At present, however, little could be done for them. Those of the English who had been wounded were at once conveyed on board the frigate, where they could receive medical treatment. Indeed so alarmed had the planters become, that they requested that they and their families might be taken on board with the Earl. The frigate lay at anchor in the bay. As soon as those who had been wounded on the side of the planters had been cared for, the assistant-surgeon with a boat’s crew was humanely sent on shore, to attend to the unhappy blacks and Caribs who had been hurt. A few had in the meantime crawled off. Others had died, but still a considerable number remained and required attention. Among the dead was found the unhappy Higson. No one knew what could have induced him to join in so mad a scheme, but those who had watched his conduct on board were not surprised at his behaviour.

On the return of the frigate to the chief town, it was found that the garrison had been warned in time. A considerable number of troops had marched unmolested through the country, visiting the places which were said to be most disaffected, and in a few days the rebel forces had completely melted away. A few men who were caught and accused of leading the rebellion suffered the penalty of death, others had managed to make their escape from the island. It was found, however, that they had been instigated to the rebellion by foreign emissaries, and even the captive rebels themselves acknowledged they had few causes of complaint against the English government.

Chapter Thirteen.

The outbreak being thus speedily quelled, the Earl was enabled very soon to return in safety to his country residence. He had there a severe affliction awaiting him. Owing either to the over-exertions made by Lord Fitz Barry on the night of the attack at the planter’s house, or from some other cause, his disease from that time gained rapid ground. His friend Denham now felt greatly alarmed at the change which he remarked in him, and saw too clearly that he was destined to remain but a short time longer on earth. The surgeon also, who had known him some years, was of the same opinion. Captain Falkner felt, though most reluctantly, that it was his duty to convey the sad information to his father and sister. The Earl refused to believe it, but Nora saw, with grief, the sad change which even a few days had made in her beloved brother. He could now only sit up for a short time in an armchair.

In consequence of the rebellion the Cynthia had to remain for some time in the harbour, and accordingly Denham was able to obtain leave to remain with his friend. He and Nora, therefore, were constantly by the side of the dying youth. Barry would not for some time believe that his own end was approaching. Often, with tears in her eyes, Nora spoke to him of that happy land to which all those who trust in the Rock of Ages are certainly bound.

“There will be no more sorrow, no more suffering, no more fighting, no more wounds in that land, dear Barry,” she said, taking his hand. “Still, life is sweet. I wish you could have remained with us; but we must bow to God’s will. They say you have not many more days to remain on earth, Barry; but surely we must feel the parting more severely—we who have to remain in this world exposed to so many dangers, than you should, who have to go to that land of joy and rest.”

The young lieutenant shook his head.

“It is hard for me to acknowledge that, dear Nora,” he answered. “I care not for the dangers; and there are so many things to enjoy in this life, that I had hoped to remain in it to a good old age. I have everything to make life pleasant, and can you be surprised, then, that I should be unwilling to quit it without a sigh?”

“O! no, no,” she answered. “I know that; but still, remember, it is but to enter into a life of eternal joy that you leave this world of trials. Because, let us deceive ourselves as we may, there are many causes which must bring us sorrow and pain. You remember how we grieved when our dear mother was taken from us, and then it was very sad to leave the old castle, and then, too, we have sorrowed on account of our father, that his property has suffered so much; and though we have been very lovingly dealt with by God, yet He has not allowed life to be so delightful to us that we should be willing to remain here for ever.”

Denham spoke to his friend in the same strain. Often did his heart swell within him as he had to address the dying youth, and many a time he dashed away from his eyes the fast-falling tears as he thought that in a few days they must part, never again to meet in this world. He had seen several of his shipmates cut down by the sword of the enemy. Young as he was, death was no stranger to him. The saddest loss he had ever yet experienced was that of his brave and gentle friend, with his youth and rank and many noble qualities. Even to the end, which came at last, the Earl could not believe that his son was dying.

It was daytime. The soft breeze came in through the open window. He sat, as usual, in his chair, with his sweet sister on one side and his friend Denham on the other. His hands were placed in theirs. He felt that he was about to take his departure.

“Kiss me, Nora,” he said.

Denham felt him press his hand for an instant; then the fingers relaxed, and he sank back, and they both saw that his spirit had fled.

Nora did not give way to tears; her grief was too deep for that. Denham felt that he could not venture to comfort her; he dared not even trust his voice in words. Happily, Sophy came in, and the attendants were summoned, and Nora was led away to her chamber.

Denham’s leave had just then expired. He went to pay his farewell respects to the Earl; but Lord Kilfinnan entreated him to remain.

“I will write to Captain Falkner,” he said. “He will not insist upon your returning on board just now. I must have you with me. You are my son’s dearest friend. I know that from the way he spoke of you. I cannot let you go. You must stop and comfort a broken-hearted old man. And poor Nora, she will feel his death dreadfully. Well, ‘God’s will be done;’ perhaps, after all, the poor lad would have found that he had but a scant inheritance to support his title.”

Denham remained in the house as desired, having obtained leave from Captain Falkner to do so. He occasionally saw Lady Nora, who spoke to him kindly and gently, as she naturally would do to her late brother’s friend. Lady Sophy was far more cordial in her manner. He, however, conversed but little with the Earl. Indeed, it was very evident that Lord Kilfinnan could not trust his voice to speak about his son. After the funeral Denham once more returned on board.

Chapter Fourteen.

Again the Cynthia sailed on a cruise. She had to visit various parts of the West Indies; sometimes cruising off the Leeward, and sometimes off the Windward Islands. Now to convoy a fleet of merchant vessels from one port to another, and occasionally to accompany them part of the way across the Atlantic, till they were clear of the region infested by the enemy’s smaller privateers.

Several months were thus occupied in a somewhat tedious manner. Small prizes had been taken; but these did not satisfy the ardent mind of the gallant captain, who appeared to be longing to meet an enemy the size of his own frigate, a more worthy competitor than any of the vessels he had hitherto encountered. At length, Captain Falkner and his young lieutenant were enabled once more to pay a visit to the Earl and his family. Denham was received as kindly as before; and it was very evident the affection existing between Lady Sophy and Captain Falkner had in no way decreased. During the last day of his stay on shore, however, a degree of melancholy seemed to weigh down his captain at times. Occasionally he talked in his usual lively and animated manner, and spoke hopefully of the future, when, the war being ended, he might with honour sheath his sword and take up his abode on shore.

“At present, however,” he remarked, “while my country demands my services I am bound to remain afloat.”

The frigate, however, was again ordered to sea, and the lovers parted, hoping ere long to meet again. Captain Falkner was unusually silent during his drive to the port, and when he arrived on board he retired to his cabin, and it was not until the moment the ship had to get under weigh he appeared on deck. He was then as full of life and activity as usual, and issued his orders in that clear ringing voice by which he was so well-known. As the frigate under all sail stood out to sea, Denham more than once observed his captain turning his glass towards the governor’s house high up on the mountain side. In his mind’s eye he probably saw her who had so deservedly won his brave heart, though the distance was in reality too great to have discovered any human being. Denham felt very much inclined to imitate his commander’s example; but though he lifted his telescope, he quickly lowered it again.

“No, no; what folly in me to indulge in so idle a dream,” he said to himself, turning away. “I was received as Barry’s friend, and treated with kindness accordingly; but I should only deservedly bring down scorn and ridicule on myself if I were ever to aspire to a greater intimacy than that which has hitherto been allowed me.”

“Well, Denham, we must not return without an enemy’s frigate in tow,” observed Captain Falkner, as he was one day walking the deck with his young lieutenant. “The Frenchmen have several fine vessels out in these seas at present, and we must try and diminish their numbers. Let us but catch sight of one of them, and, unless she has a very fast pair of heels, she shall be our prize before many hours are over.”

“No doubt of that, sir,” answered Denham, laughing. “We have now as fine a ship’s company as were ever collected together, having cleared out the black sheep who were among them, and they are in as good temper as men need be.”

“A sail on the lee-bow,” shouted the look-out from aloft.

“What is she like?” asked the captain.

“A full-rigged ship, sir,” was the answer.

There was a fresh northerly breeze at the time, and the frigate was under easy sail.

“Turn the hands up, Mr Hansom,” observed the captain to the first lieutenant. “Make all sail.”

“All hands on deck,” shouted the boatswain, piping his whistle at the same time.

The crew speedily made their appearance, and in a few seconds were seen clustering on the yards aloft. The ship was kept away, studding-sails and royals were set; and the frigate, gliding rapidly over the water, stood towards the stranger. The latter, though she must have seen her coming, showed no inclination to avoid her; but, on the contrary, hauled her wind, that they might the sooner meet. Every spy-glass was in requisition on board the Cynthia, and most of the officers went aloft, that they might take a better view of the stranger. In a short time she was pronounced to be a frigate of equal size to their own. Some, however, thought her larger. That she might be so, and under an enemy’s flag, was the wish of all. It is strange how eager men are to encounter those they consider it lawful to engage with in fight, to wound and slay each other. They think not of the pain and suffering they may inflict, or may themselves have to undergo. They eagerly seek for the excitement of the strife, the triumph of victory. They seem to forget entirely what far greater triumphs await those who labour on in civil life to advance the interests of humanity, to win the desert from barrenness, to make it smile as a fruitful garden, and the glorious triumph which is reserved for those who struggle on bravely in the service of their Heavenly Lord and Master. Still, we are describing men as they are, not as they should be; and probably on board that frigate there was not a single man who had the slightest doubt that the sentiments which animated his bosom were otherwise than right and noble, and superior to all others.

A shout burst from the mouths of the crew of the Cynthia when the French flag was seen to be run up to the peak of the stranger. She was standing on with all plain sail set, and was manoeuvring in order to gain the weather-gauge. The Cynthia’s studding-sails and more lofty canvas having been taken in, she also tacked in order not to let her antagonist gain this advantage. At length they approached sufficiently near each other to allow the bow guns of the Cynthia to take effect.

“Mr Hansom, let us see if we cannot knock away some of her spars,” observed the captain.

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Mr Hansom, going forward and taking the match in his hands.

There was a good deal of sea running at the time, so that the aim, even of the best marksman, was likely to prove uncertain. He waited his opportunity however. As the bows of the frigate rose he applied the match, and some white splinters were seen to fly from the enemy’s topmast. A cheer burst from the throats of the crew who saw the success of the experiment. It was looked upon as a good omen for the future. The cheer, however, was repressed by the officers. The men stood at their quarters. The captains of guns, with their matches in their hands, most of them stripped to the waist, to allow them the better to work the tackles, and also, should they be wounded, to escape the injury which any piece of clothing was sure to cause, should it be carried into their bodies by the shot. It was a scene which a painter might have delighted to copy, exhibiting the sturdy forms of the seamen, their countenances determined and bold, and utterly devoid of any appearance of fear. Many, indeed, were passing rough and coarse jokes one from the other, and the slightest excuse gave cause to a hearty laugh. It would have been difficult for a stranger to believe, that the men who were before him were entering into a struggle for life and death, or that the combat between the two beautiful frigates now sailing in sight of each other, would probably end in the destruction of one of them. Each sail was well set, every yard perfectly braced, and all the ropes taut and uninjured. Thus they stood on, slowly nearing each other, till at length the Frenchman attempted to haul across the Cynthia’s bows, for the purpose of delivering a raking fire. This the latter avoided by hauling up.

“Fire,” cried the captain, as the broadside of the frigate bore upon that of the enemy. A loud roar of artillery was the response. Several shots seemed to take effect, some in the hull, others in the rigging. The Cynthia herself did not escape injury, and two of her crew were seen struggling in their death agonies on the deck. The two frigates now ran on side by side, firing their guns as rapidly as they could be loaded. Again a shout burst from the throats of the English crew, as the Frenchman’s fore-topmast was seen to go over the side. It was evident, too, that their shots were taking effect upon the Frenchman’s hull, for several were seen to strike him between wind and water, which with the sea then running was very likely in a short time to reduce him into a sinking state. Still the latter worked his guns with as much determination as at first, aided by musketry whenever the ships approached near enough for the bullets to take effect. By this means a considerable number of the crew of the English frigate were struck down, many of whom were killed, while others were carried bleeding below.

The superior strength and activity of the English seamen soon told against that of the enemy, for while the latter was delivering two broadsides the English managed to fire three, their shot, too, being better directed. Still the French ensign flew out at the enemy’s peak, and there appeared to be no intention on his part of lowering it. The contest was evidently to be a severe and protracted one. The Cynthia had already lost nearly thirty of her crew, and in all probability the Frenchman must have suffered in a far greater degree. At length they drew so close that the muzzles of their guns almost touched, when the enemy, putting down his helm, ran his bows into those of the British ship, the bowsprit coming directly across the foremast. Captain Falkner, calling to Denham and those who were near him at the time, sprang forward and attempted to lash the bowsprit to the mast of his own ship. Denham saw his faithful follower, Ned Davis, by his side. While the captain was in the act of passing a rope round the mast, a bullet, from the musket of a marine stationed in the Frenchman’s top, struck him on the breast. He fell back, and Denham had just time to catch him in his arms to save him from falling heavily upon deck. Davis had at that moment seized the rope which the captain had let go.

“Secure the bowsprit,” cried the captain; “do not let the enemy sheer off. Now place me on the deck; I fear that I am mortally wounded, but do not let the people know it. In a few minutes the Frenchman’s frigate will be ours. See, they are attempting to board, but drive them back and they will not long keep their flag flying. On! on! do not heed me.”

Denham, calling to some of the crew, ordered them to take the captain below, while he flew to obey his dying orders.

“Boarders, repel boarders,” he shouted, drawing his own sword, and springing towards the point where the Frenchmen were seen clustering in their rigging about to spring on the deck of the Cynthia. The latter, already disheartened by the loss of so many of their shipmates, were quickly driven back, while the Cynthia’s guns continued pouring broadside after broadside into the hull of their ship.

“See, see, down goes the French flag,” cried the English crew, and little knowing the loss they had sustained, they once more gave forth that hearty British cheer which has so often sounded in the moment of victory. The dying captain heard it as Denham reached his side.

“Tell her my last thoughts were about her,” he murmured as the lieutenant took his hand, and sinking back, his eyes were in another moment closed by the hand of death.

The two ships had parted in consequence of the heavy sea which had now got up. For the same reason the task of transferring the crew of the prize to the victor was one of considerable difficulty. The first lieutenant, now in command of the Cynthia, hailed the enemy to send a boat on board; but his reply was that he had none which would swim, all having been injured in the engagement. Fortunately most of the Cynthia’s boats were in a better condition, and Denham, taking the command, at once proceeded on board the prize. He found, though the frigate was French, that a Dutch officer commanded her, who seemed much down-hearted at the loss of his ship.

The young lieutenant had already been in several engagements, but never had he seen a deck present a more sad spectacle than that of the Frenchman. In all directions lay the bodies of the slain, and several wounded men who had not yet been conveyed below. They were all of them too much injured to be removed to the Cynthia, and they were therefore carried below. The prisoners were at once ordered to get up their bags, and to enter the boats, which immediately conveyed them on board their captor.

Some time was occupied, however, in this work, as the heavy sea which now ran prevented them from making a rapid passage. The Dutch officer commanding the ship, had given up his sword to Lieutenant Denham, who remained on board, ready to take charge of the prize. He himself had not had time to go below, to observe the damages that the prize had sustained, but from the report made to him by the late commander, he was under the apprehension that they were very severe. Indeed, from the peculiar way the ship rolled, he dreaded that she had taken in a large amount of water. He accordingly requested the Dutchman, who spoke English very well, to send his carpenter below, to make a report of her condition. The man in a short time returned on deck with a pale face, declaring he did not believe she would float for many hours longer. By this time the wind had increased so much, and so heavy a sea was running, that it was a matter of danger to pass between the two ships, which were at some distance from each other. The boats, with the last cargo of the prisoners, had left her, and were close alongside of the Cynthia. Denham therefore ordered his own crew to make every effort to stop the leaks, but they soon found, from the amount of water which was pouring in, that this would be difficult, if not impossible.

“Well,” he remarked to the Dutchman, after every effort had been made to put a stop to the entrance of the water, “as soon as the boats return, we must, I fear, abandon the ship. You have defended her nobly, and perhaps have less cause to regret this occurrence than we have, who hoped to carry her into port in triumph.”

“You of course will return to your own ship as you please,” answered the Dutch officer; “but for my part I cannot desert my poor wounded fellows below, and unless there is time to remove them, should the ship sink beneath my feet, I must go down with her.”

Chapter Fifteen.

In vain Denham urged the brave Dutchman to save his own life, and promised to use his best exertions in removing those who were least hurt among the wounded men. He was looking anxiously for the return of the boats. One, however, only was seen to put off from the side of the frigate with the remainder of the prize crew, Mr Hansom deeming it imprudent to allow more than necessary to make the passage. It was not without considerable difficulty that this boat reached the side of the prize. Again Denham urged the captain to quit her, but he refused on the same plea as before. Indeed, it was very evident the boat herself would only carry in one trip the prize crew. Denham had ordered all the men to go into the boat, and at length finding that the Dutchman persisted in remaining on board, he could not bring himself to desert the brave fellow.

“Well,” he said, “I will remain too, and assist the men on board to keep the ship afloat, for I feel I have no business to detain my own people with so great a risk.”

“If you remain, Mr Denham, so will I,” exclaimed Ned Davis, who had followed his friend. “It may be, if we keep the pumps going, that the ship will float until there is time to get more boats alongside.”

Before he allowed the boat to shove off Denham wrote a short note to Mr Hansom, begging him, unless the sea continued to increase, to send boats to carry off the wounded people; “but,” he concluded his note, “should it do so, run no risk of losing any lives—leave us to the care of God.”

The boat shoved off, and the sinking frigate was left to struggle alone amidst the fast-rising sea.

The French crew, encouraged by the example of their gallant captain, exerted themselves to the utmost to stop the leak, while those not thus occupied stood manfully at the pumps. By this means the sorely battered frigate continued to keep afloat, but each time the well was sounded it was found that the water had gained somewhat upon her, in spite of all the efforts made to free her of water.

Ned Davis was a host in himself, flying here and there, aiding in stopping shot-holes, and then returning to take his spell at the pumps.

The young lieutenant anxiously looked out for any signs of change in the weather, but that continued as bad as ever, till it became too evident that the frigate could not much longer be made to swim.

Denham thought of suggesting that the wounded men should be brought on deck, to give them a better chance of escaping; but the doctor said they would thus to a certainty perish, and that if the ship went down it would be more merciful to them not to allow them to see the approach of their certain destruction.

The ensign was hoisted upside down, as a sign chat the ship was in great distress, and guns were fired to draw the attention of the Cynthia to her. Denham anxiously watched the progress of his frigate, feeling sure that from the mode in which the prize laboured in the sea she was not likely to float much longer. In a short time the Cynthia bore down upon her, but already the sea ran so high that it was evidently a risk to send a boat; and it would have been almost impossible to lower wounded people into her. Again Denham urged the brave Dutchman, should a boat be sent, to accompany him on board the frigate.

“No,” he answered; “I have made up my mind to remain by these people, and nothing shall induce me to desert them.”

After some time a boat was seen approaching from the Cynthia. Denham now feeling it was his duty to save his own life as well as that of his people, ordered them to take the opportunity as she drew near of leaping into her. A few of the French crew, who were not wounded, followed their example. While Denham remained Davis refused to go into the boat. At length it was evident that at any moment the prize might sink.

“Now,” he exclaimed to Davis, “leap into her, and I will follow.” He shook the Dutchman warmly by the hand. “You are a brave man, my friend,” he said; “and though I would stay by you if I could assist in saving your life, my duty to my men and to myself compels me to leave you.”

“Farewell,” answered the Dutchman, seemingly unmoved.

“No time to lose, sir,” shouted Davis from the boat.

Denham sprang from the side of the vessel; and scarcely had he reached the boat, and taken his seat in the stern-sheets, when the bow of the prize lifted high up above the sea, and then down she sank, lower and lower, till the water washed over her deck, and finally closed again above her masthead.

The frigate’s boat had barely time to pull away clear of the vortex. Several people were seen struggling in the waves; among them Denham observed the brave captain, and, though not without great risk, he ordered the boat to pull back, to endeavour to get him on board. Once, as they neared the spot, he disappeared, and Denham feared he was lost for ever. He again, however, rose, when Ned Davis, leaning over the bows, caught hold of his jacket and succeeded in hauling him on board. He was the only person among the prisoners who was saved, for before the boat could reach the others, all disappeared beneath the waves. Happily the boat had no great distance to go, for it was only by great exertions and careful management that she was kept afloat. The whole of the wounded and many others of the French crew perished.

The loss of their prize was a great disappointment to the officers and ship’s company of the Cynthia, as they had only the bare victory to boast of, without being able to show the prize when they returned into port; but far more did they mourn the death of their brave captain. No one felt it more than Denham. To him he had been a warm and sincere friend, besides which he knew the agony and grief it would cause to one who was expecting his return. He dreaded having personally to communicate what had occurred, and he was greatly relieved by finding that the frigate was to put into Port Royal, Jamaica, to refit after the action.

Mr Hansom did not forget to mention him in his despatches, as having greatly contributed to gain the victory, by his courage in assisting to lash the enemy’s bowsprit to the Cynthia’s foremast.

“Depend upon it, Denham,” observed Mr Hansom, “this will be marked in your favour at the Admiralty; and when you have served your time as lieutenant, you will obtain commander’s rank. I wouldn’t say this to others,—but I have a notion that you have a friend at court, and a word from the Earl, with so good an excuse, will be sure to gain whatever he asks for you.”

On reaching Port Royal Denham felt it was his duty to write to the Earl, giving an account of the events that had occurred; but he did not allude even to anything he himself had done, nor did he ask for the Earl’s interest for himself at the Admiralty.

Some few months after this Lord Kilfinnan gave up his appointment, and returned with his family to his native land.

Chapter Sixteen.

In a turret chamber in Kilfinnan Castle sat two young ladies. It was apparently their private boudoir. It had been elegantly furnished, but the drapery had somewhat faded, and the air of freshness it had once possessed had long since departed. The window out of which the ladies were gazing looked forth over the wide Atlantic, and the eldest was dressed in deep mourning, apparently her usual costume, while the air of sadness in her countenance seemed to be habitual. The younger one was full of life and animation, though occasionally, as she looked up at her friend, she, too, became sad.

“That is a strange story, Sophy, you were reading just now from the newspaper,” said the youngest,—“I mean about Lord Eden; I cannot understand how a man of his rank and position should condescend to marry a girl of low degree, however virtuous or excellent she might be. These mésalliances can never answer. Too soon the one of more refined habits and ideas discovers a degree of coarseness and vulgarity in the other, which must ultimately cause separation. No; my only notion of a happy union is, that where people are of the same rank and education, and all their sympathies are in unison—”

“You know so little of life, dear Nora, that I do not think you are capable of judging,” answered her cousin Sophy. “I do not say, however, that in the main you are not right, but there may be exceptions, in which true happiness may be found. I do not say Lord Eden is right in marrying this girl. At the same time, she may have more natural refinement than could be expected. I have heard of such instances.”

“I, on the contrary, Sophy, remember hearing my father speak of a very different case, in which a country girl was taken out of her sphere, and educated, and, I think, became the wife of one of our ministers. As long as she was at rest, she appeared very elegant, but if she got at all excited, or, as was sometimes the case, lost her temper, she then exhibited her real condition; and if, as I consider, it is very bad for a man to marry a person of inferior rank, surely it is much worse for a lady to marry one who is her inferior.”

Sophy smiled sadly.

“No; I shall hold to my own opinion,” said Nora, “and I do not think that anybody would induce me to marry a person, however elegant and refined he might appear, unless I knew he was of gentle blood.”

The conversation of the young ladies was interrupted by Sophy exclaiming—

“Bring the glass, Nora; I see a vessel standing in for the bay. Her canvas looks very white and shining. I believe she is a man-of-war.”

The telescope, which stood on a stand, had been, for some purpose, removed from the window, and it was now brought to its usual place by Nora. They both looked through it, one after the other.

“Yes, there can be no doubt of the matter,” said Nora; “her square yards, her tall masts and white canvas show at once what she is. She does not appear to me to be a frigate. I think she is a smaller vessel—a corvette,—and very beautiful vessels they are.”

While this conversation was going forward, the ship rapidly approached the shore, under a wide spread of canvas. They had soon an opportunity of ascertaining her character. At length she stood into the bay, and, furling her sails, came to an anchor. The wind was at that time sufficiently from the north to enable her to obtain perfect shelter, and she floated calmly on the smooth waters. It was still early in the day. They watched for a short time, but no boat could put off to approach the Castle, though they fancied they saw one standing in for another part of the bay.

At that time Ireland was suffering, as she had long been, from her usual chronic disorder—discontent. Disturbances had occurred here and there in the west and south among the Riband Men, or White Boys, or United Irishmen, by which names the rebels were at different times and places known. The Government, therefore, had considered it necessary to send vessels of war to cruise up and down the coast, that their blue-jackets and marines might render such assistance as might be required. This was so generally the case at present, that the arrival of the corvette did not cause any unusual sensation among the inhabitants of the coast who lived near enough to the sea to observe her. Several men-of-war had in the same way entered the bay of late, and, after remaining a few days, had taken their departure. The young ladies had arranged that, later in the day, they would take a ride over the downs, and, after calling on Miss O’Reilly, at the Vicarage, look in upon some of the poor people whom they were in the habit of visiting.

Meantime, we must go to the other end of the bay, where an old man might be seen descending the narrow gorge which led down to the small cove where the Widow O’Neil resided. It was Father O’Rourke. He proceeded on in a somewhat meditative mood, until he reached the cottage. He opened the door, and found the widow sitting on the usual stool, employed in mending her nets.

“And what brings you here, Father O’Rourke?” she said, looking up at him with a glance which showed that he was not a favourite of hers.

“Widow, I have come to speak about a matter of importance,” he answered. “I hear, in spite of all my warnings, and all the instruction I have given you, by which you would be sure to find your way to heaven, that you still go to that heretic minister, Mr Jamieson, as you used to do when I before warned you. Now, I tell you, widow, if you love your soul, you must go there no more. I am not going to be warning you for ever. Do you hear my words? Do you intend to obey them?”

“Father O’Rourke,” said the widow, looking calmly at him, “I have a great respect for your office, and for the holy religion of which you are a priest; there is nothing I have ever said against that. I am a good Catholic, as I have always been, and you shall not be the person to throw a stone at me; but if I go to the Vicarage, I go to hear the gentle words of that poor blind lady, and the minister never speaks anything to me but what is faithful and true. He is a good man, Father O’Rourke, and I wish I was as sure of going to heaven as he is: that is what I have got to tell you.”

“Oh, Widow O’Neil, those are evil words you are speaking!” exclaimed the priest; “you are just disobeying the holy mother Church; you are just doing what will bring you down the road to destruction, and I tell you, I believe it was your obstinacy, and your love for those heretics, that was the cause of the loss of your son. He is gone, and I hope he is gone to glory, for it is not for the want of me saying masses for his soul, if he has not; for sure I am, that, if he had remained here, and listened longer to the instruction of that false heretic, he would have gone the way you are so anxious to go, Widow O’Neil.”

The widow now stood up, throwing from her the nets, which had hitherto been on her knees. She stepped back a pace or two, and stretched out her hands.

“Father O’Rourke,” she exclaimed, “it is not the truth you are speaking to me! My boy never learned anything but what was good when he went to the Vicarage: and more than that, though you say he has gone from this world, there is something deep down in my heart which tells me he is still alive. If he were dead, my heart would feel very different to what it does now. I tell you, Father O’Rourke, I believe my son is alive, and will come back some day to see me. I know he will. Do you think I doubt his love? Do I doubt my love for him? No. Father O’Rourke, you are a childless man yourself, and you do not know what the love of a mother is for her child, and I do not think you know what the love of a child is for its mother—a fond, loving mother, as I have been,—not such a child as mine. The day will come when Dermot will stand here, as you are standing here; but he will not be blaming his old mother as you are blaming her. He will come to speak words of comfort and consolation into my ear. Instead of that, Father O’Rourke, you have brought nothing but cursing. You tell me I am in the downward road to destruction. Is that the way you should speak to a lone widow, because she loves her son, and likes those to speak who knew him, and who would talk about him to her and praise him, and who tell her what a noble, clever youth he was?”

“Widow O’Neil!” exclaimed Father O’Rourke, an angry frown gathering on his brow, “year after year I have spoken to you as I am now speaking. I have warned you before, I have warned your boy Dermot. I tell you, he would not take the warning, and he would have suffered the consequences of his disobedience, but I do care for your soul, and it is on account of that soul that I want you to put faith in the holy mother Church. If you do, all will be right, but if you go and listen to the words of that Protestant minister, all will be wrong, and you, Widow O’Neil, will have to go and live for ever with the accursed; ay, for ever and ever in fire and torment.” With such force and energy did the priest speak, and so fierce did he look, that for the moment he made the poor old woman tremble and turn pale with fear. She quickly, however, recovered herself.

“You may go, Father O’Rourke,” she exclaimed. “Once I was your slave, but I am your slave no longer. I am a poor ignorant woman, but I have had the truth told me, and that truth has made me free of you; say what you will, I do not fear you.”

The priest on hearing these words positively stamped on the ground, and gnashed his teeth with anger. He was not one of the polished fathers of the Church, who have been taught from their youth to conceal their feelings. He was certainly not a trained disciple of Ignatius Loyola. Again and again he stamped, and then uttering a fearful anathema on the occupant of the hut, he turned round, and slamming the door, left her as he had often before done, and hastened upwards towards the cliffs.

While this scene was enacting below, a young naval officer, who had landed from a boat which had come from the corvette, lately brought up in the bay, had climbed to the summit of the downs, and was taking his way across them towards the gorge, up which the priest was hastening. He had, however, not got very far, when he heard a voice singing a wild and plaintive Irish air. He stopped to listen, and as he did so, a figure, dressed in fantastic fashion, appeared from behind some broken ground in the neighbourhood of the downs. She advanced towards him, and then suddenly stopped, looking eagerly in his face.

“Who are you, stranger—who are you who come to these shores? It is not good for you to be alone here; if you come, come with armed men, with muskets on their shoulders and swords by their sides, for that slight weapon that you carry would avail you nothing against the enemies you are likely to meet here. Go back, I tell you, the way you came. I may seem silly and mad, and mad and silly I am, but I can sing; few can sing like me. Now listen stranger, listen to my song.” She burst forth again in the same wild strains which at first attracted the young officer’s attention.

“But what reason could you give me why I should follow your advice? I like your song, however; can you not sing me another?”

“Yes,” she answered, “mad Kathleen has many a song in her head, but it does not always come when called for, it is only as the fit seizes her that she can bring it forth. Never mind listening to my song, however, but follow my advice. There is your boat even now out in the bay; go, make a signal to it to come back to you, or evil will befall you.”

“I can scarcely suppose that, provided I do not leave the shore,” answered the officer. “I thank you, however, for your advice, but I do not purpose wandering far from where I now am.”

“Even here where you stand you are not safe; but I have warned you once, and I cannot warn you more,” exclaimed the mad woman, as with wild gestures she retreated back to the spot from which she appeared to have come. The young officer watched her till she disappeared. A shade of melancholy came over his countenance.

“I might have asked her about some of the people hereabouts,” he said to himself. “Her warning perhaps is not to be despised; I will sit down here, and wait till the boat returns.”

The officer was approaching the edge of the cliff when Father O’Rourke reached the downs; seeing the stranger, he advanced towards him. The temper of the priest had not calmed down, so it seemed, since his encounter with the poor widow. As he approached the young officer, he looked at him earnestly.

“What brings you here?” he exclaimed. “What business have armed men to come upon our coasts, let me ask you?”

“Really, sir,” said the officer, drawing himself up, “I bear his Majesty’s commission as commander of yonder sloop of war, and in the performance of my duty, I have landed on the shores of this bay; but I do not understand why I should be thus roughly spoken to by one especially, who, judging from his appearance, is a catholic priest.”

“You judge rightly, young man,” answered Father O’Rourke, “but I am not to be deceived by appearances, and though you may call yourself what you will, I suspect you to be either the commander of a privateer, if not rather of a vile buccaneer. We have had visits before now from such gentry, and I should advise you to leave our shores without delay.”

“I cannot understand your meaning,” exclaimed the officer; “I repeat, I came here in the performance of my duty, and I little expected to be treated thus by the first stranger I might meet.”

The priest seemed to think that he had proceeded too far; whatever might have been his motive in thus insulting one whom he must have known was a naval officer, or for some reason, he thought fit suddenly to change his tactics.

“Pardon me, sir,” he said in a soothing voice, which he well knew how to assume, “I see that I was mistaken in my first supposition, and to prove my sincerity, I shall be happy if I can render to you any service in my power.”

“I willingly accept your apologies,” answered the officer, regarding the priest intently, as if to ascertain whether he was to be trusted. “On my way along the shore, I intend visiting some of the little coves I see to the northward of these downs, and now, sir, perhaps you can inform me whether I am likely to find any people residing among them?”

“But few, if any,” answered the priest, “they are nearly all dead or gone away who once lived there; the curse of your country has been upon them. The aged and the young, the married and the single, the widow and her children, have all been swept away.”

“Yes, I have heard that great changes have taken place in this neighbourhood of late years,” answered the young officer, a shade of melancholy crossing his countenance. “And now, sir, in spite of the somewhat rough way in which you first addressed me, I wish you good morning, and thank you for your information.”

Father O’Rourke had, all the time he was speaking, been examining the countenance of the young officer.

“Ah, to be sure, I was somewhat irritated by a trifle just before I met you, but your politeness has conquered me,” he answered blandly, “and I beg you, should you come near my humble abode, to believe that I shall be happy to receive you. We poor, oppressed Catholics have little to offer our guests, but to such as I possess you will be welcome. Our business is to look after the souls of our parishioners. If we can but show them the right way to heaven we should be content.”

The young officer seemed somewhat inclined to smile at these remarks of the priest.

“I will not fail to avail myself of your invitation,” he answered, “but at present I do not intend to extend my walk along the sea-shore.”

“Well then, sir, as you have wished me good morning, I must wish you the same, and a pleasant walk to you, only let me advise you to be cautious where you go; it isn’t just the safest part of the country for a king’s officer to be found wandering in by himself. However, sir, I have given you a friendly warning, and now again farewell.” The priest, somewhat to the surprise of the officer, considering the father’s previous greeting, put out his hand, which he was too courteous not to take, then quickly turning round, Father O’Rourke proceeded up the gorge into the country.

Father O’Rourke was not accustomed to explain to others the object of his proceedings. He had good reasons in his own estimation for everything that he did. They were possibly conscientious; but then his conscience might have been a very erring guide, and led him far wrong, as is the case with many other people in the world.

“It cannot be helped,” said the priest to himself, alluding to something which was passing in his own mind, “but no harm may come of it to me after all. The boys were to meet at O’Keef’s last night, and there will be plenty of them still about there; they will be glad enough of the chance of getting hold of a king’s officer, and if he shows fight and some one gives him a knock on the head, or sends a pistol-bullet through him, it will settle the business. He is certain to be down in the cove, and if the boys are quick they will catch him there. I am pretty sure that I am not mistaken, but at all events he will be a valuable prize if he can be got hold of any way.”

Such thoughts occupied the mind of the priest as turning off from the beaten path he took his way across a mountainous region which still remained in all its primitive wildness. After proceeding for some distance at a speed which was surprising considering his age, he reached some rude turf-covered huts, scarcely discernible from the rocks and grass amid which they stood. The priest gave a peculiar call, which soon brought out a number of shaggy-looking heads and eager faces with grey frieze-coats beneath them. Father O’Rourke did not take long to explain the object of his visit, which was quickly comprehended, nor did he wrongly estimate the inclinations of his hearers, who gleefully undertook to carry out the plan he proposed to them. All things being arranged to his satisfaction, he returned to his own abode, saying to himself, “I warned him of danger, so that if he is attacked and escapes, he cannot accuse me of having had anything to do in the matter.”

The officer was about to prosecute his intention of descending into the cove, when he heard merry voices near him. The speakers seemed to be climbing up the cliffs, and they soon made their appearance on its summit. Touching their caps as they neared the officer—

“The boat has come for you, sir,” said one of them.

“Very well,” was the answer. “Go down and amuse yourselves on the beach for a short time and I will join you. I am not ready to go off just yet.”

The young midshipmen receiving these orders managed to get down the cliffs in a way few but midshipmen could have done without breaking their necks.

“I wonder what our captain’s about,” said one of them. “I should have thought that he would have gone to the Castle. Lord Kilfinnan lives there, you know; and I remember hearing how constantly he used to be at his house out in the West Indies. Did you ever see Lady Nora?”

“No,” answered the other; “I do not remember having heard her spoken of.”

“Oh, she is the Earl’s daughter, and a very beautiful girl she is, too,” observed the first speaker. “There is Lady Sophy Danvers, her cousin, too, who lives with her. She was engaged for a long time to that Captain Falkner, you know, who commanded the Cynthia; but, I suppose her relations did not like her to marry him because he wasn’t a lord, and intended her for a duke or a marquis perhaps.”

“I do not see why they should have done that,” answered the other midshipman. “In my opinion, a naval officer is equal to any lord in the land; at all events, a post-captain is. If I were a post-captain, I know, I should not hesitate to pay my respects to any earl’s daughter. Why, just think, to have a fine frigate and three or four hundred men under one’s orders, and, by-and-by, a line-of-battle ship, and then a post-captain becomes an admiral, remember; and many admirals have been made lords themselves. Why, there is Lord Nelson; he was only a midshipman to begin with; and Lord Collingwood, and Lord Saint Vincent, and Lord Howe, and many others; they were all midshipmen, just as you and I are. Now, just look at our captain for instance; if any one deserves to be made a lord he does. What a gallant fellow he is. Why, if it had not been for him, they say, the Cynthia would have been taken. It was he assisted in lashing the enemy’s bowsprit to the frigate’s foremast, and then repelling the boarders who were swarming on board; and then, there are no end of things he did in the West Indies, and in other parts of the world. He has been in half-a-dozen cutting-out expeditions, and, since he has been a commander, has taken several prizes. Did you ever hear how, when the French frigate was sinking, he refused to leave her, and stayed on board to assist the captain in keeping her afloat at the risk of his own life. Now, that is the sort of thing to be proud of. I often think more of a man who has done those generous actions than one who has gained a hard-fought battle. However, what do you say to having a race along the sands? Here, we will get most of the fellows on shore, and I am ready to give a prize to the best runner.”

“I will give my pocket-knife,” said the midshipman; “that will be an encouragement to the men. They are good sort of fellows, and I like to afford them amusement. It is little we or they get these days, kept at sea month after month.”

As it may be supposed, the young midshipmen were great favourites on board the corvette, and for some time they kept their crew amused as they had proposed. At length they began to wonder that the captain did not appear, and they began to fear that some accident had befallen him. At last they proposed climbing up the cliff again to look for him. They reached the top at last, and looked round the downs on every side; no one was to be seen. Then curiosity led them a short distance inland. Suddenly, a figure which made them start rose up before them.

“Who are you looking for, young sirs?” exclaimed mad Kathleen. “I know without your telling me. He is gone—gone away, and you must follow to find him; but listen, boys, I have a message for him. Now, don’t you fail to give it. Tell him there are enemies watching for him, and that if ever he comes on shore by himself he will be sure to be set upon, and all his strength and courage will avail him nothing. He is a brave man, your captain, and I wish him well.”

“Why, how do you know anything about him?” asked one of the midshipmen. “I did not know he had ever been here before.”

“Mad Kathleen knows more things than you wot of,” answered the mad woman, with a loud laugh, whirling her hands as she spoke. “Now, go to the Castle as I bid you, and give him my message. He would run more risk by neglecting my warning than if he were to fight a dozen battles for his king and country.”

Though the midshipmen were little inclined to put much belief in the message of the mad creature, they promised to deliver it as soon as they met their captain. After consulting together, they agreed that their proper course was to row along the bay towards the Castle, in the hopes that he might have gone there.

Chapter Seventeen.

As the commander of the corvette was about to descend the glen, his attention was arrested by the faint tramp of horses’ hoofs passing rapidly over the downs. He turned his head and at that instant saw a young lady on horseback, not far from him, cantering gaily along, while at a short distance behind her was another lady, followed by a groom. At that moment the figure of the mad woman, which had a short time before appeared to him, rose suddenly from behind the ground where he had last seen her. She uttered a wild shriek; the effect was to make the leading horse start and rear violently. The animal, apparently, was not well broken in. Again and again it reared, backing down towards the edge of the cliff. The young officer saw the lady’s danger, and in an instant sprang towards her. She uttered a shriek as she discovered how fearfully near the edge of the cliff her horse had carried her. The officer grasped her bridle, but in vain tried to draw back the frightened animal. It seemed resolved to throw itself over the precipice. In another moment the lady and her steed would have been carried to destruction.

“Throw yourself from your saddle, and trust to me,” exclaimed the young officer imploringly.

She cast herself forward and fell into his arms. Alas! her habit caught in the stirrup. Again the horse reared.

“I will perish with her,” exclaimed the young man mentally. Happily, the skirt tore, and in another moment was disengaged; while the frightened animal, with one bound, leaped over the cliff. So extreme was the danger to which the young lady had been exposed, that scarcely knowing she had escaped it, she fainted. The young officer, with his precious burden, hurried up the downs, when her companion, jumping from her horse, came to his assistance.

“O Nora, Nora,” she exclaimed, “do tell me that you are alive! O that we had some water to give her, such a faint as this is dangerous. What can be done?”

The groom, observing that there was a stream a few hundred yards on, dashed forward on his horse, and quickly returned with his hat full.

Lady Sophy, loosening Nora’s dress round her neck, and holding her head on her knee, sprinkled the water over her face, which was turned in the direction of the wind. By this means she quickly returned to consciousness, and, opening her eyes, they fell on the countenance of the young officer.

“Oh, Captain Denham,” she exclaimed, “I owe my life to you. In another moment I should have been dashed to pieces. I thought that I had gone over the precipice. How grateful my dear father will be to you!”

“Then that must be your ship,” said Lady Sophy, pointing to the corvette. “You must come with us at once to the Castle.”

Captain Denham, of course, could only express his very great satisfaction at having been the means of preserving the life of Lady Nora, though he could claim no credit for having done so. Whatever had been his previous intentions, he could do nothing else than accompany the ladies till he had seen them safe at the Castle. He made anxious inquiries after the Earl, and found, from the account they gave him, that he was greatly broken in health, not having recovered from the effects of the West Indian climate, or the loss of his son. In many respects the meeting could not fail to be a sad one. The sight of Captain Denham recalled painfully to Lady Sophy the death of her intended husband, while Lady Nora, naturally, could not help thinking of her young brother, who had been Captain Denham’s friend.

The distance to the Castle was considerable, but Lady Nora declared her inability to mount a horse, even if one had been sent for; nor would she consent to take that of Lady Sophy. Supported, however, by the arm of the captain, she proceeded towards home. They had many things to talk about. Captain Denham had to describe how he had been sent to the coast of Ireland to render assistance to any of the loyal subjects of the king who might require it, whilst the ladies described their passage home, and the feelings with which they had returned once more to the old Castle.

“Things are greatly changed,” observed Lady Nora, “we have none of the gay society we used to have here; my father also is too much out of spirits to see company. Occasionally a few neighbours look in upon us; or when any ship comes into the bay we see some of the officers, and Mr Jamieson and dear Miss O’Reilly come over to pay us a visit; but you, Captain Denham, will always be welcome.”

Captain Denham and his fair companions had arrived at the Castle some time before the midshipmen with the boat appeared, having been joined in the meantime by the second lieutenant.

The Earl welcomed him warmly, and begged him to take up his residence at the Castle; but this invitation he was compelled to decline, as he made it a point of duty never to sleep away from the ship at night.

Lady Nora had sufficiently recovered to appear at dinner, to which Denham’s officers, who had come on shore, were also invited. Just before dinner Mr Jamieson and his blind niece arrived. Lady Nora was delighted to see them, and introduced Captain Denham to them both. The blind lady seemed to take especial interest in him. She plied him with questions, asking him what part of the world he had visited, in what ship he had served, and in what actions he had been engaged.

The Earl had broken through the usual custom of sitting late at dinner; indeed the gentlemen present seemed in no way disposed to follow it. Soon after the ladies had retired, Mr Jamieson and Captain Denham led the way to the drawing-room. Captain Denham approached Lady Nora and inquired anxiously if she felt perfectly recovered from the effects of her alarming accident. “Oh, yes; indeed I am,” she answered, glancing up at him with a look which might have made many men vain. “I dare not trust myself to thank you as I ought, or to speak about it. I cannot help thinking of what would have been my fate had you not been there to save me. How often have I crossed those downs without dreaming of danger; and indeed it was very curious how that poor mad woman should have startled my horse. I have met her often before, and she has done much the same sort of thing; but the poor animal was young, and had not been ridden for some days. Sophy and I were on our way to visit some of the poor people we are accustomed to call upon, and I was anxious to see an old widow who lives in a little cove under where you saw me; but that can be a matter of no interest to you.”

As she spoke she again gazed up in his face. Something strange seemed to flash across her mind. She cast another earnest, inquiring look at him. The colour mounted to his cheek. His eyes fell, then again he looked earnestly at her. Nora’s breath came and went rapidly; her bosom heaved.

“What is the matter with Nora?” exclaimed Lady Sophy, springing forward, “she is fainting. Help! help!”

In an instant Lady Sophy was by Nora’s side, and just in time to receive her as she fell fainting into her arms. Captain Denham stood for an instant so overwhelmed with some deep emotion, as scarcely to comprehend what had occurred.

The bell was rung, and several attendants rushed in, and Nora was borne fainting from the room.

It was still daylight, but just at this moment dark clouds began to collect in the sky, casting a gloom over the landscape. The lieutenant of the corvette had gone to the window looking out over the ocean. He hurriedly came back, and while his commander was standing still bewildered it seemed by what had occurred, he came up to him, and said—

“Sir, there is a change in the weather. The wind has increased considerably, and the bay in a short time will be no place for us.”

This address aroused Captain Denham.

“You are right, Matson,” he answered, looking out at the window for an instant, “I will go on board immediately. We must bid farewell to the Earl and be off. There is not a moment to lose, and I hope Evans will get the ship under weigh without waiting for me.”

Just as he was quitting the room Lady Sophy re-entered it, and assured him that Lady Nora had quickly recovered, though still unnerved by the danger she had gone through. “I trust that she will have perfectly recovered by to-morrow,” she added. “And, believe me, Captain Denham, you will always be a welcome guest at the Castle.”

She spoke earnestly, her looks giving expression to her words.

“She is a dear, high-minded girl, and, believe me, I prize her, and will watch over her as a sister, or I should say rather, as a daughter.”

“Thank you, thank you,” answered the young captain, pressing Lady Sophy’s hand; “you know my feelings for your cousin, but to no one else would I venture to acknowledge them. To her I feel that I have no right to speak of them. I leave myself, therefore, in your hands.”

“I trust to be so guided as to act for the best for you both,” said Lady Sophy, “but I must not longer detain you. I hope that we may see you here again before many days have passed.”

Well satisfied, as he had reason to be, with what Lady Sophy had said, Captain Denham followed his officers, who had already preceded him to the boats. He stepped in, and the order was given to shove off. The boats made the best of their way towards the corvette. The wind was already blowing strongly, and a heavy sea rolled into the bay.

“It is as much as we shall do, if we manage to beat out of the bay this evening,” observed the lieutenant to the midshipman in his boat, “I ought to have kept my eyes more about me, though it is natural enough the captain’s should have been preoccupied.”

“Yes, sir, indeed that is a lovely girl, Lady Nora; he will be a happy man who wins her.”

“That is a matter, Mr Merton, too delicate for me to pronounce on,” answered the lieutenant; “but I was speaking of the difficulty of beating out of the bay.”

“Oh yes, sir, I beg your pardon,” said the midshipman; “still I believe we shall be able to carry all sail, and if so, the Ariadne will soon find her way out of this difficulty.”

“That is an ugly reef to the north,” observed the lieutenant; “I would rather it were fifty miles away than where it is.”

“Yet it affords us good shelter when the wind is as it was this morning.”

“So it does,” answered the lieutenant, “but it is directly in our way when we have to beat out when the wind is in the west.”

The captain made no remark to the midshipman in his boat; he was too completely absorbed in his own thoughts, though he occasionally urged his crew to greater exertion by the usual exclamation of “Give way, lads, give way.”

The boats were soon alongside. Directly they were seen coming, the officer in command had begun to get the corvette under weigh, and when the captain stepped on board the anchor was hove up to the bows.

The corvette, under topsails and top-gallant-sails, was now hauled close to the wind. She cast to the north, and stood directly towards the reef of rocks which appeared ahead. The captain took his place in the weather rigging, to con her, while scarcely had sail been made on the ship before the increase of wind made it doubtful whether she would carry what was already set. The dark clouds came rolling up in thick masses from the west overhead, while heavy seas, topped with foaming crests, rolled in from the same direction. The corvette heeled over until her lee ports were in the water, still it was not a moment for shortening sail. Now the young commander gazed at the shore under his lee, now to the dark rocks ahead, and now at his masts and spars. “No higher,” he had more than once to cry out, as the men at the helm, anxious to gain every advantage, kept her too close to the wind. “We cannot hope to weather the reef on this tack,” he observed to the lieutenant, who was near him.

The crew were all at their stations, attentive to obey the least sign from their commander. Now a fiercer gust than ordinary made the ship heel lower in the water. Now she rose again. It was a critical moment as she rushed forward with headlong speed towards the threatening reef, over which the sea was already furiously beating. Still the young commander stood calm and collected. Now his hand was raised, and as he glanced towards the helmsman, now he looked once more to the sails aloft. “Hands about ship,” he shouted in a clear, ringing voice, which every man heard fore and aft. “Helm’s-alee! Tacks and sheets! Main sail haul!” It seemed as if in another moment the beautiful vessel would spring forward upon the threatening rocks. She was in stays, but the slightest shift of wind to the south would have driven her to destruction. Anxiously the commander looked at the fore-topsail still aback. For an instant the ship’s head appeared not to be moving. Then gradually the wind forced her round. “Of all haul!” he shouted in a cheerful voice, as she sprang forward towards the opposite side of the bay. Still she was not free. The headway she made was counteracted by the heavy seas which now rolled in upon the land, and forced her towards it. Now she was standing towards Kilfinnan Castle. The commander turning, looked at the reef they had left; then once more casting his gaze ahead,—“We shall scarcely weather it the next tack,” he said to himself. “If the wind holds as it does now, however, and if it does not increase much, the tight little ship will still work her way through it.”

Anxiously those in the Castle watched the progress of the corvette. They well knew the danger to which she was exposed, for although many a year had passed since any large ship had been cast away in their bay, yet there were traditions of men-of-war being driven on the coast, and the whole of their gallant crews perishing. Numerous merchant vessels and smaller craft had also from time to time been dashed to pieces on the rocks, and many sad tales there were of lives being lost, when the persons on board the vessels appeared within but a short distance of the shore.

Nora had sufficiently recovered to go to the window and gaze forth upon the vessel.

“O, what a beautiful fabric she is,” she exclaimed; “how rapidly she draws near!” With the glass she could almost see those on board. “But will she, do you think, escape that reef to the north, when she once more tacks.”

“Oh, yes, I trust so,” answered Lady Sophy, “he who commands on board is an experienced seaman, you know, and if any human being could carry the ship out of the bay, he will do so.”

Besides the young ladies, several other persons on shore were watching the progress of the corvette, as she endeavoured to beat out of the bay. Far down below, in the sheltered cove, in front of her cottage, stood Widow O’Neil. Her white locks, escaping from the band which generally bound them, streamed in the wind. The hood of her red cloak was thrown back, and while with one hand she steadied herself by one of the supports of the deep eaves of the cottage, she stretched forth the other towards the ocean, as if she would direct the course of the bark which struggled through the foaming waves.

“They are brave men on board that craft,” she exclaimed to herself, “but oh, it is hard work they will have, to get clear of the bay. Proud and trim as that beautiful ship looked this morning, who can say but what before another sun rises, she will be a shattered wreck upon yonder cruel rocks. Such a sight I have seen night after night as I lay on my couch, I know not whether asleep or awake; but, oh, may Heaven protect those on board from such a fate, if their vessel, stout as she may be, is thrown upon yonder reef.

“My boy, my boy! Even now he may be on the stormy ocean, threatened with shipwreck, as are those in yonder beautiful vessel. May Heaven protect him and them!”

As she spoke, the fishwife stretched forth her neck more eagerly over the ocean, and again and again she offered up a prayer for the safety of those on board the ship which struggled below her. High up the glen, in a sheltered place, yet still commanding a view of the bay, sat another person. It was Father O’Rourke. He, too, was watching the ship, with a very different feeling animating his heart, to that which worked in the bosom of the widow. No prayer for the safety of those on board escaped his lips. He seemed to gaze with satisfaction on the fearful danger to which she was exposed. He more than once exclaimed to himself, “She cannot escape yonder rocks, and then that pert and daring youth who set me at defiance, with all his companions, will meet the fate which they and their Saxon countrymen so well merit. Curses on the heads of those who execute the behests of King George and his ministers. While we have red-coats and blue-jackets arrayed against us, what hope is there of liberty for old Ireland? I hate them all. From the king on his throne to the meanest soldier who trails a pike in his service!”

At a short distance on a high and projecting part of the cliff, stood a wild and fantastic figure. It was that of mad Kathleen. She waved her arms round and round. Now she shouted, as if she would warn those on board the ship of the danger they were approaching. Again and again she cried out, as if encouraging them to perseverance in their bold attempt at beating out of the bay. Sometimes she uttered blessings on their heads, especially that of their young commander.

“A brave youth, a noble youth he is,” she exclaimed; “even when I set eyes on him this morning I felt my heart drawn towards him. Grievous would it be for him to lose that fine ship, his first command, and still more grievous were his life to be taken by the angry waves!”

Thus she continued for some time, until she was interrupted by a hand being placed on her shoulder. She turned round and saw Miss O’Reilly standing near her.

“What, Kathleen, are you trying to show yonder ship the way to beat out of our bay?” asked Mr Jamieson, in his usual kind voice.

“I would I were on board, minister, that I might help to guide them,” she answered, with a laugh. “There are many worse pilots than I am, and often in girlhood’s days have I sailed with my father on yonder sea, sometimes, as now, tossed with waves, at other times calm and blue, like a young maiden’s eye, void of guile and treachery.”

“But, tell me, Kathleen, do you think the ship will manage to escape from the dangers by which she is surrounded?” asked Miss O’Reilly, in a somewhat agitated voice. “They say her captain is a brave and gallant officer, and it would be grievous if he were to lose that beautiful vessel, for so I am told she is.”

“God who guides the winds and gives them power alone knows whether yonder ship will gain the open sea in safety,” answered Kathleen; “but I will tell you, dear lady, if you stay by me, what progress she makes. If the prayer of a poor mad creature can save her, she is safe enough, and the wind will hold as it does now, sufficiently to the south to enable her to clear the reef. Oh, Miss O’Reilly, even now she seems rushing forward to destruction.”

“Whereabouts is she?” asked Miss O’Reilly eagerly.

“Not two hundred fathoms, it seems at this moment, from the reef,” answered Kathleen. “If she can come about without difficulty, she will escape, but if not, in a few minutes she will be cast on the rocks, and then you know too well what will happen.”

“Tell me, good Kathleen, tell me,” said the blind lady, after a short silence; “has she gone about? is there once more a prospect of her escaping?”

“Again she is in stays!” exclaimed Kathleen. “See, see! the wind seems to have caught her. Oh, may merciful Providence watch over her! It seems to me that her head is once more turning towards the dreadful rocks. Alas, alas! no power can save her.”

“Oh, may Heaven protect them!” exclaimed the blind lady, turning her sightless eyes in the direction of the ship. “Oh, may those brave men on board escape the fearful danger in which they are placed!”

“Your prayers are heard, lady! your prayers are heard!” shouted Kathleen; “the wind has taken her head-sails, and once more she is on the starboard tack, standing away from that fearful reef.”

Mr Jamieson and his niece stood for some time watching the progress of the corvette, till the shades of evening, increased by the thick clouds which obscured the sky, hid her from their sight; but they could not persuade Kathleen to leave the spot, for she declared that she could still see the ship through the mist. At length, the minister and his niece returned to their home, leaving poor Kathleen still wildly waving her arms and shouting, until her voice was hoarse, as if she would address those on board the vessel.

“See, see! she is once more about! Surely her bowsprit is pointing more seaward than it was before, and if the wind was to shift a little more to the south, she would soon be clear of yonder fearful reef.”

The corvette once more going about, stood to the north. Although the wind might have drawn a little more to the south, yet this advantage was counteracted by the fierceness with which it blew. The masts, with more sail on them than it would have, under other circumstances, been deemed prudent to set, bent with the unusual pressure. Sometimes, indeed, as Captain Denham gazed up at them, they seemed like fishing-rods, so fearfully did they bend before the breeze. The first lieutenant and master were also looking up at them with not less anxiety than did the captain. “They will scarcely stand this pressure,” observed the former; “what say you, master?”

“We must keep the canvas set, at all events, and trust to Providence,” answered the master. “This is no moment for taking in a reef. If they go and the ship refuses to stay, we must bring up, though I fear the little vessel will scarcely hold her own against the heavy seas which come rolling into this bay; and, to my idea, both she, and some of us on board, will leave our bones to rot on the strand under our lee, if it comes to that.”

“Let’s hope for the best, master,” answered the first lieutenant. “See how calm our captain looks. You would never suppose that he is aware of the danger in which we are placed.”

“He knows it pretty clearly, though,” observed the master. “Hold on, good sticks, hold on,” he exclaimed, looking up at the masts. “They are tough spars, I know, and they are now giving good proof of their quality.”

Sometimes, from the direction of the vessel’s head, it appeared possible that she might weather the reef towards which she was approaching. Then, again, she fell off, and it was evident that she must make another tack before there was a chance of her doing so. The commander seemed of this opinion, and was clearly unwilling to approach again as near as before to the reef. Again he shouted, “Hands about ship!” As before, the helm was put down, the tacks and sheets were raised, the men hauled with a will at the braces, and the ship’s head, coming up to the wind, continued for some moments pointing west, to the open part of the bay. Anxiously the commander watched her movements. At one time it seemed as if she had got stern way, and he opened his mouth about to give the order to let go the anchor and to shorten sail. Those on board knew the order would have been followed by another, dreaded by all seamen—to cut away the masts, the only mode of proceeding to enable the corvette to ride out the gale. Again and again the captain looked up at the head-sails. “She is paying off!” he exclaimed. A shout, though immediately suppressed, burst from the throats of the crew. For the moment they were safe from the threatened danger. Again the corvette stood across the bay. The topmasts, as before, bent to the gale.

“We shall easily clear that reef,” observed the master. “Well, it is a pleasure to see a man con a ship as our fine young skipper does. These are moments to try a man’s mettle, and he has shown that he is of the true sort.”

The corvette flew across the bay, almost, it seemed, with lightning speed, so soon was she again on the opposite side. Another critical moment had arrived, and it was only to be hoped that the gale would not come down with greater force than before while she was in stays, or very likely at that moment her topmasts would be carried away. Again about she came; this time without difficulty, and now her head pointing seaward, she stood out from the bay, still as those on shore watched her through the fast gathering gloom of evening, she seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer to the reef. Now once more she looked up to the west, then again to the north; still the masts and spars stood. Yet, after all, she was nearer the reef than under such circumstances a seaman would wish to find his ship.

“Mr Matson,” said the commander, looking down at his first lieutenant, “we must at once take two reefs in the topsails; but it is a risk for the hands aloft, a fearful risk indeed,” he added.

“I am ready to lead the way, sir,” exclaimed a young seaman, who was no other than Ned Davis, the commander’s old companion.

“Give the orders then, Matson,” said the captain.

“Aloft, there,” shouted the first lieutenant. Scarcely, however, had the men sprang into the rigging, when there was a loud crash. The main-topmast had gone close to the cap. The straggling sail and wreck of the spars hanging over the side.

“Clear away the wreck,” cried the captain. “Not a moment to be lost. We must save the other masts.”

The men flew aloft, Ned Davis being among the first drawing out their knives from their pockets as they did so. In a few seconds the ropes were severed, and the mast and spar fell overboard, with the still loudly flapping sail. At the same moment the crew throwing themselves out on the fore-topsail yard, that sail was quickly reefed. “You must take another reef in it, Mr Matson,” said the commander, “closely reef it, or that mast will go also.” The mizen-topsail with greater ease was closely reefed. In consequence of the ship having been deprived even for that short time of the power which urged her through the seas, she had drifted down, it seemed, close upon the reef. Once more the captain looked anxiously to leeward.

“We shall still weather the reef,” he exclaimed to the first lieutenant, who, after gazing at it, looked in his face as if to ask a question, “Unless,” the commander added, “the wind draws more out of the west.”

Heeling over, however, less than she had before done to the blast, her head pointed seaward, clear of the reef, still, should she be making much leeway, it would be doubtful whether, after all, she would clear it. To tack close to it, crippled as she was, would be dangerous in the extreme. The commander stood, as before, at his post.

“She will do it, Matson,” he said, speaking to his first lieutenant.

“God grant she may,” answered the officer.

On she flew. The sea dashed in masses of foam high above the dark rocks which formed the extremity of the reef. On, on, she stood. A few seconds almost would decide her fate. Many an eye glanced over the lee-bulwarks. The water washed up through the scuppers, and rose high on deck. The crew sheltered themselves as best they could under the weather-bulwarks, for the seas were breaking in masses of foam over the weather-bows, deluging the decks fore and aft. The commander gazed also anxiously at the reef. The corvette darted on. Already the foam which flew over her seemed to unite with that which broke above the rocks. Still, he did not turn pale, nor did his eye quiver. In another instant she would be hurled to destruction or be free. The crew watched the threatening reef, and many an old seaman felt that he had never been in greater danger.

Chapter Eighteen.

Ned Davis, when he came down from aloft, had taken his post again near his beloved commander. “I am a good swimmer,” he said to himself, “and I will do my best to save the captain. If I fail I will perish with him.” Such were the thoughts which passed through his mind, as the most critical moment of all had arrived. Nearer and nearer the corvette drew towards the rocks. Now they appeared broad on the lee-bow—now they were right abeam—and at length many a bold seaman drew his breath more freely as they were seen over the quarter. The danger was passed. The beautiful little ship flew on, breasting bravely the foaming billows. At length she had clear room once more to make a tack. She came about before it might have been expected, crippled as she was, and now with her courses hauled up she stood out to sea.

“Pipe below,” cried the captain, leaving the weather side of the poop, where he had stood since the ship had first got under weigh. “Keep her south-west, Mr Matson,” he observed, as he retired to his cabin; “and call me on deck should any change take place in the weather.”

It would be difficult to describe the feelings of those on shore who had watched for so long the manoeuvres of the corvette as she worked her way out of the bay. Often Lady Nora lifted up her hands as if praying to Heaven for the safety of those on board. Each time, too the ship approached the dangerous reef, with the character of which she was so well acquainted, her cheek turned paler than usual, and her bated breath showed the agitation of her feelings.

Yet, did she love the young commander of the corvette? She would scarcely have acknowledged thus much to herself. He had not declared his affection, and yet she felt almost sure that he was truly attached to her.

“I must remember that he was poor Barry’s friend,” she said to herself; “yet Barry did not pretend to know to what family he belonged; indeed, he would never tell us how he first became acquainted with him. That was very strange, for as often as I put the question he evaded it, and replied, ‘I value him for himself, for the noble qualities he possesses, and not for what he may possibly have been.’ On board ship we think only of our rank in the service, and what sort of fellow a man shows himself to be by his conduct. So Nora do not say anything more about the matter.”

At length, when the corvette, as far as she was able to judge in the thick gathering gloom of night, seemed to be clear of the land, Nora could not refrain from giving vent to her pent-up feelings in tears, while a prayer of thankfulness went up from her heart to Heaven.

Some time passed before she entirely recovered from the effects of the fearful danger in which she had been placed. She looked forward, day after day, for the return of the corvette, but in vain. She eagerly examined the newspapers, but none of them mentioned the Ariadne. She might still be on the coast of Ireland, or have been ordered elsewhere. From what Captain Denham had said before he took his departure, she was fully persuaded he would soon return; and it must be confessed, she longed to ask him many questions. There were various doubts passing through her mind which she was anxious to have solved. She scarcely, however, would trust herself to speak of them even to Sophy. She was soon to have her mind occupied with other cares.

Her father, who had never recovered the loss of his son, or his visit to the West Indies, was now very evidently declining in health. He could no longer follow the hounds, or ride out as before. He took little or no interest in public affairs. Even his neighbours he declined seeing when they called, though he seemed always glad to have a visit from Mr Jamieson or his blind niece. He held frequent conversations with the steward about his affairs, which seemed greatly to trouble him. At length it was determined to send to Dublin to request the presence of his family lawyer, Mr Finlayson, who, though now an old man, was sufficiently hale to undertake the journey. He had, it appeared, as had his father before him, managed for many years the Kilfinnan property.

Nora willingly agreed to write to request his attendance, for she felt, that as he was a faithful friend of her father’s, he would certainly be a comfort to him, and might also be able to suggest a means of placing the property in a more satisfactory state than it was in at present. She thought nothing of herself; it scarcely occurred to her that she was to become the heiress of it all. She knew that the title would become extinct at her father’s death, but that caused her no regret. She supposed that her income would enable her and her cousin Sophy to live as they had been accustomed. More she did not require.

Within a week Mr Patrick Finlayson arrived in a chaise from Dublin. In those days the journey was not performed as rapidly as at present, and the dangers to be encountered were not a few. He was a small, neatly made, active little man, with a clear complexion, which even his advanced age had scarcely succeeded in depriving of the hue of youth, though his hair was white as snow. His eyes were bright and intelligent, and his whole manner and appearance showed that he was still capable of a considerable amount of active exertion. His brown suit, knee breeches, and silk stockings, were set off by brightly polished steel buttons and diamond buckles. Having paid his respects to the ladies of the family, and addressed Lady Nora in his usual easy, familiar style, which showed that he had from her earliest youth, claimed the honour of being one of her admirers and friends, he made more especial inquiries about the Earl.

“You will see a great change in my father,” said Nora, “but your coming will, I feel sure, do him good. You know more about our affairs than we do. I only hope things are not worse than he supposes, and if they are, I must ask you to conceal the truth from him; I am afraid it would do him no good to make him aware of it, and would only deeply grieve him. I care not so much if I only am the sufferer.”

“You need not be alarmed, my dear Lady Nora,” answered the old man, taking her hand. “Things are not worse than the Earl supposes; on the contrary, I have of late seen the importance of not allowing him to believe that they were improving as much as they have been. You know, probably, your good father’s disposition, and are aware, that had he discovered this, he would very quickly have launched out again into his old habits of extravagance, which, however, from the sad account you give of him, he is not now likely to do, and therefore I am prepared to tell him the whole truth. Your affairs, Lady Nora, require nursing, I will confess to that, and careful management, but a few years of economy will, I hope, place them on a satisfactory footing.”

“This is indeed pleasant news you bring us, Mr Finlayson, I own when I heard that you had consented to come, that I feared things were rather worse than better, but I am indeed very grateful to you for coming; you have always been one of our truest friends, and I am sure at the present moment you will be a great comfort to my poor father. I will let the Earl know of your arrival, and I am sure he will be glad to see you at once. During the last few days he has grown very much weaker, and his medical attendant will not tell me what he thinks of his case. He himself speaks very willingly to our friend and neighbour, Mr Jamieson, who, when I ask him what he thinks, always looks very grave, and replies, ‘that the lives of all of us are in God’s hands, and that we should be prepared to lose those we love at any moment.’ This makes me, as you may suppose, extremely anxious.”

While Lady Nora was speaking the old gentleman became very serious.

“I should like to see the Earl as soon as possible,” he observed; “I have several matters of importance to consult him about, which I should not like to put off until he becomes still weaker than you tell me he is at present. You will excuse me, Lady Nora, when I say I should like to be alone with him for some time.”

“O yes, sir,” said Lady Nora; “I know that whatever you have to say to my father you have the right to say to him; and I feel such perfect confidence in you that I have no desire to pry into any secrets you may have with him.”

Nora having left the lawyer, soon returned with the information, that the Earl was ready to receive him.

Mr Finlayson found the Earl sitting in an armchair, propped up with pillows, gazing out on the ocean, on whose blue and slightly ruffled waves the sunbeams were playing brilliantly. The Earl smiled as his old friend entered, and held out his hand warmly to him.

“Sit down, Finlayson; you have come at a sad moment. I feel a strange weakness creeping over me, and I am glad that you have not longer put off your visit. Yes, I believe the moment is approaching for which we all should be prepared, when I must leave this world. I wish I could look back to all I have done during my life with satisfaction; but I cannot say that I can do that. I have been hospitable and generous, I own, according to the notion of people; but alas! Finlayson, for the peasantry under my charge, for the multitudes of my poorer neighbours, how little have I done? I might have set them a better example; I might have obtained some education for them; and, perhaps, by going among them, restrained them from committing the excesses into which, from time to time, they have plunged.”

“Very true,” answered the lawyer; “I believe there are very few people who have not to say something like that, when they are about to leave the world; but we must not think of what we have done or left undone ourselves. You believe in the simple Gospel; I am sure you do, or you would have listened to Mr Jamieson’s preaching, as I have often seen you doing—in vain. We will speak of that by-and-by. I rather hope that you think worse of your case than you should do. I do not hear that the doctor is of the same opinion as you are, and so, my dear lord, there are certain points with regard to your property which I, as your legal adviser, would wish, in the first place, to discuss.”

Mr Finlayson then entered into particulars, which it is not here necessary to introduce.

The Earl seemed much relieved on hearing that his property was less encumbered than he had supposed.

“But there is another point, my lord, on which I shall wish particularly to consult you.”

“Well, the sooner we speak on anything of importance the better, Finlayson. We know not what another day may bring forth,” observed the Earl.

He already spoke with some difficulty.

“Well, my lord, at all events I should like to know your wishes on the subject,” said the lawyer. “Your lordship knows that your father had an elder brother.”

“Yes,” said the Earl, in a somewhat surprised tone.

“He was considerably older than your father,” continued the lawyer. “He was a somewhat wild and extravagant man. Your lordship may possibly remember that he engaged in one of the unhappy outbreaks of those days.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Earl hastily. “I heard that he became a rebel against his king and country.”

“Well, my lord, you know many honourable men joined with him on that occasion.”

“I fancy that he was found guilty of high-treason, was he not?” said the Earl.

“Yes,” answered the lawyer. “An act of attainder was passed against him, by which he lost both title and property. Had it not been for the interest of your father, it would have been lost to the family altogether; but, as he had always proved loyal, he was allowed to inherit the property in the place of his brother, for your grandfather, if you remember, was alive at the time.”

“Yes; but of what consequence is that at the present day?” asked the Earl.

“I am coming to that, my lord,” said Mr Finlayson. “Your uncle, it appeared, married and had a son and your father, who really loved his brother, being at that time a bachelor, petitioned the Government, that in case of his death without an heir, his elder brother’s guiltless child might succeed to the property, and regain the title of which his father had been deprived.”

“Ah!” said the Earl, “I was not aware of that; but had this relative of mine (this cousin I suppose I should call him) a son?”

“That for a long time was a matter of doubt,” said the lawyer. “It appeared, however, that he, when a young man, inherited many of his father’s qualities, and was in all respects fully as wild and unmanageable as he had been, and he very soon, in consequence, brought himself within power of the law.”

“I hope he never committed any act unworthy of a gentleman or of his name and family,” said the Earl, with more animation than he had hitherto shown. “At least I trust one of the last scions of our race brought no disgrace on it.”

“No, my lord,” said the lawyer, smiling; “he was only guilty of that gentlemanly act,—treason, having united himself with some of those unhappy people, who hoped to overthrow the authority of the Government. He became a United Irishman, and took part in the rebellion of that time. He was at length committed to prison, and to my great dismay I found that he had been condemned to death.”

“Did he retain his own name, or had he assumed another?” asked the Earl.

“He had some time before dropped his family name, and wisely too, considering the position in which he was placed,” answered the lawyer. “He had contrived, however, to make friends both within and outside the walls of the prison, and by their means he managed to escape. A price was of course set upon his head, and it was generally supposed that he had left the country. I thought so likewise for some time; but his father, who was then alive, had placed some sums of money in my hands, and empowered me to devote them to his assistance. I suppose he discovered this, for after a short time I received a letter from him, by which he led me to understand that he was still in the country, but in a position where it was not at all likely he would be discovered. He told me, moreover, that he had no intention of leaving Ireland; that he had lately married a young country girl, and was very happy in his present position. He praised his wife as a most beautiful creature, and said that in her society he hoped in future to remain quiet, and refrain from any of the acts which had hitherto brought him into trouble. He had taken so many precautions that, notwithstanding all my exertions, I could not find out where he was. Still he enabled me to remit the money he required. I should have told you that when your father had made the arrangement which I have been describing, he bound over his nephew and his son not to make any claim to the title, as long as an heir of his own line existed. But should he have no male heir, then the eldest of his descendants was allowed to put in a claim for the title. This document, and other legal proofs of his identity, your cousin had obtained possession of. He told me, I remember, in his letter, that he considered himself strictly bound to adhere to the agreement, and that as for himself, he had no wish ever to claim the title which had belonged to his ancestors; that he had sufficient to satisfy his wants; that he was tired of ambition; and that he was perfectly content to let his country go on in its present condition, without interfering in politics. I replied that his resolution was a wise one, and undertook whenever he desired to have the money forwarded to him, to send it immediately. I of course did my best to try and discover where he was and whom he had married. Once or twice I was very near succeeding. I traced him to two or three places, but at length I entirely lost all clue to him. I suspect he was aware I was endeavouring to discover him, and thus, as he had already had much practice in playing the game of hide-and-seek, he was able completely to evade me.”

“That is a strange story you have told me,” said the Earl; “I had forgotten many of the circumstances to which you allude. Alas! as long as my own boy lived it was a matter of no consequence. I felt very sure that my own patent was secure, and that he would inherit my title and estates; but now it seems that through this curious arrangement of my father, matters have altered; but surely should an heir appear, he could not deprive my daughter of Kilfinnan Castle, and the estates which belong to it.”

“In the unlikely event of a claimant establishing his right to the earldom, he would also inherit the Kilfinnan estates,” answered the lawyer; “but you will remember there are the estates in Derry, which were formerly separated from the Kilfinnan property, and according to the arrangements made by the late Earl, they become the heritage of the females should there be no son to succeed. Thus Lady Nora will at all events retain the Derry estates, even though it may turn out that your long-missing cousin has left a son to inherit the title and Kilfinnan property.”

The Earl sighed deeply.

“It matters very little to myself. My dear Nora has no ambition, and as her tastes are simple, she will be perfectly content with the Derry estates, where she will, I feel sure, devote herself to the care of the surrounding peasantry, and will avoid those extravagances which would injure her property, as alas! I have done.”

The lawyer sat for some time longer with his friend, but the Earl at length, observing that he felt very faint, desired that his doctor, who was in the house, might be sent for. The man of medicine soon appeared, and feeling the Earl’s pulse instantly administered restoratives. In a short time the Earl rallied, and desired that Lady Nora and his niece might be sent for. They came and sat with him for nearly an hour, when he begged that they would retire to their rooms, assuring them that he felt much better, and that he hoped the following day he should have more conversation with Mr Finlayson on the matters of business which he wished to discuss with him.

Chapter Nineteen.

Evening approached, and Nora and her cousin sat in the tower chamber overlooking the ocean. They neither of them felt disposed to go to sleep. The night was calm and lovely, the atmosphere unclouded. The stars shone forth brightly, and the light crescent moon was reflected in the waters below. The reef of rocks on the other side of the bay could be distinguished, and the lofty headlands beyond it stood out in bold relief against the sky, while to their extreme right they could see the whole sweep of the bay and the lofty downs above it. It is not surprising that they should have been unwilling to tear themselves away from such a scene. It calmed their agitated feelings, for Nora could not conceal from herself that one of the kindest of fathers was about to be taken from her, while Lady Sophy, almost friendless as she was, felt that she was about to lose her best protector. She could, it was true, live on with her cousin Nora, and watch over her, as she had ever done, like an elder sister over one far younger than herself. Already, Lady Sophy’s early beauty had completely departed. There was the same outline of feature, and the same elegant figure, but her countenance wore that sad expression (too often to be seen marking the features of the once young and lovely) of disappointed affection, of blighted hopes. Thus they sat on, hour after hour. A dark shadow passed across the moon, and threw a gloom over the hitherto bright landscape. Suddenly they were startled by a loud, wild shriek. It seemed to come from far away across the ocean. Now it swelled into a high note of wailing; now it sank into a mournful tone of grief. Again and again that strange sound struck their ears.

“The banshee!” exclaimed Nora, placing her hand on Sophy’s shoulder with alarm. “Surely I have always believed that it was a mere superstition of the ignorant peasantry—a phantom of the imagination; but here is a dreadful reality. Yes, it surely must be the banshee, and what does it forebode? Sophy, you know too well, and so do I. Perhaps it is sent in mercy, to warn and prepare us for that dreadful event. But ought we not to have been prepared already? The last words my dear father spoke to me were sufficient to make me feel he was aware of the great change about to take place. Let us hasten to him. Perhaps even now his spirit is departing, and I would be at his side at that awful moment.”

“Stay, Nora,” said Sophy; “I do not believe in the banshee, or any other being of the sort. I see no figure, and even did I, I should not be convinced that it was a being of another world. I know that many believe such things exist. Some think they are sent in kindness; others, that they are rather evil spirits permitted to disturb the parting hours of the dying; but that, at all events, I am sure is not the case. Let us watch a short time longer. Depend upon it, we are deceived in some way.”

“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Nora, pointing towards the nearest part of the beach which was visible. “See that phantom figure moving across the sands! Surely that must be the banshee! What else?”

“No, dear Nora, calm yourself,” answered Sophy. “Do not you recognise the figure of poor mad Kathleen? She must have uttered those cries as she passed under the castle walls. She must have come to ask after the Earl, and, as bad news flies fast, she has probably been told he is sinking rapidly. So, as she has received many a kindness from the family, she is giving vent to her grief in those wild, unearthly screams and cries.”

“You are right, Sophy,” answered Nora, “but, for the moment, I could not help believing in the existence of the wild phantom we have read of and heard so often about in our younger days from the surrounding cottagers. Yes, I see it is poor Kathleen. I trust my poor father has not heard it, for, in his weak state, it might have a bad effect upon his nerves. Yet he certainly does not believe in the existence of the banshee.”

The poor girls had not long to watch before they were again summoned, and this time it was to stand by the dying bed of the Earl. Holding the hand of his daughter, which he gently pressed, he breathed his last, with scarcely a sigh, and evidently without any pain or suffering. Mr Jamieson, who had been summoned, stood by him. “He rests in peace,” he said; “he trusted in One all-powerful to save, though he made but little profession of his faith.”

Poor Nora was led from the death-bed of her father to her own room, but it was long before she could find vent for her grief in tears. Her cousin Sophy had long ceased to weep. Those who have suffered great unhappiness, whose fondest affections have been blighted, as hers had been, often find it impossible again to gain relief by weeping. Such was her case. She mourned the loss of the Earl, as much as did her cousin, but it was in a different way. Not a tear dropped from her eye. She found no vent for all she felt. Nora, on the contrary, exhibited her grief far more violently, and thus, perhaps, the sooner regained tranquillity.

Mr Finlayson, as he had promised the Earl, acted the part of a kind father to her. He treated her as a petted child, spoke words of comfort to her on all occasions, and tried by every means to raise her spirits. Often he succeeded in doing so, and she could not help expressing a wish that he could remain at the castle, instead of returning to Dublin.

“Well, well,” he answered, “I will do my best to please you, my dear young lady. I have a son and grandson well able to attend to my business, and as long as I am not required at home, you shall have the benefit of my company.”

In those days the burial of even a peasant was attended with much parade, and any family would have been thought mean unless the body of their deceased relative was properly waked. Although the corpse of a Protestant Earl had not to go through this ceremony, yet it would have been looked upon as a great disgrace to the family had not all the neighbours been invited from far and near to attend the funeral, and be sumptuously feasted. Had Nora been consulted she would gladly have avoided anything of the sort. Mr Finlayson declared, however, that it was not the day to break through their old customs, and, for the credit of the family, they must issue the usual invitations. Nora and Sophy, however, begged that they might be allowed to keep their rooms, although Nora had been anxious to attend her father to the grave. This it was arranged she should do in a private carriage. When the day arrived, however, from far and near came squires and squireens, and farmers and peasants, in all sorts of conveyances, the larger number being on horseback, while several friends of the deceased nobleman arrived from a distance to pay their last respects to his remains.

It was a sad sight, even to Nora; but she resolved to go through with what she thought was required of her, and then she hoped to be allowed to remain at rest for many a long day. The parish church, in which the tomb of the family was situated, was about three miles off; and after the guests had been regaled at breakfast with wines of all sorts for the upper classes, and whisky, which flowed in profusion, for the lower, they mounted their horses, and entered their conveyances, to follow the hearse decorated with the usual trappings of mourning. Behind the hearse, in a mourning carriage, sat Nora and her cousin, closely veiled. Poor girls, how differently they felt to the mixed multitude who followed them. Their guests gave way to their usual habit of talking and laughing as they rode along. The events of the day were discussed. The good qualities of the late Earl; the prospects of his obtaining a son-in-law who might take his place and do the honours of the castle; the beauty of his fair daughter; and especially, the state of his finances. Few would have supposed that the lively and animated collection of men, who rode along in every variety of costume, were assembled there to pay the last honours to a deceased noble. They were silent, however, as they assembled round the grave. Some perhaps for the first time had then heard the burial service of the Protestant Church, as a large proportion of the guests were themselves Romanists; some perhaps were struck with what they heard; others probably attended to little that was said. Nora and her cousin stood close to the grave, closely veiled as before; and as Nora gazed for the last time upon the coffin of her beloved father, her heart sank within her, and she felt a longing to follow him to his quiet resting-place.

Again they made for the castle, and all restraint now being removed, laughing and joking was the order of the day. Some even, as the wine flowed faster, gave way to snatches of songs, while the last meets were fully discussed, and the prospects of the next year’s harvest. It is scarcely necessary to describe the events which took place at the castle. A considerable number of the guests had no little difficulty in mounting their horses on their return home, from the generous liquor which they had imbibed out of the late Earl’s cellars. Their great grief seemed to be, that there was no heir to succeed him, and to assist in keeping up the neighbouring hunt. At length the castle was once more at rest.

Mr Finlayson set earnestly to work to arrange the affairs of the young heiress. The steward, and those who were employed by him, had generally acted honestly; but as he made inquiries about the tenants, many were in arrear with rent, and he saw that some effort must be made to compel them to pay. He called the steward in for a consultation.

“You give very good advice, Mr Finlayson; but I will just ask you, as a Scotchman said, ‘Who is to bell the cat?’ You know, surely, that to attempt to distrain for rent on some of these gentlemen would assuredly bring a bullet through your brain or mine. It is not an easy matter to get money out of an Irishman when he is determined not to pay, and it is not for you or me, if we are wise men, to push the matter too hard. I will do my best and go among them, and put it to them, whether they would like to deprive the young heiress of her property. Perhaps, though they will not yield to force, they may to persuasion, and I am thankful to say, we still retain in old Ireland, the gift of blarney. You see, sir, we shall get much more out of them in that way. I will just ask them if they would like to attack a young lady and rifle her pockets. Put it thus to them, and show them that if they keep back the money they are doing the same thing. Now, we shall see, if I go on this plan, whether those who can pay will pay, while those who cannot pay, it is very evident, will not do so; but to my mind, there is no use turning a man adrift in the world if you can help it. A better day may come, and then he may prove a good tenant. If you turn him out of one property he will just build a hut in another corner of the land, and you will have him there starving before your eyes, and you will not be the better for the move.”

“Well, well, O’Connor, you are a wise man, I see. I will let you have your way in that respect. We will do nothing to create an ill-feeling against the dear young mistress, and it is for you and I who are engaged to serve her to look after her interests. I wish she had a good husband to help her; but it is my belief, from what I see here, that there is not a young man in the country at all fit for her. She is a good, gentle creature, and were she to wed one of the rollicking, harum-scarum young fellows who are her equals, he would break her heart; and staying at home as she does, she is not likely to meet any others, while even abroad she saw no one to care for, or, at least, no one appeared, so perhaps she will continue to live a maiden life, and if so, she will require your assistance and mine as long as I remain in the world.”

Nora and Sophy were relieved from much anxiety by the continued residence of the kind Mr Finlayson at the castle. He was so lively, so full of conversation and anecdotes, so kind and judicious at the same time. He raised their spirits more than any one else could have done. A young man would have been out of place. Even kind, gentle Miss O’Reilly, when she came over, though she talked very pleasantly, could do little to animate them. Mr Jamieson performed his part as well as he could, but he was not very animated; he was more inclined to speak in a serious than lively strain.

Chapter Twenty.

Happily human beings are so constituted, that grief with few, especially with the young, lasts long. After a time, Lady Nora and her cousin recovered their usual spirits, and began to ride about the country as before. Their chief pleasure was to visit those they had long known, and to extend their search of others who might require relief. The surest means for those who are themselves in distress of obtaining comfort is to do good to their fellow-creatures. Several times they paid a visit to the old fishwife, Widow O’Neil. She seemed to have grown more hardy and wiry than ever. It was wonderful what exertions she could go through. She often had the assistance of her brother Shane, who was, however, advancing in life, and not so active as before, while she appeared to have retained all her strength and activity. They remarked, whenever they paid her a visit, the delight she took in speaking of her long-lost son. She never failed to tell them that she had seen him in her dreams. She knew, she declared, that he was thinking of her, and though she could not say why he was detained, he was, she felt certain, endeavouring to come back to her. Sometimes she thought he was a slave in some foreign land; sometimes that he had been cast away on some desert island, and had to live there, unable to make his escape, and sometimes that he was in prison. She said she knew he was in far distant lands, as that alone would have kept him from her. They could not help being struck by the deep, the intense love and confidence in him which the old woman always expressed for her son, though they naturally had considerable doubts whether, if he really was alive, he could feel the same for her.

“He was a handsome youth,” observed Lady Sophy to her cousin, “but there was a wild, daring look in his eye, and he was a lad who, when once away, and having obtained a better position in life than that which he enjoyed in his early days, would very likely cast off all thoughts of his poor mother, and would have no wish to return to her humble cottage.”

“Oh, no, no,” said Lady Nora, “I could not think that of him; of course I do not recollect him clearly, except from the sketch you made of him, but yet I am sure from the expression of his countenance that he must have been as true and honest as he was handsome. No, I would rather suppose that he has long since been killed. Just consider how many thousands of seamen have lost their lives within the last few years in the numberless battles in which our country has been engaged, and how likely it is that he was among them, and that is why no one has received any tidings of him.”

Such was the conversation which took place as they climbed up the hill to return to their horses. They had promised Widow O’Neil to visit her again in a day or two. She had undertaken to supply them with shells which her brother Shane had collected, and which they wished to send to a friend at a distance. When, however, the day arrived on which they were to pay their visit, the morning broke with a storm of rain and wind. The dark clouds chased each other over the sky, and the wind whistled round the towers of the castle.

“It will be impossible for us to ride to Widow O’Neil’s to-day,” observed Sophy when they met at breakfast. “I do not think Mr Finlayson will promise to accompany us; he would not like to face the bad weather.”

“Perhaps the rain will clear off, and then he will not mind the wind any more than we shall,” observed Sophy.

Mr Finlayson, who then entered the room, declared that should the weather clear, he was ready to mount the little cob which had been appropriated for his use, which was so steady, that occasionally the Earl had gone out shooting on its back, and so sure-footed, it had never been known to stumble.

“But, my dear Lady Nora, you must be more careful than you were once on a time, on a skittish young horse which nearly proved your death,” observed the old lawyer. “A day like this tries an animal; and unless your steed is as steady as a rock I cannot sanction your going out.”

“Oh, I will take care to ride one of the best behaved of our stud,” answered Nora, “and Sophy shall have the next, as she is somewhat the better horsewoman. I am anxious to send off those beautiful shells to Miss Fitz-Patrick, as she particularly begged to have them, and we may not have another opportunity of doing so for some time.”

It was thus arranged that the horses should be ordered in the forenoon, should the weather clear sufficiently, and that they would pay their visit to Widow O’Neil. In a short time the rain ceased falling, although the wind continued blowing as hard as ever; indeed, it was a complete summer gale. The clouds rushed rapidly along the sky, and the seas rolled in with all their force from across the wide Atlantic. It wanted an hour or more to the time they had agreed to set out, and the two ladies retired to their turret boudoir. Scarcely had they entered the room, when Lady Nora exclaimed that she saw a vessel in the north-west, at no great distance from the land. The glass was turned in the direction towards which she pointed.

“She is a large ship,” she observed, “but she seems to me to have lost most of her masts, there is but one standing; yes, I am sure of that, all the the rest are gone. With this fierce gale blowing on the shore, what a dangerous position she is in! I cannot make out what ship she is. Do you look, Sophy; what do you say to it?”

Sophy looked through the glass.

“I cannot make out to a certainty, but from her appearance, I should judge her to be a man-of-war. Yes, I am nearly sure of it; I should say that she is a frigate, for when I keep the telescope steady, I can almost count her ports.”

Nora looked through the glass.

“Yes, you are right,” she said; “she seems to be standing to the south, but she is evidently drifting fast towards the land. I see, though, she has got some after-sail set on the stump of the mizenmast, and I think I understand it; she wishes to weather the reef, and of course after that take shelter in the bay. Yes, yes, that is clearly her object; she is struggling bravely with the seas, but oh, in what fearful peril she is placed.”

The ladies immediately ordered their horses round, proposing to watch the progress of the ship from the cliffs.

“I daresay that Mr Finlayson will not object to come with us at once,” said Lady Sophy, and she left the room in search of him.

“Willingly, my dear young lady,” he answered; “you will find that I am no despicable cavalier when once I am in the saddle.”

The party were soon mounted and cantering across the downs in the direction of the struggling ship. Mr Finlayson was much less acquainted with nautical affairs than were his fair companions, still he knew enough to be aware that the ship was in great danger. The wind prevented them from making rapid progress along the downs, although they urged on their steeds as fast as they could go, anxious to meet some one who could give them further information about the ship. They determined to go on till they reached the widow’s hut, as they knew that, should her brother be there, as he had promised to be, they would learn more from him than from anybody else as to the probability of the ship escaping destruction on the dangerous reef towards which she appeared to be drawing. Still they hoped against hope, that she might struggle on and escape.

As they approached the end of the cliff above Widow O’Neil’s cottage, they recognised her standing on a high projecting point of land, gazing towards the ship. Her actions gave them the idea that she, like poor Kathleen, had lost her senses. Wildly she waved her arm, sometimes clasping her hands, raising them towards heaven; then, again, she stretched them over the ocean. As the ladies and Mr Finlayson rode up to her, words of prayer were escaping from her lips.

“What is the matter, Mistress O’Neil?” asked Sophy, riding up to her. “Why are you thus agitated this morning?”

“It is on account of a dream I had last night,” she answered. “That is no wonder, though, for every night as I lie on my bed I dream that my boy is coming back to me, though when I am about to clasp him to my heart he escapes away again; but last night I dreamed that he really had come back, and there he was lying in my arms, just as he was when an infant and smiling in my face. He must come back soon, too, for I am getting old, very old, and oh, he will scarcely know me now! There is not much time to lose; but he will come; yes, my lady, I know that he will come. He will not be as young, and beautiful, and strong, and happy as he was when he went away, so many, many years ago,—I know not how many; I have lost all count of them. Oh, they have been years of grief and mourning to me—sad, sad years; but such have been the years of my life since one I loved was taken from me. Ah, if you had known him, ladies, you would have said I had reason to love him: and now, my boy, my only boy, to have been thus long kept from me! But he is coming back, ladies. I tell you, I dreamed last night that he was coming back; and suppose he was to be on board yonder ship! Ah, but I feel sure that he cannot be, for she will strike on yonder dark reef, and soon be a shattered wreck, to which no human being could cling and live. See how fiercely the seas roll in, and dash furiously over it! See, see how the brave frigate is drifting faster and faster towards the land! When I first saw her this morning she was a good two leagues away, and now there is not a quarter of a league between her and that rocky point. If once she strikes upon it, few of her sturdy crew will ever come ashore alive. Few, do I say? none, none can live amid those breakers. Oh, Heaven protect them!”

In spite of the strong gale which blew round them, neither the ladies nor Mr Finlayson could tear themselves from the spot where they stood, it being the best situation they could reach for watching the progress of the labouring frigate.

Chapter Twenty One.

We must for a time follow the fortunes of Charles Denham. Those were days of rapid promotion, when an officer’s name stood well at the Admiralty. The young commander had not long served his time on board the corvette before he received his post rank. Scarcely twelve years had passed since he first stepped on board a man-of-war as a young seaman before the mast, when he found himself in command of a fine frigate of thirty-six guns—the Isabel. Ned Davis, who had followed him into every ship in which he served, now, by his advice, having applied for a warrant, was appointed boatswain to the Isabel. Although Denham had attained what might be considered the height of his ambition, he hoped, while in command of the frigate, to make a still higher name for himself. Opportunities of doing so were not likely to be wanting. England had enemies in all directions, and there was every probability that a fine dashing frigate like the Isabel would soon meet with a foe well worthy of her. She was, however, much to the disappointment of her commander and crew, sent to the Mediterranean, which, by that time, had been pretty well cleared of all England’s enemies. There was work, however, to be done, and whatever Denham was ordered to do he performed it well. Having, at length, come home with despatches, he was sent to the West Indies, where he had already seen a good deal of service.

During this time he had few opportunities of hearing from the Earl of Kilfinnan, to whom, however, he occasionally wrote, and got a kind answer in return. Again, after nearly four years’ service, he was on his way home. When about three parts across the Atlantic, the weather for some time before having been very bad, a ship was reported right ahead. As the frigate approached her, she was seen to have her ensign downwards, as a signal of distress. She appeared to be a large merchantman. Her topmasts were gone, and she had, in other ways, evidently suffered from the heavy weather. As soon as the frigate drew near enough, she was hove to, and a boat being lowered, she was sent on board the stranger. As the officer in command of the boat stepped on board the ship, he was struck by the fearful appearance it presented. A few of the crew, pale and emaciated, were dragging themselves about the deck, scarcely able to stand upright, while on mattresses placed close to the bulwarks were numerous human beings, some apparently dead, others dying, moaning fearfully and in plaintive voices, petitioning for water.

It was a long time before the lieutenant could get any one to explain what had happened. The captain, it appeared, had died, and so had most of the officers and the passengers. Their bodies had been thrown overboard. Great was his horror when he at length ascertained that they were suffering from the yellow fever. The weather was very hot, and it was but too likely even that this short visit to the pest-infested ship might cause him to convey it to the crew of the frigate. What, however, was to be done? He could not leave the unfortunate people on board the merchantman to perish by themselves, without help; while, should he remain, he and those with him might catch the same complaint. He found on inquiry that several persons were down below who had hitherto escaped the pestilence. At length, uncertain how to act, he returned on board the Isabel, to receive instructions from his captain. The surgeon of the frigate was of opinion that the only safe plan was thoroughly to fumigate the vessel, and put a prize crew on board, to navigate her to an English port, as it would be unsafe to take any of the people out of her. This plan was followed, and an officer with twelve men went on board to carry the ship to Bristol.

It was hoped that from the short time the lieutenant and his men were on board no infection could have been conveyed from her to the frigate. Before two days, however, had passed these hopes were found to be fallacious. Two of the men who had been on board the merchantman were seized with the fearful complaint, and the following day were corpses. Several others in the course of a few hours were seized in the same manner. Their illnesses in each case terminated fatally. As is often the case, a panic seized the whole crew, and men who would have faced an enemy boldly, trembled at the thoughts of the attacks of this unseen foe. The captain and officers had tried to encourage them and revive their spirits; but all seemed in vain. Not a day passed without several of the men being committed to the deep, and no one knew who would be the next victim. The surgeon declared his belief that the seeds of the disease must have been contracted in the West Indies, as it was impossible it could have been communicated by the people of the merchantman.

“Let the cause be what it may, the best hope we have of getting free of the fever is to meet an enemy of equal size to ourselves; and, then, while we are fighting him, I have no doubt that ‘Yellow Jack’ will take to flight,” observed the captain.

At length a breeze sprang up, and although the disease had not altogether ceased, it had considerably decreased. A sharp look-out was kept at all hours for any sail which might appear on the horizon. At length one was observed in the south-west, and all sail was made in chase. For some time probably the Isabel was not seen by the vessel she was chasing. The latter, however, was at length seen to make sail, and to stand away to the west. The Isabel was a fast vessel, and every effort was now made to increase her speed. The sails were wetted, every stitch of canvas she could carry was set, and every other device adopted to urge her through the water.

In those days the engagements which had taken place between English and French ships had terminated in most instances so disastrously to the latter, that Napoleon, it was said, had ordered all his cruisers to avoid fighting if they possibly could. This might have accounted for the flight of the stranger; for as the Isabel drew nearer, she was discovered to be either a heavy frigate or a line-of-battle ship. On a still nearer approach the French ensign flew out from her peak, and it was ascertained, without doubt, that she was a large frigate, a worthy antagonist for the Isabel. Superior as the enemy might be in guns and in number of men, Captain Denham resolved to attack her. The engagement he knew would be a severe one; but he trusted for victory to the tried gallantry of his officers and crew, and the resolution with which they would work the guns. He had the weather-gauge, and he hoped by skilful manoeuvring to retain it. The enemy finding she could not escape, now hauled up her courses, and made every preparation for battle. The Isabel, when she drew near enough, at once opened fire to cripple her antagonist, and to retain the position she now enjoyed. This first broadside considerably cut up the Frenchman’s rigging; but the fire the Isabel received in return did her still greater damage, badly wounding the fore-topmast. Davis went aloft to examine it, and reported on his return that he feared it would not stand much longer. Both the frigates now standing on a wind, continued to exchange broadsides; the English firing at the hull of their antagonist, while the Frenchman seemed to aim more particularly at cutting up the masts and rigging of the English ship.

“She seems to be full of men, and I suspect her object is to get alongside, and to take us by boarding,” observed the captain to his first lieutenant.

“We will show them what British steel can do if they make the attempt, sir,” was the answer.

The Frenchman attempted to luff across the English ship’s bow, in the hopes of raking her, but Denham was too much on the watch to allow her to execute this manoeuvre successfully. A considerable number of the Isabel’s men had been killed. Still, her crew fought on with undaunted courage. At length, her fore-topmast, which had before been severely injured by a chain shot, came down with a crash upon the deck. The Frenchmen shouted when they saw this, and another shout escaped them when they saw the main-topmast follow the fate of the other mast.

“If they attempt to run us on board we will try to secure them, as we did in the Cynthia,” observed the captain. “If we let a few of the Frenchmen come on board, we can quickly dispose of them, and then return the compliment.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the lieutenant; “I will give the order to the men to prepare for boarding. They are ready enough for it.”

Scarcely had he spoken, when the French frigate, luffing up, ran her bows against the quarter of the Isabel. She was immediately secured there by Davis and others; and now the Frenchmen came rushing over the bows, expecting to make her an easy prize.

“Boarders, repel boarders,” shouted the first lieutenant.

“I will lead you, my men,” cried the captain, springing to the side.

A few Frenchmen who had gained the deck of the Isabel were immediately cut down; and now the English in turn swarmed over the enemy’s bows. In spite of all opposition, they worked their way aft. No power seemed capable of resisting them. Although the Frenchmen for some time stood their ground, they were driven back. Step by step the British blue-jackets fought their way, and numbers sank before the sturdy blows of their cutlasses. Many of the Frenchmen were armed with pistols, by which several of the English were wounded. During this time Davis had ever kept close by the side of his commander. Captain Denham was leading on his men, when suddenly his cutlass dropped from his hand, and he would have fallen had not Davis supported him. At the same moment, a tall Frenchman, with uplifted cutlass, was in the act of bringing it down upon his head, when Davis, bringing his own weapon to the guard, saved his captain, and with a return cut sent the Frenchman reeling backwards.

“On, my lads, on,” shouted the captain, again rising to his feet. “Though I cannot use my sword, you can keep yours going instead.”

The energy with which he spoke was infused into his followers, and pushing onward they drove the Frenchmen before them. The Frenchmen, encouraged by their officers, attempted to rally; but no sooner had they done so, than, led by their gallant captain, the English made another dash forward, and again drove them back. Meantime, the weather had been changing, and the moderate breeze which had hitherto been blowing, was followed by a heavy gale. Although the Isabel was well-nigh dismantled, she was still more than a match for her opponent. In a short time, numbers of the Frenchmen having fallen, an officer was seen to run aft and haul down the French flag. The prize was won. She mounted four more guns than did the Isabel, with a far more numerous crew. The prospect of bad weather made it necessary at once to send a prize crew on board the captured frigate, and to remove the greater part of her own people, so that a few Frenchmen only were left on board. Great was the delight of the crew at finding, from the report of the surgeon, that their captain’s wound was not likely to prove serious, though his arm might be disabled for some time.

The second lieutenant was ordered on board to carry the prize into Plymouth, she having suffered but little damage in her rigging, while her captor was in a far worse condition. Some time was occupied in clearing away the wreck of the topmasts, and once more getting the ship into order. The gale, however, fearfully increased, and the frigate in an almost helpless condition, having lost sight of her prize, was driven towards the coast of Ireland. Happily, the yellow fever had completely disappeared; but Captain Denham had another cause of anxiety, lest his ship might be driven on that rocky shore on which so many a fine vessel has been lost. He anxiously looked out, therefore, for signs of the gale breaking, and that he might be able once more to make sail and beat off shore. His hopes, however, seemed likely to prove vain. The morning dawned, and far away to the east as the eye could stretch, appeared the high land of the Irish coast. He had hoped to have hauled up sufficiently to have weathered Cape Clear. The gale continued till the frigate was close in with the coast. Shipwreck now seemed inevitable, for no other sail could be set to enable her to beat off shore. There was a bay to the south, but that would now afford no shelter, and no other harbour was open to her. It seemed impossible that she could be saved. One only resource remained, to anchor and cut away the masts. Orders were, therefore, given to prepare for this last alternative. The cables were ranged along the deck, and spare anchors got up from below. The dark seas came rolling in with unabated force from the west, while they broke with terrific force on the rocky shore under her lee. The spray dashed over her bows, flying fore and aft as she forced her way gallantly through the seas. The gale still continued with unabated force. Masses of clouds came rushing by overhead, rapidly succeeding each other, while under her lee-bow appeared a long reef of rocks, the dangers of which were well-known to many on board. Still, hopes were entertained that she might be able to weather it. The eyes of the master and other officers, indeed of most on board, were turned now seaward, now to the rocky shore, and now to the reef on the lee beam. There seemed to all but little prospect, unless by a sudden change of wind, of being able to weather the latter.

“She would not stay if we were to attempt to go about,” observed the first lieutenant, “and there is no room to wear, or it might be better if we were upon the other tack, so as to escape yonder threatening reef.”

“We may possibly weather the reef,” observed the master; “but if we were to attempt either to stay or to wear, we should inevitably be driven upon the rocks.”

Several of the best hands were at the helm, watching for the directions of the master. Sometimes, after a slight shift in the wind, hopes were entertained that the reef might be escaped; but then, again, it was found she was making so much leeway that even this slight hope was abandoned. Onward she rushed to her inevitable destruction, it seemed. Meantime, the wounded commander had been lying in his cot. Several times he had desired to be carried on deck, but the surgeon, who sat by his side, entreated him to stop where he was, fearing the excitement would be too great, and that his wounds, which had hitherto been going on favourably, might take a turn for the worse.

“Then send the master to me,” he said, “that I may learn the exact position of the ship.”

The master made his appearance.

“I wish she was in a better position than she is, sir,” he observed; “but we are doing all that men can do to claw off shore, and if we had had our topmasts, there would have been no difficulty about the matter. She makes fearful leeway, and there is an ugly reef ahead, which I do not altogether like; but I have been in as bad a case before and escaped, and I pray Heaven we may get clear this time.”

“Doctor, you must let me go on deck, that I may see the worst. It is torture to lie here below,” exclaimed the wounded captain.

“But the master says, sir, that we have a prospect of hauling off shore, and I again repeat that you would only incur great danger by exposing yourself to the cold wind and spray that you would have to encounter. No, no, sir; stay where you are, and let us hope for the best.”

Many more anxious minutes passed. The master returned to his duty on deck, and the captain, having full confidence in his judgment, would not again send for him.

“Come, doctor, there are many poor fellows want your aid besides me; go and look after them, I entreat you,” he said at length. “They will give me notice in time enough when all hope is gone, or, I trust, I may soon hear that the ship has weathered the reef, and has brought up in the bay.”

Scarcely had he spoken when a loud roar of breakers reached even to where he lay. A cry arose on deck, and the next instant there came a fearful crash. The frigate had struck on the reef. The captain was endeavouring to rise from his cot, when Davis rushed into the cabin.

“It is a bad case, captain!” he exclaimed; “but while I have life, you know I will stay by you. We are not far from the shore, and maybe, if the ship goes to pieces, some plank or timber may carry us there in safety.”

Denham allowed himself to be carried on deck, where Davis secured him to the only portion of the wreck over which the sea did not break. The captain gazed around. The ship had struck upon the much-dreaded reef. Huge seas came rolling in, and, dashing against her with terrific force, had already begun to tear away her upper works, and it was evident she could not long remain in that position without going speedily to pieces. Many of the crew had already been washed away; others were clinging to different parts of the wreck. Some, including the officers, were endeavouring, not far from the captain, to form a raft, on which they hoped to reach the shore. It appeared, however, very doubtful whether they would succeed.

“Let us chance it, sir,” said Davis; “I will haul a grating here, and put you on it. Maybe, we shall be safely washed on shore.”

“No, no, Davis,” answered the captain faintly; “you remember how the brave Dutchman behaved when his ship was sinking. As long as two planks hold together I will stay by the frigate, or till every one has left her. You go, my friend; you are strong and unhurt, and, God protecting you, you may still save your own life.”

“What? leave you, sir? leave you, Captain Denham?” exclaimed Davis. “I have not sailed with you for so many years to act thus at last. We swim or sink together. I have never feared death, and he is not now going to make me do a cowardly act.”

“Well, well, Davis, I fear there is no use urging you. Perhaps, too, we run as little risk here as we should struggling in those boiling seas,” said the captain.

“Right, sir; the frigate is new and strong, and maybe, she will hold together until the gale somewhat abates,” answered the boatswain. “I wish those poor fellows would stay on board with us; it might be the better for them.”

“I would not order them to stay, Davis,” answered the captain. “These seas, if they continue long, must break up the stoutest ship, and it is a fearful thing to have to struggle among floating timbers, washed about round such rocks as these.”

While they were speaking, many of the crew, clinging to spars and planks, were seen drifting towards the shore. Few, however, appeared to reach it. Some, exhausted by their exertions, let go their hold and sank. Others were cast upon the reef, mangled fearfully by the timbers which were thrown upon them. The rest, meantime, continued to work at the raft. The surviving officers then came to the captain, and urged him to allow them to place him upon it, but he remained firm to his resolution.

“No, no,” he answered; “do you leave the ship as you think best; but she was placed under my command, and nothing shall induce me to desert her as long as she holds together.”

Chapter Twenty Two.

Mr Finlayson and the two young ladies stood watching the progress of the labouring frigate.

“Heaven have mercy on them,” exclaimed the Widow O’Neil, extending her clasped hands towards the ship. “See, see, she draws towards the reef! No hope! no hope! She has struck! she has struck!”

The fishwife spoke but too truly. Fearful seas came rolling in, and, meeting with an opposition not hitherto encountered, dashed in huge masses directly over her. In another instant, the foremast, hitherto standing, tottered and fell. Stout as were her timbers, unable to resist such fierce assaults, they were in a brief space burst asunder, and scattered around in the troubled sea. A cry of horror escaped the young ladies as they witnessed the fearful catastrophe.

“Oh, how many brave men are at this moment carried into a watery grave!” exclaimed Lady Sophy.

Nora was silent. A fearful apprehension seized her.

“The last time we heard from Captain Denham, he told us that he was appointed to a frigate!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Oh, suppose that is the ship he commands?”

“Can no one go to the help of those poor men?” asked Mr Finlayson. “Surely there are boats on the coast which might go off to them!”

The fishwife turned as he spoke.

“There are boats, sir, but it would be hard to find the men who would venture off in such a sea as that; but if, as I believe, the wind is falling, there is yet some hope; if it goes down as rapidly as it sometimes does in summer, frail as are our boats, we may be able to reach the frigate.”

The ship was too far off for those on shore to witness the dying struggles of those who were washed into the sea, but yet they could not tear themselves from the spot. Gradually the gale abated, seemingly contented with the mischief it had caused. Still, however, the seas rolled in with fearful force. Suddenly, a thought seemed to seize Widow O’Neil.

“I must go, I must go!” she exclaimed. “If no men are to be found, I, at least, will go off!”

“Why, you would not venture out in such a sea as that?” cried Mr Finlayson, calling after her as she began to descend the cliffs.

“That I will, sir, and go alone if no men will accompany me.”

From the position of the coast in which the cottage was situated, it was easy to launch a boat, although the sea was agitated outside. On reaching her hut, the widow found her brother Shane standing outside it.

“Shane,” she exclaimed, “you promised to stand by me on all occasions, now prove your words. I am resolved to go out to yonder vessel; there may be some alive on board. My heart tells me there are, and we must save them. O stir up some of the other men, and bid them follow us, if they are worthy of the name of men.”

“I would go with you, sister,” answered Shane, “if I could get others to go, but they will not raise a finger to save any on board a king’s ship.”

“But sure, they are our fellow-creatures, brother Shane,” exclaimed the fishwife. “Shame on the cowards if they dare not come, and shame on you, brother, if you will not help me. Listen now; I dreamed last night that he who has been so long away is coming back. It is not the first time I have dreamed it either, and you may say if you will, that this is only another fancy, but my days are numbered, and I know that before I die he will come back; he promised, and Dermot was not the boy to break his word. Come, Shane, come. Look, the sea has gone down, and you and I with your boy Patrick, though he may have less sense than other lads, will go off to the ship.”

The widow’s exhortations made Shane promise to accompany her. Her boat was ill-fitted for the task, yet for some distance they could pull out under shelter of a point which projected north of the cove. As the wind had hauled round somewhat more to the north also, it might be possible to set a sail, and with less difficulty reach the frigate. Patrick was summoned, and with his father and the fishwife, the boat was launched. She was cleared of all superfluous lumber, while Shane lashed under her thwarts several empty casks, which would assist in giving her buoyancy. It was a simple attempt at a life-boat, yet with all these precautions, the old fishing craft was but ill-fitted for the undertaking. The fishwife again and again urged her brother to hasten his work, so eager was she to reach the wreck. At length the boat was ready. The boy was placed at the helm, and the fishwife and her brother took the oars. They pulled boldly out of the cove, and then along the shore for some distance, where the water was rather smoother than further out. Even there, however, the exertion was considerable, and those who looked on from above dreaded every moment to see the frail skiff overturned by the rough seas. Now, however, the head of the boat was turned seaward. Shane and his sister increased their exertions. Often the waters broke on board, when Patrick, steering with one hand, bailed it out with the other; still they continued their course. At length they succeeded in gaining a considerable distance from the shore, when the seas, as is sometimes the case, came with less force, and gradually sank in height. There was only one point where they could approach the wreck. Just within sight was a small bay, or opening in the reef; the seas on every other side were dashing over the frigate, and would have immediately overwhelmed the frail boat. Bravely they rowed on, and they might have put to shame many of the sturdy men who had collected on the shore. Several times those who watched the progress of the boat from the cliff fancied she was overwhelmed. Now she sank into the trough of the sea, and the huge wave seemed about to dash over her. Again rising to the summit of a foam-crested wave, she was tossed for a few seconds ere she plunged into the watery vale below. More than once Shane proposed setting a sail, but the widow declared that her arms were still strong enough to pull the boat, and that it would considerably prolong the time before they could reach the wreck, as it would thus be impossible to make a straight course. She seemed, indeed, endued with super-human strength, for even her brother’s arms began to fail him. Again and again she urged him to renewed exertions, with a voice tremulous with eagerness.

“We shall reach the ship before long—we shall reach the ship,” she kept exclaiming; “row, Shane, row. Oh, brother, if you have ever loved me, do not fail me now.”

Thus they continued rowing on. Not an hour before it would have been impossible for the boat to have made any progress; now, however, by the subsidence of the gale, the undertaking, though difficult and dangerous, was possible. As they drew near, even now several struggling forms were seen in the foaming waters, but ere they could reach them, one after another sank beneath the waves. A few, however were clinging to planks and spars, but the widow refused to go near them; it might have proved the destruction of the boat, had the attempt been made.

“They are floating, and will in time reach the shore,” she said to Shane, “or if the sea goes down still more, we may return to pick them up. There are still some alive on board the ship; even just now, I saw an arm waving. Row on, row on, we may yet be in time—we may yet be in time.”

The larger portion of the wreck had before this, however, been broken up, but the after-part and the starboard side of the quarter-deck remained entire. As the boat approached the wreck, broken planks and timbers continued to be washed away, till but a small portion appeared to remain.

By persevering efforts, the boat, however, drew nearer and nearer, avoiding, though not without difficulty, the masses of wreck which floated by. As the fishwife and her brother looked up, they saw two human beings still clinging to the remaining fragments of the ship; one was waving his hand as if to urge them to greater speed. No other human beings were to be seen on board. A few had just before apparently committed themselves to a raft, and with this support were now approaching the shore. They had, however, passed at some little distance from the boat. Sea after sea rolling in dashed against the wreck, sometimes the spray almost hiding those on board from view. Larger and larger portions continued to give way; every sea which rolled in carried off the timbers or more planks from the sides. The boat was within fifty fathoms or so of the rocks, Shane looking out anxiously for any part of the wreck by which it might be approached with least danger. It seemed scarcely possible for them to get near enough to aid those on board.

“I fear, sister, we shall be too late,” exclaimed Shane; “even now yonder sea which comes in looks as if it were about to tear the remainder of the wreck to fragments.”

With a thundering sound the sea he pointed at broke against the wreck. In an instant the remaining masses of timber gave way, and were dashed forward into the boiling sea.

“Pull on, Shane, pull on,” cried the widow. “I see two men still struggling in the waves; one is supporting the other, and guarding him from the timbers which float around.”

“Which timbers may stave in the boat, and drown us all,” observed Shane.

“No matter, Shane, pull on—pull on; let us not set our lives against those of the brave men who are floating yonder. What matters it after all if we are lost? Death can come but once to any of us.” It is impossible to give the force of those words, uttered, as they were, in the native tongue of the Irish, which she spoke. “Pull on, Shane, pull on,” again she cried. “Boy, steer for those men; see, they are still floating above the waves.”

In spite of the masses of timber, which appeared to be thrown providentially on either side, the boat approached the two men, who still floated above the water.

“Save him, friends; never mind me,” said a voice as they lifted the person he supported, and who, by his uniform appeared to be an officer, into the arms of Shane, he himself holding on to the gunnel of the boat. The officer was quickly placed in the stern-sheets, when Shane helped his companion on board, and then again grasping his oar, pulled the boat safely round before the sea had time to catch her on the beam and overturn her.

The seaman hauled out of the water, the stimulus to exertion having ceased, sank down fainting by the side of his officer. The danger of returning was as great as that which they experienced in approaching the wreck. The spray flew over them, and it seemed that every billowy wave would overwhelm the frail bark. All this time they were watched eagerly by the young ladies and their old friend from the cliff above. On the boat came; now a vast sea threatened her with instant destruction, but the fishwife and her brother, rowing till the stout oars bent with their exertions, urged on their boat and escaped the danger. Nearer and nearer she approached the shore; now a huge roller came thundering up close to her stern, and seemed about to turn her over and over, but it broke just before it reached her, and by vigorous strokes, forced ahead, she escaped its power. In another instant lifted on a foaming sea, she glided forward, arriving high up on the sandy beach of the little cove.

“There are two people in her,” exclaimed Nora, who had been eagerly watching them. “We will go down and help them, for they evidently require assistance.”

“Those two poor fellows must be nearly drowned,” observed Mr Finlayson, as he accompanied the ladies to the hut. “I wish we had a medical man here, but for the want of one, I must take his place and prescribe for them. These fishermen are more likely to kill than to revive them by their rough treatment. Come, I will push ahead and try to save the men before they press the breath out of their bodies.”

In spite, however, of the active movements of the lawyer, the young ladies kept up with him, and they arrived in front of the cottage just as Shane and his son, aided by the widow, were lifting one of the men they had saved out of the boat. She insisted on taking the seaman first, and not till she had carried him up and placed him on her own bed would she help to carry the other. The lawyer, however, arrived in time to aid Shane in carrying up the young officer, for such he appeared to be. As soon as they arrived at the hut, the apparently drowned man was placed by Mr Jamieson’s orders in front of the fire, then, having taken off his coat, he knelt down and gently rubbed his chest. On the arrival of the young ladies, such blankets and clothes as the widow possessed were, by the lawyer’s directions, placed to warm before the fire, that the half-drowned men might be wrapped in them. No sooner, however, did Lady Nora’s eyes fall on the officer’s countenance, than she uttered an agonised cry, and threw herself by his side.

“Oh, it is Captain Denham—it is Captain Denham!” she exclaimed, “and he is dead—he is dead.” Pale and trembling she hung over him.

“No, my dear young lady,” observed the lawyer, “he is still breathing, and I trust that he will soon recover,—I already indeed see signs of returning consciousness.”

While Nora, regardless of all conventionalities, was assisting the lawyer and her cousin in rubbing the captain’s hands and feet, the widow was bending over the inanimate form of the seaman.

“Shane,” she exclaimed, “I told you my boy would come back, and here he is; I feel it, I know it. Oh, Dermot, Dermot, speak to me,” she exclaimed. “Do not die now that you have come as you promised. Surely it is not to break your old mother’s heart that you have just returned to die in her arms?”

Hearing these exclamations, the old lawyer turned round, and went to the side of the widow.

“You will be wiser, my good woman, if you were to place some hot clothes upon his chest, and chafe his hands and feet, instead of calling out in that way. There is no fear about him; he has over-exerted himself, and his immersion in salt water has for the time deprived him of his senses; but stay, I see you have a kettle boiling on the hearth. It is time now to pour some hot whisky and water down his throat. As I left the castle, I took the precaution of putting a flask into my pocket.” Saying this, the kind old man mixed a mug of spirits and water, which he at once applied to the sailor’s lips. It slipped without difficulty down his throat. The effect was almost instantaneous; he opened his eyes and looked around with astonishment.

“Dermot, speak to me, my boy, my own boy,” exclaimed the widow in Irish, as she threw her arms around his neck.

“What does she say?” he asked, in a faint voice.

“Dermot, Dermot, speak to me,” she again exclaimed, but this time she spoke in English.

“That is not my name, good mother,” answered the seaman; “you must be mistaken; I am not your son. I never was in these parts before except once, when I came with my captain, though I have often enough been off the coast with him and others.”

“Not my son—not my son,” ejaculated the widow, gazing at him, and putting back his hair, and again looking at his countenance. “Oh, how have I been deceived, and do you again say that your name is not Dermot O’Neil?” exclaimed the widow, wringing her hands, “and I thought I had brought my boy safe on shore, and that he was to be folded once more in his mother’s arms. Oh, Dermot O’Neil—Dermot O’Neil, why are you thus keeping so long, long away from the mother who loves you more than her own life?”

The young officer, who by this time had been revived by the application of the good lawyer’s remedies, now wildly gazed around him.

“That voice,” he exclaimed, as if to himself; “I believed that she was long ago numbered with the dead, and yet it must be. Oh! mother, mother, I am Dermot O’Neil,” he cried out to her, “your long absent son.”

The widow rushed across the room, and patting aside those who kneeled around him, she threw herself by his side.

“You Dermot, you my son Dermot?” she exclaimed, looking at him. “Oh, how could I for a moment have been deceived?” She bent over him, and pressed many a kiss upon his brow. “Yes, those eyes, I know them now, and those features, too; I cannot again be deceived. No, no, see here is the sign by which I should have known him, even though he had been given back to me as I dreaded, a lifeless corpse. But my Dermot is alive, my Dermot has come back to me.” As she spoke she drew back the sleeve of his shirt, and there upon his arm she exhibited the blood-red cross with which her son had been born.

During this scene, the countenance of Lady Nora exhibited many changes; now a deadly pallor overspread her face, then again the rich blood rushed back from her heart. Still she kneeled by Captain Denham’s side. His strength gradually returned, and supported in the arms of the old fishwife, he sat up. His face was turned away from Nora, and his eyes rested on the features of the former. He took her hand between his.

“Mother,” he whispered, “I have been cruelly deceived. The only letter I received from my native land told me that you were dead, and from henceforth I felt the tie which had bound me to it was severed. Once I returned to it, and my fondest wish was to visit again the cottage where I was born, made sacred to me because it had been your dwelling. I was prevented from carrying out my intention, and from that day to this I have never had the opportunity of returning, but the life you have saved shall be henceforth devoted to watching over you, I have gained fame in my profession, and I prize it, but it is nothing compared to the joy of being restored to you. Oh, mother, I have loved you as a son should his parent who has loved him as you have done me.”

“Dermot, my boy, dear Dermot, I never doubted your love. I have always said that you were true and faithful, and now you have proved it; but, my son, I shall not long require your care. My days are numbered; but I knew that you would come back, and I was not deceived. My prayers were heard in spite of all the threats and curses of Father O’Rourke. Now I have pressed you to my heart once more, and when I have seen you strong and hearty, I shall be content to place my head under the green turf and sleep in peace.”

During this scene Lady Sophy and the lawyer had retired to the further end of the hut. Mr Finlayson had, in the meantime, suggested to Shane, that he might assist the seaman, who was earnestly inquiring for his captain.

“It is all right,” he exclaimed, when told that Captain Denham was doing well. “Heaven be praised that he is saved, when so many fine fellows have lost their lives. We were sadly short-handed on board the frigate, or I do not believe this would have happened; but the gale was cruelly against us. Are we the only ones who have escaped from the wreck?”

“I hope not,” answered Shane. “I saw a raft drifting towards the bay with several people on her, and many more may have been washed on shore on planks and spars.”

“Then we should be up, and go and help them,” exclaimed Ned Davis, endeavouring to haul on his wet jacket. “Are we to let our shipmates perish and lie here idle? It is not what the captain would have thought of; and if he had not been wounded he would have been up now, and looking out to help them.”

This was the first intimation Mr Finlayson had that Captain Denham was wounded.

“Why, that must be looked to,” he observed. “Really, I do not think he can be attended to properly in this hut. We must manage to get a litter of some sort to carry him to the castle.”

This remark was made to Lady Sophy. She appeared to hesitate.

“What will Nora say?” she observed.

“Say! my dear lady! What possible difficulty can there be about the matter,” exclaimed the lawyer.

He might not have interpreted aright the agitation exhibited by Lady Nora on discovering the parentage of the rescued officer.

Chapter Twenty Three.

When, however, Mr Finlayson’s proposition was made to the fishwife, she at first refused to agree to it, declaring that her son would recover as rapidly in the hut as he could in the castle; but on the lawyer’s assuring her that she was mistaken, she consented to let him be removed if he wished it.

“Let me ask him then,” said Mr Finlayson.

For after Ned Davis had vacated the widow’s bed, Captain Denham (for so he must still be called) had been placed on it. In the meantime, knowing that the fresh air would benefit Lady Nora, her cousin had led her to the front of the hut, and made her rest on a bench which was fixed there. Sitting down by her side, she took her hand.

“Nora,” she said, “this is a strange tale we have heard. I can scarcely believe it. What do you think?”

“I know not,” answered Nora faintly. “But can it be possible that he (Captain Denham I mean) whom we have known so long, who is so refined, so high-born in appearance and manners, can be the son of this wild-looking and ignorant fishwife? and yet, Sophy, she claims him as her son, and he does not deny it; and you observed that mark upon his arm; when she saw it, all doubt vanished. Oh, Sophy, help me, guide me, advise me. What can I do? I did not know till now, when I thought him lost and then had him thus suddenly restored to life, how deeply I loved him. I tell you this, dear cousin, but I would not utter it to any other human being; but what can he be to me for the future? My heart, I feel, will break, Sophy.”

“Trials are sent us for our good, Nora,” said her cousin. “Once I might have thought as you do, that unless his birth was high and noble, equal to your own, no man was worthy to become your husband; but, Nora,” and Lady Sophy heaved a deep sigh, “I have learned to prize a true and noble heart; and if such is his, I cannot tell you that I believe you would be right in discarding him on account of his birth. This is not worldly advice; but I again repeat that I believe, if he is what we have all hitherto supposed him, there is not sufficient cause to refuse him as your husband.”

Nora threw herself into her cousin’s arms.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Sophy,” she exclaimed. “You are right. It was a fearful struggle; but I should have died had I been compelled to give him up. I feel how cruel, how wrong I should have been. I know he loves me, and what a bitter feeling it would have caused his noble heart.”

“Then, Nora, let me go in and tell him that we beg he will come to the castle. I am sure, that without your invitation he would not consent to be removed there.”

“Oh, yes, do, do,” exclaimed Lady Nora. “It will be dreadful for him to have to remain here; for his poor mother would certainly not know how to take proper care of him.”

While this conversation was going on, Mr Finlayson had despatched Shane and Ned Davis, who insisted he was now strong enough for anything, followed by Patrick, with all the ropes and spars they could collect, to go along the beach and assist in the rescue of any of the seamen who might still have escaped drowning, and be even now reaching the shore. He himself, meantime, undertook to ascend the cliff, and send the groom back for a litter on which to carry Captain Denham to the castle. At first, when the proposal was made, he declined leaving his mother’s hut, and it was not till her entreaties had been joined to those of Lady Sophy he consented to place himself in their hands.

“You would greatly disappoint my cousin Nora if you refuse to comply with her request,” whispered Lady Sophy.

It is possible that this remark might have settled the question.

“But does she know who I am?” he asked in a low trembling voice.

“Yes, yes,” answered Sophy. “Do you suppose that to a true-hearted girl as she is that would make any real difference? Oh, Captain Denham, ask your own heart. Would you thus be ready to sacrifice any one you loved?”

“May Heaven reward her,” he murmured.

His feelings seemingly overcame him, for he could say no more.

A considerable time elapsed before the arrival of the litter. Meantime Shane and Davis, with their young companion, hastened along the shore. Several other persons having seen the wreck had now collected on the beach. A few, fastening ropes round their waists, bravely rushed into the surf to assist in dragging the floating men on shore. Some, however, it was very clear, were more eager to obtain any articles of value that might be washed up than to save human life. Many were thus employed when Shane and Davis appeared. Several persons were seen clinging to the masses of wreck, which, after having been tossed about for a considerable time in the bay, were now being washed ashore. The glitter upon the jackets of two of them showed that they were officers, and several persons, as they drifted near, rushed into the water to assist them, so it seemed. They brought them safely up the beach, but no sooner were they there, than, instead of rendering them further assistance, they began to rifle their pockets, and to take their watches and the rings from their fingers. Davis caught sight of them as they were thus so eagerly employed, as not to observe his approach. He dashed forward, and with a blow of a broken spar which he had seized, he knocked aside two of the wreckers, and so ably did he wield it, that he put the rest to flight before they could secure their booty. The rescued officers were two midshipmen of the ship, and their first inquiry was for their commander.

“He is all safe, sirs,” exclaimed Davis. “Heaven be praised for it, but he was very nearly gone; however, it will not be long, I hope, before he is well again. It has been sad work; not a third, I fear, of our poor fellows have come on shore.”

“Not so many, I am afraid,” observed one of the midshipmen; “however, now we are safe ourselves, let us try to help others.”

Several of the better disposed of the people now joined themselves to Shane, and prevented the wreckers from continuing their barbarous proceedings. A raft approached near the beach, and though perhaps none on it would have been saved, had they not had assistance, by the aid of the strong body of men who rushed into the water, all were safely landed before it had the opportunity of turning over upon them. Many dead bodies were cast ashore, and they were gradually collected and placed side by side. There were officers and men, and several poor boys, and a few of the marines. The survivors were undecided what to do when Mr Jamieson, who, hearing of the wreck, had come down to the beach, invited them to the vicarage, and the bodies of the drowned were conveyed by his direction to the church. Before the shipwrecked men had proceeded far towards the vicarage, a messenger overtook them, from Mr Finlayson, with a request that they would all come to the castle, to which their captain was now on his way. Every preparation was made for their reception. The medical man of the neighbourhood was also sent for, that he might attend to the captain and others who might have been injured. Fortunately, the surgeon of the frigate had also escaped, and he was at once able to look to the captain’s wound. Lady Nora felt a strange satisfaction at having all those belonging to the frigate thus collected beneath her roof. She had a trial to undergo; it was when at length the Widow O’Neil desired to speak to her.

“Oh, Lady Nora,” exclaimed the old woman, “I have discovered what I little thought of. My bonnie son loves you, lady. It may be presumption on his part, and it makes me feel more and more that I am not worthy to be his mother, but I am, believe me, his true mother. It seems strange that the son of one like me should thus have gained such a name as he has, but there is one thing I would tell you, lady, I know my days are numbered. You will not have the old fishwife as your mother; if I thought so, I would gladly take myself away where you would never see or hear of me more. I would not stand between you and my son for all the world can give. You will not send him from you, lady?”

“Oh, do not speak thus, Mistress O’Neil,” exclaimed Nora, rising from her seat and taking the widow’s hands in hers. “I do not deny that I love your son, for long I have done so, though only this day have I discovered how deeply I loved him. My delight and satisfaction will be to save you from any further toil and trouble. You have ever proved a loving mother to him, and it shall be our united happiness to care for you, and to shield you from all the troubles and hardships to which you have been so long exposed. We will have a suitable house prepared for you and your brave brother Shane and his son, where you may live in comfort without toiling any more on the treacherous ocean.”

“You speak like a true and noble girl,” exclaimed the widow, “and now there is a secret I have got to tell you. If my son had not been restored to me, it should never have passed my lips, but I have long had in my keeping some papers, preserved in an iron case. It has been hidden under the floor of my hut, for I believe there are those who would deprive me of them if they knew where they are. Alas, I could not read them myself, but he who has gone, the father of my boy, bade me carefully keep them. To-morrow, lady, if that good gentleman who is with you, will come with the steward to assist him, I will place the case in his hands. If you had not confessed to me what you have now done, that my son is dear to you, I believe the contents of that box would have caused you much annoyance and pain, but now I feel it will only make you glad.”

Lady Nora would thankfully have obtained more information from Mistress O’Neil, but she either would not or could not give it.

“In a few days I trust, in God’s mercy, my son will have recovered, and then it may be time enough for you to examine the papers in the case,” she answered. It was with difficulty that the old woman could be persuaded to occupy a room in the castle. She consented, however, to do so, when Shane promised to return to the hut and take charge of it till the next day.

The following morning Mr Finlayson set forth accompanied by Mrs O’Neil, for her cottage. Shane was watching for them. The widow sent him for a spade, and some minutes were employed in digging, before the promised box was discovered, so deeply down in the earth had she hid it.

“Ah,” she observed, as her brother was working, “it was Father O’Rourke who had an idea of this case, and I could not tell what use he might make of it, if he ever got hold of it, and he who has gone charged me never to let it pass out of my hands.”

At length an iron case was brought to light, which Mr Finlayson attempted eagerly to open.

“I have never seen the inside of it,” observed the widow, “and I do not know either how to get at it; but don’t look at it here, Mr Finlayson, carry it to the castle, where you may look into it at your leisure.”

Mistress O’Neil having a few arrangements to make before leaving her hut, promised to follow Mr Finlayson to the castle. The lawyer, on his arrival, after examining the case for some time, not unaccustomed to the various devices employed for such purposes, discovered the spring by which it was opened. The whole evening was employed by him in looking over the documents with which it was filled, but he declined for the present to explain their contents to Lady Nora, assuring her that they were somewhat complicated, and that unless he had examined them thoroughly, he might mislead those whom they chiefly concerned. To no one else, indeed, did he divulge their contents for several days; by that time Captain Denham was once more able to appear in public. Several guests had been invited to the castle, Mr Jamieson and his niece being among them. They were all assembled in the drawing-room, when the lawyer, as the captain entered the apartment, went up to him, and in a significant manner, took him by the hand.

“I have to congratulate you, my dear lord, on obtaining a rank of which you are—”

“Do you address me?” exclaimed Captain Denham with surprise. “What, my dear sir, do you mean? You do not intend to mock me!”

“I mean that you are the lawful Earl of Kilfinnan,” answered the lawyer in a positive tone, as if his word had been called in question. “Although the elder members of your family were deprived of the right to assume the title, as long as another branch existed, I have sufficient evidence to prove that in your generation the attainder has been removed. Your father, the husband of the devoted woman whom you have always known as your mother—as she truly is—was, while living in the character of a fisherman, drowned off this coast. He was the grandson of the former Earl.”

Captain Denham, or rather the new Earl of Kilfinnan, cast a glance, beaming with happiness and satisfaction, towards Lady Nora.

“Yes, indeed our kind friend, Mr Finlayson, is not mistaken,” she said, taking his hand, “and though you know full well, my dear lord, that had it been otherwise, I had promised to become your wife, yet I rejoice to know that you can feel yourself with regard to rank in every respect my equal.”

It is not necessary to describe the happy marriage which afterwards took place. The Widow O’Neil enjoyed the comfort and luxuries which had been prepared for her by her affectionate children but for a few months. Her nervous system had received a shock it never recovered, in the exertions she made in rescuing her son, but she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had saved his life, and that he was restored to the position his ancestors had enjoyed. He did not neglect his noble friend, Ned Davis, who continued, as before, his constant attendant, and ultimately, when he gave up the sea and came to live on shore, rose to the rank of his head bailiff. Mr Jamieson and the kind-hearted lawyer both lived to an old age, and soon after her uncle was removed from her, his blind niece was laid to rest in the churchyard by his side.

Father O’Rourke went plotting and scheming on to the end of his days, and if he did not die in the odour of sanctity, having partaken of all the rites of his Church, no qualms of conscience that he had not exactly fulfilled the duties of a missionary of the gospel, seem to have disturbed his last hours.

Finis.